And he was skilled with his bow. Not as skilled as she, of course. But still, quite good.
Good enough to fear? She started to step back, then reminded herself that she feared no one.
Something in his eyes shuttered, and he turned to go.
“Wait.” She reached out to stop him. He couldn’t leave. She didn’t know why, but she’d never felt anything like this before. Excited, nervous, afraid. Danger radiated from him, but not enough to stop her from trying to get his attention.
He turned toward her, and she bit back a sigh of relief.
“Do you use that in war?” She nodded to the bow. “Or just for hunting?”
“Both.”
Her heart sped up, pounding in her chest. “And you say you’re Camulos, the god of war.”
“I am Camulos. I don’t just say it.”
“A competition then.” She didn’t know if she believed him, but she did believe he used the bow for war. She wanted to believe it. Among her people, no one considered the bow to be a weapon of war. But it was the only weapon she could get her hands on, and if she wanted to be a warrior, she must have a weapon.
He scowled, his eyes darkening, and she swallowed hard, her skin prickling.
She shook her head. She wasn’t afraid. Of course not. And she wanted him to stay. His interest made her feel special and fascinating, even if he did make her nervous.
“Between you and me?” he asked.
“Yes.” She had to force her voice not to waver. She nodded at the quiver strapped to his back. “I like your arrows. I’ve never seen feathers of that bright a blue before. If I best you, you’ll give me one.”
If he really was the god Camulos and she defeated him, his arrow would be proof. It proved that her weapon wasn’t just a silly tool for acquiring dinner. It proved that she was capable. To her brothers. To her father. They might not let her wield a sword, but her bow was just as good. The fact that a god used it proved the fact. Now, she had a way to show them.
“One shot,” she said, speaking quickly to convince him before he could leave. She pointed to the huge tree upon which she’d carved an X. It was nearly two hundred yards away, but the X was very small. “To that spot on the pine over there.”
“And what do I get if I win?” He stepped closer, his big body looming over hers when he stopped only a couple of feet away.
She tilted her head to look up at him. Swallowed again. “What do you want?”
He thought for a moment, his eyes searching her face. “I want to know why you work so hard at this.”
He reached out and lifted her hand, gazed at her calloused fingers. Her palm tingled and a shiver ran up her arm. She could feel the heat radiating off of him in the chill air. “I want to know why you’ve tried to make a weapon of pleasure a weapon of war.”
He dropped her hand and she fisted it, but didn’t argue his assessment. She nodded, drew a line in the dirt with her toe. “From here. You first.”
She admired his form as he stepped up to the line. The broad sweep of his shoulders, the strength of his arms and hands as he drew back the bowstring. His bow was bigger than hers. His arms stronger.
No matter. Speed and accuracy were her signature. But she couldn’t help admiring the flex of his muscles as he fired.
His arrow struck the middle of the X. The look he gave her was almost apologetic. But she just grinned and stepped up to the line. In quick succession, she shot two arrows, one after the other, and watched with her heart in her throat as the first split his arrow and the second split her own. She didn’t know why she’d been nervous. She hadn’t missed a shot in over a year.
She grinned, then turned to him and stuck out her hand for her prize. He didn’t hand it over, and there was something she didn’t recognize in his eyes.
“We both hit the middle of the X,” he said.
“Which is why I hit it twice.” She held out her hand again.
He inclined his head, then pulled an arrow out of his quiver and gave it to her. Her palm tingled when she touched it. Could he really be who he said he was?
“Why the bow?” he asked.
“You lost. I don’t have to tell you anything.”