“Why are you watching me?” The woman didn’t turn as she spoke.
Though Camulos knew her face to be fair and fine boned, the blond curls tumbling down her back and the brown woolen skirt concealing her legs were all he could see from the shadows. Great trees loomed overhead, casting the shade he hid within. It terminated at the edge of a clearing that was blanketed with snow.
How had she sensed him? He’d made a point to stay concealed, to keep to the dark of the forest as she’d practiced her archery in the clearing. Then again, he visited earth so rarely that he was no expert at remaining unseen.
Or perhaps he’d wanted her to see him this time.
“Well?” She spun, gripping her bow loosely at her side. Ire sparked in her green eyes.
She was lovely, though that wasn’t what drew him. There were plenty of beautiful gods in Otherworld. No, it was the damnable fact that she made his chest feel strange. Like he knew her, though he was sure he’d never met her.
His foot moved forward. His mind stopped it. Revealing himself to a mortal, especially this mortal… No good could come of it. If he was to kill her, as he should, then it would be better if she didn’t see him.
But from the relaxed way she held her bow, she wasn’t afraid of him. Or she was confident enough in her speed to think that she could pluck an arrow from her quiver, sight it, and kill him with a shot.
Little did she know.
“You’ve been watching me for days. I want to know why,” she demanded. Her grip on the bow tightened. Nerves?
“Maybe because I want to know how a girl like you can shoot a bow like that.” The words were out of his mouth before his mind could stop them.
Her bow was up, arrow sighted, drawn, and fired a mere second before a thudding sound to his left made him glance down. Her arrow vibrated where it pinned the bottom of his cloak to the tree. He raised a brow and nodded.
“You’re as skilled as they said.” Though they hadn’t mentioned how beautiful she was. Or that she had the ability to make a god’s chest feel odd.
“Of course I am, but who are they that you speak of?”
“The gods,” he said, yanking his cloak from the tree and stepping forward. Perhaps it was best that she fear him. The cockiness of her tone made his chest feel even stranger. Was this what emotion felt like?
“The gods.” She laughed disbelievingly, but when sunlight hit his face as he walked out of the shadow, she stepped backward, her knuckles whitening around the bow. “Who are you?”
“Camulos.” He should make her fear him. It would make it easier to kill her. He’d see the light of panic in her eyes, and she’d be just another mortal.
Her brow creased. “The god of war? Here? In my woods?”
He nodded.
“No, you’re not.”
“I am.” His head drew back. She didn’t believe him?
“You can’t play me for a fool. The gods don’t come to earth. They haven’t in centuries. If they ever did at all.”
She was right. They’d stopped visiting earth before he was born. There was too much emotion here. The place seethed with it. He seethed with it. Because of her? He rubbed his chest.
“You’ve been watching me for days. But I’ve never been able to see you, and you’ve never come close. Why?”
He felt a frown drag at his mouth. He couldn’t tell her that he’d come to kill her, but had been stayed by the sight of her practicing with her bow until her fingers bled. Or that the sight of her so diligently training had made his chest tighten.
“I told you,” he said, pushing away duty in favor of curiosity. “I want to know why you use the bow. And where did you get your skill? Magic? A spell?”
Her jaw dropped, and his eyes riveted to her parted lips.
“Absolutely not!” she cried.
He arched a brow, almost expecting her to shoot him again. Maybe this time she’d make contact with his flesh. But she’d never answered why she practiced so much with a weapon that the Celts only used for hunting.
Yet she never hunted. She practiced as if she were training for war.