She frowned as a sense of awareness seemed to tingle through her every nerve.

When his gaze dipped to her body, he raised a shaking hand to run over his mouth, clearly liking what he saw.

What’s not to like—No! Act reasonable and serious. Above all things be rational. “Who are you?”

“I’m Garreth MacRieve of the Lykae clan.” He drew nearer and she sidled back. They began circling each other. “Never seen anyone shoot like you.”

That truly never got old. “Because no one can,” she answered matter-of-factly.

Had the corner of his lips briefly curled? “What devil did you make a deal with to shoot like that?”

She almost sighed. Devil? I did something entirely different with him. She stifled the memories that had begun to surface more and more often.

“Mayhap your bow’s enchanted?”

“My bow’s not enchanted—merely unequaled.” For over a thousand years, it’d held fast, as perfectly honed today as it’d been the night of Lucia’s transformation. The black ash wood was polished to a sheen and carved with elaborate inscriptions. In a long-dead language, it was written that Lucia was a servant to the goddess Skathi. Forever. “You don’t think mine could be a natural”—goddess-given—“talent?”

“Aye. But to marry talent and beauty such as yours as well? Hardly sporting to other lasses.”

She’d often thought so herself. Luckily for them, she had no interest in garnering a man’s attention.

“And you could no’ be bonnier.”

In fact, she could be. Her hair was drenched. Her clothes were boring—a serviceable pair of shorts and a plain T-shirt. She wore no makeup or jewelry, but then, she never did. Not since she’d started wearing the bow.

“Are you fey or Valkyrie?”

I’m an Archer. A celibate in plain clothes. A shadow in the background. “Guess.” At least he got points for not mistaking her for a nymph. Unfortunately, the two species resembled each other with their elven features. That was where all similarities ended.