“But I make wearing arrows look good, don’t I?” Casteel twisted sharply, his hand snapping out. He caught the next arrow intended for him.
I stared at him.
“I don’t know why any of you think this is your lucky day,” he yelled back as he turned around. He shattered the arrow in his fist. “It’s really not. Not when my cloak has been ruined. And I really liked it. It was warm, and now it has godsdamn holes in it. How will that keep me warm?”
Something about him being more upset about his ruined cloak than he was about having multiple holes in his body had a strange, calming effect on me. My hands stopped trembling as I focused on the pines across the road. I knew how to fire a bow. I was very good at it. Vikter had claimed that I was one of the best archers he’d seen. I had the steady hands for it, the watchful eye, and the quick reflexes. That was why Casteel had handed the bow over to me. He knew I could use it.
And I had the steady hands now.
A sound began, a great wave of rattling that reminded me of those wooden toys with beads inside that infants often enjoyed. It seemed to come from all directions, like the rasping of dry bones. The hairs on my neck stood on end.
Rapidly scanning the other side of the road for any movement that wasn’t fawn-colored, I lifted the bow as Naill joined Casteel. My finger curled around the trigger as I kept searching—
A muddied brown shape briefly appeared between the pines, and I didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. I leveled the bow just as my target lifted his weapon, taking aim at Naill. I pressed on the trigger.
The bolt released with a whoosh, flying across the road. I already knew I’d hit my target when I reached for another heavier, thicker arrow.
Movement caught my eyes. I looked just in time to see Casteel launch into the air. He jumped higher than he stood, which was well over six feet. My lips parted as he landed on a limb, shaking free pine needles and snow dust. All I could see was his arm punch into the shadows of the limb. A second later, he yanked a mortal out, tossing him to the ground—
Delano shot out from the forest. In his wolven form, he was nothing more than a streak of white fur. He caught the mortal before he hit the ground, whipping his large head and shaking the man like a dog did its favorite toy. I heard a cracking sound, and then Delano dropped the broken mortal. Blood streaked Delano’s fur as he lunged, catching another clansman around the throat that Casteel had thrown from the tree from…dear gods…from higher up.
Dragging my eyes from what I was unlikely to ever forget, I nocked another bolt, firing at another mortal that popped out from between two trees. Loading the bow, I twisted at the waist, leaned out—
“Damn bloodsuckers! Boys, be fast!” that first voice came again, somewhere from the trees. “We ain’t dealing with just wolven! Aim for the head!”
Okay, the fact that this Dead Bones Clan knew about the wolven and the Atlantians was interesting. And I—
Fiery pain lanced across my skin as an arrow shot by me, grazing my arm. I sucked in a sharp breath as I darted back behind the elm, shaking my wrist as if that would somehow lessen the burn.
It didn’t help all that much.
Screams of pain pierced through the distant snarls. Gritting my teeth, I looked over my shoulder, no longer seeing Casteel or Delano. Naill was gone too. I stayed still until I saw a shifting of shadows and a flash of movement to my left. I zeroed in on it.
I fired the bolt just as the sound of pounding feet whipped my attention to the right. A man ran at me—at least I thought the tall, broad shape was a man, but I couldn’t be sure. His face was covered by something that looked like leather. Clumps of brown hair poked out from the mask. He carried no bow, but rather some sort of club, and he was fast for someone his size.
“Shit,” I whispered, whirling toward the quiver. I grabbed a bolt and nocked it quickly.
The man swung the club before I could fire. I ducked but wasn’t fast enough. His club caught the bow, knocking it from my grip with one shattering blow. He laughed. “What kind of bitch are you?” he asked as I jumped back. I recognized the man’s voice. He’d been the one shouting, and now that he was only a foot or so from me, I could see why I thought his mask was made of leather.
And I could also see that Casteel hadn’t been joking when he said that the Dead Bones Clan operated on the waste-not-want-not creed.
It was skin.
Human skin that had been stretched to fit over his head, stitched in jagged pieces around the openings that had been created for the eyes and mouth. My stomach churned, but I didn’t cave to the rising nausea.