The Mate That Wasn't Mine novel Chapter 6

Chapter 6

TESSA POV

Maybe Maxim isn’t completely full of lies. He was spot on about Warden Marshall being a Grade–A bastard. He knows exactly where I am from, same as every other accepted student but still chose to try and make me feel worthless.

As soon as he mocked my background I saw the kind of man he was. No better than Malva, Juno. Even my own strange, dismissive family.

He’s just another face to ignore and keep aiming beyond. I’ll be unworthy of his notice, he can be unworthy of mine.

At least with archery, I don’t need to pretend for a second. I take my quiver back from the amber–eyed, tense–as–hell Maxim and start walking.

Like rats following the piper the carriages of first years are hurriedly trailing the clip–board wielding Wardens.

20

The fleshy red canopy of foliage abandoned, we are soon in a whole other world of lush green space and tall, towering granite.

“Be careful,” Maxim whispers as we walk behind the rest.

“But, it’s archery?”

“Just…watch out okay? Keep alert. Listen to your wolf.”

It’s almost a relief to not enter the packhouse. Fanning out down the valley the Archery ranges are clearly marked out. The traditional red, blue and yellow circular target paper waiting on the stands, white chalk lines dividing up the field into twelve slots.

There is chatter everywhere, the women are mainly spectators. So many hope to be healers, Maxim told me dozens find themselves working as packhouse servants rather than return home and admit to their parents

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they never made it into the Alpha’s trust.

A few women are heading towards defensive training, flexing and stretching their stunning, powerful muscles.

+20

Whereas the first–year men are all jostling for positions. They’re all so bright–eyed and keen. Assuming Alpha Hale must be watching them from

one of the towers.

Bunching together down the narrow gravel path, showing off huge bows and arrows, friendships are already being formed. I’m already on the outside, shorter and smaller than the other contenders.

I wonder if Maxim was exactly the same bright–eyed boaster when he first arrived. A smile teased the edges of my lips.

“LINE UP! IN THREES! Quickly!” Warden Marshall blares, accompanied by the three other Wardens. In the distance I hear whistles and cries. The infantry knock–outs have begun over on the other side of the grassy bank.

I take a slot in the middle, behind two burly men. WIth longer hair than myself his posturing meant his thick plait kept hitting my face.

“If you’re not firing, turn around. RIGHT AROUND! SILENCE ON THE ARCHERY FIELD”

I obey, trying not to react at Warden Marshall standing in front of me. He’s checking everyone is looking his way.

I stare down at the ground. Trying to blend into the background, only to remember I have my chest almost bursting out of this ridiculous knotted shirt Maxim made me.

“FIRE!”

My wolf and I listen keenly. There definitely aren’t a dozen impacts. “SILENCE!” bellows from all four wardens at once, as men tut and hiss at their failures. The rest of us wait, blind to the results.

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GO

Something is off about the archery range. My wolf picks up a delicious bakery smell, my stomach rumbling immediately.

“RETRIEVE YOUR ARROWS. THEN HEAD TO WARDEN BEAUDEN.

YOU’RE DONE.”

20

Shit we only get one shot? Just the one? The smell of bread keeps taunting

1. me.

But I shouldn’t be catching that scent so far away from the packhouse.

That is when I realise this is a damn windtrap. The valley is funnelling the breeze downwards, blasting straight across the archery range. I need to adjust my aim.

“SECOND ROW TURN.”

Closing my eyes I try to gauge the steps of the retrieving men. I’ve done the walk myself a thousand times but they are taking longer. Are the targets not the standard seventy metres? Changing the distance just a few metres is enough to make you question your hold, your stance, the power you’re wielding. You don’t have time to think with a bow stretched to full power, the toll on your arm muscles gives you maybe three seconds to adjust and prepare.

“SECOND ARCHERS PREPARE…AND FIRE!”

Again, a smattering of hits and misses.

“Wake up Darnell,” Warden Marshall whispers. His voice is soft, considered. It hides the malice well. “It’s probably for the best if you drop the act now.”

“Act?” lifting my head up, “I am an archer? I was invited here?”

“SECOND ARCHERS RETRIEVE YOUR ARROWS!” sounds out and my heart is racing too fast to count any steps or exactly gauge who missed what. Warden Marshall is making sure of that.

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“You know what I mean. You and Pagano…” only to smirk at the confusion in my face. “Not got round to surnames yet then? Your so–called mate. Maxim.”

I dislike the way Maxim Pagano rolls over my tongue instinctively. Even his name seduces me with ease.

“It all happened so fast.” I answered quickly.

“Of course.” Warden Marshall replies dryly. “How convenient.”

Fighting for my packhouse survival with any wits I could muster my wolf pushes me to talk. “The bond clicked last night. But I can tell you some other things about him.”

Warden Marshall keeps staring, ignoring his duty as the third row of archers take their positions, which is meant to include me. “Surprise me.”

“I claimed him with my bite.”

“That means nothing.”

“He warned me about you too. Out of all the Wardens, you.”

That catches his interest.

“THIRD ROW I SAID LINE UP!”

His watery–blue eyes narrow, the clipboard lowering. “Now, Miss Darnell, why would he say something like that?”

I have to turn around, the call to fire is waiting on me. Gripping my bow and arrow I try to set myself up. Pulling the string as taut as I can, but it’s not working. Shit! This cream shirt isn’t working. The shoulders are way too tight now the bottom of the shirt is knotted underneath my chest. I need to think. Think!

“READY-” bellows out from the top of the grassy valley.

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“No!” I shout out and receive a host of curses across the row of waiting students.

20

From across the range I can see Maxim watching me. His arms are folded, concern etched across his playful features. “One second!”

With no other option I turn around and face Warden Marshall again. A smug grin forms, “I knew you-”

“Hold these please!” thrusting my bow and arrow into his arms. I quickly untie Maxim’s leather jacket and lump that into his arms before he can protest.

“He tied it too tight,” I explain hurriedly. The knot on my shirt is going nowhere. Hanging from his belt, a blade shines at the Warden’s hip. “Excuse me Warden,” I whisper, reaching down, grabbing the shining blade and slashing through the knot of the cream top.

More mutters from the surrounding, staring men and the spectators along the sidelines. I’m fighting the urge to just run or cry.

More than anything I want to disappear. This is beyond my worst nightmares. I wanted to stand out, not put myself out there as the class idiot. Shrugging the wrecked shirt off like it’s on fire, I quickly drag on the leather jacket over my silk bra, relieved at its roomy movement.

Blushing, I hand back the blade whilst taking back the bow and arrow. Blinking away stinging tears of mortification I shout up to the grassy banking, “I’m sorry! Ready!”

The Warden on the knoll just nods.

It’s definitely further than standard. The grass is moving along the middle section with some serious strength. Definitely a wind trap. It’s turning into a leap of faith but I aim a little off, more towards the right, trusting in the

sway to correct my arrow.

“THIRD ROW, FIRE!”

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GO

Exhaling, I pull, hold and release in one fluid move. The second it takes my silver–tipped wooden arrow to fly through the air is always sickening. You can feel the whole row tense up.

There are only a few thwacking sounds. Not enough targets being hit.

“TESSA!” bellows Maxim as the crowd breaks into applause. Oh Goddess I’ve hit. I’ve hit the centre!

“RETRIEVE YOUR ARROWS. SCORES TO BE TALLIED AND

ANNOUNCED!”

+20)

I run towards the target beaming, trying to ignore the frustrated huffs of the men around me. “Fucking rigged,” one complains. “She must have had help, you got it on the board at least.”