Chapter 6

The air outside had turned crisp, biting at my exposed skin with that sharp, golden chill that only exists in late autumn. We had packed up the equipment, stacking the bows and arrows into their cases, but the adrenaline from the competition hadn’t faded yet. It thrummed in my veins, mixing with the heavy, humid heat rising from our bodies. He led me not to the car, but to the back room of the lodge we’d been using—a small, dimly lit space tucked behind the main hall, smelling faintly of old wood, dust, and the musk of sweat from a dozen other archers. He pushed the door shut, the latch clicking with finality, sealing us in. The only light came from a single bare bulb swinging gently from the ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows against the peeling paint of the walls. I stood there, still wearing my tight archery vest, the leather creaking slightly as I breathed, my chest rising and falling against the constriction. He didn’t speak. He just looked at me, his eyes dark and hungry, devouring my form like a man starved. "Strip, baby girl," he commanded, his voice low and rough, vibrating in my throat. I