Chapter 1

Aila Coraline

"For goodness’ sake, hit the target, Coraline!" Anastasia shouted in frustration after I missed the target for the fifth time.

I couldn’t focus. My mind kept drifting back to the strange dream I had last night. It felt too real, like I had truly died and been brought back to life, resurrected somehow. It left me unsettled.

"Sorry, okay? I just don’t feel well," I mumbled in defense.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Excuses! The competition is in a week, and you’re still shooting like a decaying archer!"

That was harsh. Determined to prove her wrong, I picked up an arrow and placed it on my bowstring, focusing as hard as I could on the distant target.

"Watch this," I muttered under my breath.

I drew the bow, feeling the tension in my arms as I aimed. I released the arrow, watching it soar through the air, expecting it to finally hit the target this time. But instead of hitting the bullseye, it veered sharply to the right.

A loud yelp echoed from the nearby field.

My heart dropped as I realized the arrow hadn’t just missed the target—it had hit someone. A figure stumbled, clutching their arm where my arrow had struck.

"Oh my God!" I gasped, my eyes widening in horror.

Anastasia’s face turned pale as she looked at the scene. "What did you just do?"

I dropped the bow and rushed toward the person. "I’m so sorry! Are you okay?" I called out, my heart racing with panic.

The person, a tall guy with dark hair, glared at me as he yanked the arrow out of his arm. "Do I look okay?" he snapped, though his tone softened slightly when he saw the panic on my face.

"I... I didn’t mean to! I was aiming for the target, I swear!" I stammered.

He sighed, shaking his head. "Next time, try to aim a little further from people, yeah?"

Anastasia appeared beside me, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Well, at least you hit something this time."

I shot Anastasia a glare. "Seriously? Now’s not the time for sarcasm!" Couldn’t she see how worried I was?

Ignoring her, I turned back to the guy I’d accidentally shot. "Look, I’m really sorry. Let me help you, at least let me check the wound," I offered, reaching out to him.

He took a step back, holding up a hand to stop me. "Just get lost," he said flatly. His voice wasn’t angry, but there was a sharp edge to it. "I don’t need your help. What I do need is for you to practice archery better, so you don’t hurt anyone else next time."

His words stung, but I couldn’t blame him. I opened my mouth to apologize again, but he cut me off with a cold stare.

"Seriously, just go. You’ve done enough," he muttered, brushing past me.

I stood there frozen for a moment, guilt crashing down on me as I watched him walk away. Anastasia sighed behind me.

"Well," she said dryly, "at least now you’ve got a reason to practice."

My eyes lingered on the man's fading figure, watching as he held his arm, trying to stop the bleeding. The guilt gnawed at me, thinking how lucky it was only his arm. If I had hit his head or something more vital, I’d be in serious trouble. My father would kill me for sure.

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. I couldn’t let that happen again.

"Come on," Anastasia called, already heading back to the archery field. "You’re not done yet."

I hesitated for a moment, still feeling the weight of what just happened, but then I followed her. This time, I was determined to take things seriously. No more careless shots.

We returned to the field, and Anastasia handed me another arrow. "Focus this time. Block everything out and just hit the target."

I nodded, taking a deep breath. I drew the bowstring, narrowing my focus on the target ahead. The breeze seemed to quiet down, and for the first time today, I felt fully in control.

I released the arrow, watching as it soared through the air. It landed just off-center, but at least it hit the target this time.

"Better," Anastasia said with a nod. "Now, do it again."

I nodded, drawing the bow and aiming at the target. My arms felt tense, but I forced myself to concentrate. I released the arrow, but it flew off course, missing the target by a few inches.

"Again," Anastasia ordered.

I gritted my teeth, grabbing another arrow and trying again. Over and over, I pulled back the string, aimed, and released, only to miss the mark. Each miss weighed heavier on me, but I didn’t stop. The afternoon sun slowly sank lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the field.

Sweat dripped down my forehead as I kept practicing, my arms growing sore from the strain. But I refused to give up. Arrow after arrow flew through the air, some coming close, others far off the mark.

It wasn’t until the sun was nearly touching the horizon that everything seemed to click. I drew back the bow, aimed carefully, and released. The arrow flew straight, and this time it hit the center of the target.

A sense of relief flooded me as I stared at the target, my chest heaving from the effort. The sun’s last rays bathed the field in a warm glow as dusk settled in.

"Finally," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

Anastasia, standing nearby, gave a satisfied nod. "Took you long enough."

I didn’t respond, too exhausted to even shoot her a glare. But inside, I felt a small sense of accomplishment.

"How was your practice?" Father asked as we sat down for dinner. He knew archery wasn’t my strong suit, but I had convinced him that I was making progress.

"I’ve improved," I replied shortly, hoping to keep the conversation brief.

I felt his gaze on me, and my heart skipped a beat. "I heard someone was shot by an arrow in the field earlier today. Was it you?"

The spoon slipped from my fingers and clattered loudly onto the plate. My body stiffened as I met his stare, guilt washing over me in waves. The memory of the man clutching his bleeding arm flashed through my mind, and I felt the color drain from my face.

Father raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Well? Was it you?"

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "It… it was an accident," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t mean to, I swear."

He let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair. "You need to be more careful, Coraline. One wrong shot, and it could’ve been far worse."

"I know," I muttered, my head lowering. The weight of his disappointment settled on me like a heavy cloak.

He stayed silent for a long moment before finally speaking. "Just make sure it doesn’t happen again. You can't afford mistakes like that."

"More especially to an Alpha's son," Father added.

My heart sank further, and my stomach twisted into knots. Of course, it wasn’t just anyone I had hit—it was the Alpha’s son. I could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Hurting a regular pack member was bad enough, but wounding the Alpha’s heir? That was a whole different level of trouble.

"I didn’t know…" I whispered, barely able to meet his gaze.

"You didn’t think," Father corrected, his eyes sharp. "You have to be more aware of who’s around you, Coraline. One mistake like that, and the consequences could be much worse than a reprimand."

I nodded, feeling the guilt gnaw at me even harder. The memory of the man’s cold stare as he pulled the arrow from his arm replayed in my mind.

"I won’t let it happen again," I promised quietly, though the tension in the room told me it wasn’t enough to fully ease his concern.

Father didn’t say anything more, just gave me a long, hard look before turning back to his plate. The rest of the dinner was spent in silence, but the weight of his words lingered long after the meal had ended.