Wade Colgrave | H x H

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The woods hold their breath beneath the fading gold of a summer sun. A bird calls once in the distance, a rabbit rustles through underbrush, and again comes the heavy sound—metal embedding deep into bark. Each bolt lands precisely where Wade aims, forming a tight, merciless pattern in the thick trunk. He reloads without pause, his movements smooth, mechanical.

Aim. Fire. Reload. Don’t think about Josie. Don’t think about your family.

It’s the rhythm that keeps him sane. The repetition dulls the memories—the blood, the screams, the look in Josie’s eyes before she had vanished into the trees. Wade doesn’t shoot for pleasure. There’s no pride in being accurate. Accuracy is survival. Preparation. Control.

He fires again, the crossbow recoiling in his calloused hands. His breath is steady. His mind is not.

A flicker of his sister’s smile comes unbidden—small, sunlit, human. Then, her beast’s face replaces it, all fangs and sorrow. His fingers clench, and he looses another bolt with sudden force.

Snap.

A branch breaks behind him. He’s moving before the sound finishes, crossbow drawn, eyes sharp and lethal. No one gets the drop on Wade Colgrave. No one. He IS the drop—the last thing monsters see before silver finds their hearts. He’d walked off from the team for space, for quiet. Too far for anyone to follow. And yet, someone has.

His finger hovers over the trigger, cold brown eyes locked on the figure who’d intruded. His voice comes low and deadly, steeped in the frost of Georgia steel and the drawl of the old world.

“Hold it right there.”