He glanced at her, but said nothing.
Her last life seemed to be a touchy subject with Tristan so she changed the era. “How did you and I meet?”
Still no answer.
“When did you and I meet?”
Scarlet could feel agitation running through him at her questions.
Frustrated, Scarlet asked, “What was my favorite food? What was the first movie I ever saw? Did I ever have any pets?”
Tristan dropped the bow to his side, sighed, and gave Scarlet an impatient look. “You think knowing if you’ve ever had any pets is going to help you?” He raised a brow. “You think knowing the answer to a thousand questions will tell you who you are?”
Scarlet was exasperated. “Yes.”
He spoke quietly. “They would be answers, Scar. Not memories.”
Scar.
Her heart fluttered at his nickname for her and something deep inside her stirred. Like a flame being rekindled, the wick of something true caught fire and warmed her soul.
Tristan cocked his head to the side. “And isn’t that what you really want? Memories?”
“I want,” Scarlet softened her voice, “to know who I am.”
For a moment, the only sound between them was the chirping of a winter bird and the soft wind rustling the trees.
They stared at one another.
He exhaled. “Fine.” Walking to the side of the cabin, he set down the complicated bow in his hand, and picked up a more traditional-looking bow. He walked back to his shooting post and looked at Scarlet. “Come here.”
Slowly, she made her feet move forward until she was standing right next to Tristan. Up close, he was beautiful.
He was beautiful far away, too. But up close, he was…he was….
He was making it hard for her to breathe.
And not for any reasons related to their curse.
Scarlet said, “We’re not ten feet away from each other. Nate won’t be pleased.”
“I don’t live to please Nate.”
“Obviously.” Scarlet smiled.
Tristan held out the long bow in his hand and waited.
She stared at him. “What?”
“Take it,” he said.
She carefully wrapped her hand around the foreign—and heavy—weapon, holding it like it might bite her.
She caught a ghost of a smile on Tristan’s face as he watched the way she handled the bow. But the ghost quickly vanished into the hard face he normally wore.
Tristan retrieved three arrows from the quiver strapped to his back and held them up to Scarlet. “Pick one.”
Was this some kind of game? Or test? Scarlet hated tests.
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you remember who you are.”
“By…making me choose an arrow?”
“Pick one,” Tristan repeated. “Or our trip down memory lane is over.”
This was Tristan’s idea of “memory lane”?
God help us.
Scarlet clucked her tongue. “Calm down, Archer boy. No need for threats.” She stared at the arrows, each of them different.
The green one was thicker than the others, with a broad tip. The yellow one looked wispy and useless, like it was a toy. And the blue one was thin, but looked strong; the arrowhead sharp and narrow. It looked accurate. Deadly. The blue arrow looked…right.
Scarlet looked back up at Tristan. “Does it matter which one I pick?”
“Not really,” he shrugged. “I already know which one you’ll choose.”
Scarlet scoffed. “No, you don’t.”
He was so arrogant.
Arrogant and intimidating and rude—
Tristan plucked the blue arrow from his hand and held it up with a quirked brow.
…and right.
Agh.
He put the other two arrows away and handed the blue arrow to Scarlet. “Here’s your arrow.” He nodded to the spear in her hand. “That’s your bow.” He looked right into her eyes and continued, “Now shoot.”
He stepped over to the side of the cabin, leaving Scarlet staring at the objects in her hand, completely clueless.
“But…I don’t know how to shoot an arrow,” she said.
Tristan crossed his arms, the muscles in his forearms flexing against one another. “Yes, you do.”
She looked at him in frustration. Hating her amnesia. Hating the way his arm muscles were distracting her. “Maybe I did at one time, but I don’t remember—”
“Your hands remember.”
Scarlet looked at her hands and made a face. “My hands barely know how to hold this thing, let alone use it.”
“That’s because you’re letting your brain get in the way.” He uncrossed his arms and walked over to where several different bows were leaning against the cabin’s outside wall. Grabbing one that looked similar to what Scarlet held, he walked back to the shooting spot.
Coming up beside Scarlet, he pulled another blue arrow from his back and looked at her pointedly. “Watch me.” His voice was soft and instructional.
In the sunlight, his green eyes seemed softer. Less troubled.
Scarlet nodded as Tristan’s hands set his arrow against the worn bow he held. The arrow lay securely in between his fingers as he carefully drew it back against the wooden bow.
One hand held the limb of the weapon, gripping it steadily in his fist, while the other hand kept the arrow drawn taught against the bowstring.
His shoulder muscles were tight and his eyes were set low and determined on the target in the distance as his chest lifted with a long, deep breath.
Good God, he was distracting.
Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel.
She could see Tristan’s beating pulse through the tight skin of his neck.
Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel.
Swift and silent, Tristan released the arrow. Scarlet barely saw the spear leave the bow; it flew so fast. But in an instant, the target in the distance was pierced through the center.
Tristan, Tristan, Tristan.
Crap.
Tristan lowered the bow and looked at her. “Your turn.” He took a step to the side.
Scarlet looked down at the giant bow in her hand, jiggling it a little. “Easy for you to say. This thing is more than half my size.”
“That’s because it’s mine, so it’s larger than what you’re used to.”
Scarlet raised her eyebrows. “What I’m used to?” She shook her head. “I’m used to schoolbooks and coffee cups and cell phones. Not…” she pinched the arrow between her thumb and forefinger like it was a smelly diaper, “medieval weapons.”
Tristan sighed.
He was frustrated. He was amused. He was frustrated.
“Fine. Don’t shoot it.” Tristan moved to take the bow from Scarlet’s hands, but she instinctively yanked it out of his reach.
He raised a brow, but said nothing.
“I’ll shoot it,” Scarlet said, not sure why she suddenly felt so determined. Like she had something to prove.
Tristan shrugged and walked back to the side of the cabin, crossing his arms again as he watched her.
With a huff, Scarlet tried to mimic Tristan’s actions as she lined the arrow in her hand up against the bow and the bowstring. She raised the bow and arrow up and slowly pulled back, finding the movement not nearly as difficult as she had anticipated.