"There was a priestess at my old House of Night in Chicago who had an affinity for fire. She could actually make things burn. Can you use the five elements like that?"

"I can't make water burn or anything bizarre like that." I avoided answering him directly.

He frowned and shook his head, wiping his hand across his brow again. I tried not to notice that he was kinda sexily sweating. "I'm not asking if you can twist the elements. I just need to know if you're powerful enough to control them." That jerked my attention from his cuteness. "Okay, look. I know you're new, but that's really not your business."

"Which means you must be pretty powerful."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Again, not your business. If you need me for something that is your business, like asking me about dog supplies, come find me. Other than that, I'm out of here."

"Wait." He took a step toward me. "It sounds like I'm being a smart-ass, but I have a good reason for asking you about this."

He'd lost his sarcastic semi-smile, and the look he was giving me wasn't an obsessive let's-see-how-weird-Zoey-really-is expression. He looked like a cute, pale new kid who seriously needed to know something.

"Fine. Yes. I'm pretty powerful."

"And you can really control the elements. Like if something bad happened, you could get them to protect you or the people you care about?"

"Okay, that's it," I said. "Are you threatening me and my friends?"

"Oh, shit no!" he said quickly, holding up one of his hands, palm out, like he was surrendering. Of course, it was hard not to notice that in his other hand, he still held the bow he'd been thunking arrows straight into the bull's-eye with. He saw my eyes glance at the bow and slowly he bent to set it on the ground at his feet. "I'm not threatening anyone. I'm just bad at explaining. Here's the deal--I want you to know about my gift."

He said the word gift so uncomfortably that I raised my brows and repeated it. "Gift?"

"That's what it's called, or at least that's what other people call it. It's why I'm so good with that." He jerked his chin toward the bow lying at his feet.

I didn't say anything, but raised my brows at him as I waited (impatiently) for him to continue.

"My gift is I can't miss," he finally said.

"You can't miss? So what? Why would that have anything to do with me or my affinity with the elements?"

He shook his head again. "You don't get it. I always hit my target, but that doesn't mean my target is always what I aim at."

"You're not making any sense, Stark."

"I know, I know. I told you I'm no good at this." He ran his hand backwards through his hair, which made it puff up like a duck's tail. "The best way I can say this is to give you an example. Have you ever heard of the vampyre William Chidsey?"

I shook my head. "Nope, but that shouldn't shock you. I've only been Marked for a few months. I'm not exactly up on vampyre politics."

"Will wasn't into politics. He was into archery. For almost two hundred years, he was the undisputed archery champion of all the vampyres."

"Which means of all the world, because vamps are the best archers there are," I said.

"Yeah." he nodded. "Anyway, Will kicked everyone's ass for almost two centuries. At least up until six months ago he did."

I thought for a second. "Six months ago would make it summer. That's when they have the vamp version of the Olympics, right?"

"Yeah, they call them the Summer Games." "Okay, so this Will guy is majorly good with a bow. Seems you are, too. Do you know him pretty well?"

"Knew. He's dead. But yeah. I knew him pretty well." Stark paused and then added. "He was my mentor and my best friend."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said awkwardly.

"So am I. I'm the one who killed him."

Chapter Twelve

"Did you just say you killed him?" I was sure I'd heard him wrong.

"Yeah, that's what I said. I did it because of my gift." Stark's voice sounded cool, like what he'd said was no big deal, but his eyes said something else. The pain in them was so obvious that I had to look away. As if that pain was just as obvious to Duchess, the Lab trotted from me to her master and sat at his side, leaning heavily against him, staring up at him adoringly, and whining softly. Automatically, Stark reached down and stroked her soft head as he talked. "It happened during the Summer Games. It was right before the finals. Will and I were way in the lead, so it was for sure that the gold and silver medals were going to go to us." He didn't look as me while he talked. Instead he stared down at his bow, and his hand kept stroking Duchess's head. Weirdly enough, Nala crept quietly up to him and began rubbing herself against his leg (the one Duchess wasn't leaning on) while she purred like a lawn mower. Stark just kept talking. "We were warming up in the practice lanes. They were these long, thin areas sectioned off by white linen piders. Will was standing to my right. I remember drawing my bow and being more focused than I'd ever been in my life. I really wanted to win." He paused again, and shook his head. His mouth twisted in self-mockery. "That was what mattered most to me. The gold medal. So I drew the bow and thought, No matter what, I want to hit the mark and beat Will. I shot the arrow, seeing the bull's-eye with my eyes, but really imagining beating Will in my mind." Stark dropped his head, and he sighed deep as a storm wind. "The arrow flew straight to the target in my mind. It hit Will in his heart and killed him instantly."