Kieran saw the arrow streaking straight for his head. His pupils dilated as his hands moved on instinct.
In an instant, he hurled the flames hovering over his palm directly at it.
The moment the ball of searing fire met the arrow, the reaction was explosive.
The metal tip melted instantly under the heat, while the wooden shaft charred to black, crumbling into smoldering ash before it even hit the ground.
Kieran's eyes snapped toward the figure that had fired at him.
It was dark—but he didn't need light. His ultra-senses cut through the shadows like daylight, and he saw the shooter clearly.
An Elf.
The archer's bow was still raised, and the stunned look on his face was unmistakable. His pointed ears stood stiff, reacting almost as much as the expression frozen on his face.
A chill crawled down Kieran's spine.
He recognized the race immediately.
Elves were rare—almost mythical—but among the most dangerous beings mankind had ever encountered.
