Page 120 of Claimed By the Bikers

“Now help Connor collect arrows,” I instruct.

They race off together, Connor explaining proper arrow retrieval technique while Caleb tries to turn it into a competitive game. Watching them, I’m struck by how perfectly they complement each other—Connor’s caution balancing Caleb’s boldness, Caleb’s enthusiasm encouraging Connor’s confidence.

“They’re good boys,” Evie observes, climbing down from the fence.

“They’re exhausting boys.”

“Same thing, really. Good boys keep you on your toes.”

Silas approaches with his apprentices trailing behind, all of them covered in metal dust and grinning with satisfaction. “Class dismissed for today. Remember, practice makes perfect, but safety makes it possible to practice tomorrow.”

The teenagers nod respectfully before heading toward town, probably to show off their new metalworking skills to friends and family.

“How did they do?” I ask.

“Excellent. Two of them have real talent. The others have enthusiasm, which is almost as valuable.”

“Speaking of enthusiasm,” Atlas says, nodding toward our sons, who are now attempting to use arrows as swords in an elaborate battle against imaginary dragons.

“Boys!” I call out. “Arrows are not swords!”

“But dragons!” Caleb protests.

“Dragons are defeated by smart planning and teamwork, not by sword fighting.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Mama used to fight dragons for a living,” Garrett says with a perfectly straight face.

Both boys turn to stare at me with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Really. And the secret to defeating dragons is never giving them a fair fight.”

“What’s a fair fight?” Connor asks.

“One where both sides have equal chances of winning.”

“That’s not fun,” Caleb declares.

“Winning is fun. Fair fights are for people who don’t have families to protect.”

Atlas moves to stand behind me, hands settling on my shoulders with familiar warmth. “Your mama is very good at protecting our family.”

“Are there still dragons?” Connor asks, because of course he wants comprehensive intelligence on potential threats.

“Not the fire-breathing kind,” I assure him. “But there are still people who want to hurt good families, so Mama and your daddies stay ready to protect you.”

“Will you teach us to fight dragons?” Caleb asks with the kind of enthusiasm that suggests he’s already planning his first dragon-hunting expedition.

“When you’re older. For now, you protect our family by being safe and listening to instructions.”

“And by giving the best hugs in Wolf Pike,” Silas adds, scooping both boys into his arms simultaneously.

Their delighted laughter fills the evening air as he spins them around the archery range. Connor shrieks with joy while Caleb demands to be spun faster, higher, more dangerously.

“Dinner!” Garrett calls from the restaurant’s back door. “And it’s getting cold!”

We gather our equipment and head inside, boys racing ahead while their three fathers follow at a more reasonable pace. The restaurant buzzes with evening energy—locals finishing work, travelers stopping for food, Black Wolves members conducting quiet business at corner tables.