The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3) (26 page)

The wolves crept out of the brush. Robin had to give them credit, if he hadn’t been waiting for them, he might have missed them. They moved with slow, deliberate steps, sharp eyes locked on their prey. Every bush and low-hanging branch was taken advantage of, used for cover as they slunk along the forest floor. Tracking their prey. Tracking Marian.

Robin recognized the sheriff’s lackeys, the silver beast with the amber eyes and its caramel colored companion with eyes the shade of pale mint. They were the long arm of the sheriff, the means with which he so often dealt with anyone he hadn’t deemed worthy of a trial, of evidence, of
justice.
And now he had sent them after Marian.

Robin loosed two arrows one right after the other. They sailed past the branches and leaves with a soft hiss and buried themselves in the foreleg of each wolf in turn. The beasts yelped in pain and surprise, and grim satisfaction warmed Robin’s chest. The silver wolf hopped in an effort to take the weight off its injured leg and lost its footing completely, falling over and smacking its head into the unforgiving trunk of an oak. It crumpled to the ground, the thin fur of its forehead pink with a wide smear of blood.

The force of the projectile knocked the caramel wolf onto its side. Blood welled up around the shaft, flowing faster as the beast twisted its body, baring sharp teeth as it snapped at the arrow.

Go ahead and try to get it out. You’ll only do more damage in the process. Jaws were not meant for such work.

The will o’ wisp took advantage of the wolves’ distraction and sailed through the air with increased speed, barreling through the trees and out of sight. Marian half flew after it, her speed belying the shambling gait of a moment ago. A spark of hope flickered inside Robin, hope that perhaps his huntress might not have as dim a view of her future as Little John seemed to. The hood of her cloak fell back, revealing a long red braid surrounded by escaping curls. One hand groped for the hood to replace it, but she was out of his line of sight before he could see if she succeeded or not.

“Keep an eye on the wolves, make sure they don’t follow us.”

Will grinned at Robin, yellow eyes reflecting the ebbing sunlight. “And if they try?”

“Make sure they don’t succeed.”

Normally, he would have been more specific, would have left no room for Will to let his bloodthirst lead him down a path that strayed from the good work they were doing. But right now, he cared more about Marian, about getting to her side, seeing her, speaking with her. Reassuring himself that she was all right.

 When he caught up with Marian, she was standing at the edge of a bog. Ground that was more water than land oozed around the trunks of trees covered in brilliant green moss. Shadows flickered over the trunks, reflections of light off the dark water. It was the sort of scene horror stories were made of.

The bog wasn’t real. It was a glamour, something Robin had created to cover the true ground of his camp, to discourage passersby from wandering too close. The will o’ wisp floated past the border of the glamour, disappearing in what seemed like the blink of an eye. The wee one would be unaffected by the glamour he’d laid over this place, thanks to the not-quite-there consciousness that flickered and relied less heavily on physical sensory input. Marian took a step after the golden ball of light, then stopped, her foot hovering over the murky water.

Robin opened his mouth to assure her that the bog was mere illusion, but she found her courage first, plunged past the barrier and disappeared. He let out the breath he’d been about to speak with, rolling his eyes at his timing. He shook his head and jogged through the glamour after Marian—

—and almost ran smack into her just as the last shiver of magic faded from his skin.

Marian spun to face him, quick-drawing a bow and arrow. Her form was impeccable, her aim deadly. The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile, a perverse pleasure washing over him at the familiarity of being threatened by his huntress. Her red hair flared in a sudden wind like a living flame, and he was drawn a step forward, momentarily forgetting the arrow pointed at his chest. Then his attention fell to her face and he froze.

For once he wished her face was not so easy to read, so terribly expressive. Perhaps then he wouldn’t see her rage etched into every hard line around her eyes, the painful set to her jaw. He wouldn’t notice how pale she was despite her run, wouldn’t know with such certainty that she was scared. But then, he would still have to face his reflection in her eyes. Eyes held wide as if to close them would lead to tears.

The arrow remained perfectly steady, unapologetically centered on his heart. “I was being watched, wasn’t I?”

Her voice was low, almost a whisper. There was more in the question than a demand to know if the wolves had been creeping after her. She was a judge asking for a plea, the wicked arrowhead the penalty for a guilty verdict. It was obviously not lost on her what it would mean if the sheriff had taken an interest in her.

Little John was right.

His skin itched, his nerves writhing in anticipation of the shot. Slowly, very slowly, he replaced his bow on his back, let his hands fall limp at his sides. “Yes. Two wolves.”

She pulled the arrow back another millimeter, the shine in her eyes glittering, water pooling in the corners. “That’s it then. It’s over, I can’t go back.”

Robin’s breath stilled, the entire world grinding to a halt as the string of her bow sang with tension. The shot wouldn’t kill him, there was no iron in the projectile. But it was going to hurt…

The arrow jerked up at the last second, sailing over his shoulder. It flew with furious speed, a wooden
thunk
telling him it had found a tree. His shoulders sagged, his breath rushing out in a loud whoosh. He let out a nervous laugh, but before he could do more than that, Marian grabbed the hood of her cloak and jerked it up. The generous material settled down, falling to cover her entire face except for her chin. She whirled away from him, marching down the hill with the will o’ wisp bobbling along behind her.

Heavy footsteps warned him of Little John’s approach. He didn’t look at the shifter, didn’t want to see the “I told you so” that would be in his eyes. He squared his shoulders, ignoring the sickening roll of his stomach, and jogged after her.

“Marian, it’s going to be all right.”

She slowed, stopped.

He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed it reassuringly. “You can sta—”

“Little John,” she said loudly, “is there somewhere I could clean up a bit? Perhaps get a drink of water?”

Robin withdrew his hand, glanced behind him at the shifter. Little John blinked, but quickly ambled down the hill to stand next to Marian. “Of course.” He gave Robin a pointed look as he passed. “Come with me.”

“I can show you—” Robin started.

“That is not necessary.”

Her voice held barely-restrained emotion, though it was difficult to tell if it was thickened by tears or anger. Her body gave him no clues either, covered as it was by the long folds of her cloak. He stood there, immobilized by the war inside him, the battle between guilt for the pain he’d caused her, and affront that she seemed intent on ignoring him.

“Robin, I’ll show her.”

There was a warning in Little John’s voice. Always a warning. Warnings and I told you sos.

Anger won out. It flared hot and bright, shoving Robin forward, putting him directly in front of Marian. He grabbed the edge of her hood and threw it back, baring her face to him in a grand revelation. Her eyes glittered like melting emeralds, the evidence of her pain painted in wet stripes over pale cheeks. Despite her tears, she met his eyes without hesitation, her jaw jutting out at him in defiance.

He gritted his teeth, steeling himself against the compassion that threatened to dull his resolve. “I will show you to your quarters, because you are
my
guest.”

Her eyes narrowed, spilling more tears down her cheeks, and she opened her mouth. He stepped closer, crowded her until she closed her mouth and took a step back. Her green eyes flashed, lips tightening into a thin line.

Yes, that’s it. Get angry.
“Whatever has happened, however things have changed, we will deal with it. And you will let me help you because that is why you are here and not off wandering the forest alone.”

She looked away, but he grabbed her chin, forced her to look at him.

“If you thought you were going to come here to hide and then ignore me, perhaps wallow in self-pity, then you were sadly mistaken. I despise seeing you unhappy—it’s a poor look for you and I don’t like it.” He hesitated, noticing the dark circles under her eyes, the sweat at her temples. When he continued, his voice was less sure, some of his bluster stolen by the evidence of her distress. “I’ve caused you a great deal of trouble—more than I intended. It was careless of me.” He tightened his grip on her chin. “But do not mistake that carelessness for indifference. I do care about your happiness, Marian.”

There was a flicker of doubt in her eyes, one brief moment when he thought that maybe she finally believed him. She leaned forward and he held his breath, hoping…

Then it was gone and she jerked her face from his grasp.

“You care
nothing
for my happiness.” Her voice was hoarse, as if scraped over a bed of sharp emotions. Her eyes watered anew, but there was fire there now as well. Anger to match the pain. “I told you to leave me alone,
begged
you to leave me alone, but you refused. Your amusement, your
damning need
to know my secret was far more important to you than my welfare. At least admit that.”

“I will not.” He crossed his arms, ignoring the wide-eyed look that had come over Little John. “It is you who should admit that your welfare is no more in danger now than it was before.”

Her jaw dropped and he shook his head, cutting off the protest he could feel coming.

“There is more than one way to die, Marian, more than one way to be persecuted, hunted down. You forget that I watched you, that I saw how miserable you were. You were constantly plagued by people who remembered your foster parents’ wishes for you, who in an attempt to honor your parents’ memory sought to shape the same life for you that they wanted you to have. You were dying, Marian. Make no mistake about that.”

She looked away, but he got in front of her again, not touching her, but not letting her shut him out either. If ever there was a time to go for broke…

“I dragged you kicking and screaming out of that life. And perhaps that wasn’t my place, but then I don’t worry about such things. I insert myself into a great many lives, and whatever chaos I might cause, I do some good as well. And I would do good for you if you’d only let me.”

“I don’t want to let you!” she snarled.

“Then that is unfortunate, because right now, I am all you have.”

She clenched her hands into fists, bow still gripped tightly in one hand, body trembling as if she didn’t know whether to run from him, or punch him in the face. “What do you want from me? What would it take to make you see that I don’t want your help?”

He didn’t have an answer for that, hadn’t anticipated the question. Nervous energy hummed against his skin, the need to respond conflicting with his brain’s complete lack of preparedness. The answer came to him suddenly, and he spoke before it could get away.

“Give me a chance. A real chance. Stop fighting me, stop pushing me away, and let me show you an alternative to the life you’ve been trying to force on yourself. Don’t play along, don’t humor me. Really try. Three days. If you still hate me after three days, if you still want to go back to the life you had, then I will walk away. I’ll even help you get your old life back.”

“I could never get my old life back,” Marian whispered. She grasped the edges of her cloak, pulled them closed and held them as if she could protect herself from everything that had happened. “I’ve been marked a criminal and a non-human because of you. I could never go back, and even if I did, the sheriff—”

Robin held up a hand. “Marian, please do not trouble yourself with what is possible. Not right now. Give me my three days first, and try to have faith that I would not say I would help you get your old life back if I did not believe I could deliver on that promise.”

“How?”

“It does not matter how. Ask Little John if you don’t believe me.”

Without hesitation, she looked at the shifter and the stiffness in her muscles eased a little, her body language opening up. Little John sighed and rubbed the back of his head, dragging his hand around to scratch at his jaw. “If he says he can do it, then you can believe him. It may not be the most cleanly-executed plan, but he would truly not offer if he didn’t believe he could do it.”

Robin stepped between them, an irrational annoyance scalding him that she trusted Little John’s word more than his. “I have not lied to you yet. I have not been anything but completely, brutally, honest.”

She stared at him silently for several long minutes. Little John stood next to them, brown gaze sliding back and forth from Marian to Robin, the disapproval that had creased his face fading, eyebrows rising as he saw Marian actually consider Robin’s proposal. Finally, she looked away from him, studying her surroundings.

“This hidden place of yours. It is protected from humans…and other fey?”

Robin kept his surprise from his face, intrigued that she would be worried about other fey. “Yes.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, bowed her head. After another long minute she let out a breath and nodded. “All right then. Three days.”

Despite the gravity of the past hour, Robin couldn’t help but grin. The promise of what the next three days would hold stirred excitement inside him the likes of which he hadn’t felt in too long, beckoned him with a true challenge. He shot forward and grabbed Marian by the waist, laughing when she squeaked in surprise and grabbed his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he swung her around.

“My dear Marian, we are going to have some fun.”