The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3)

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Marian halted, body vibrating like a tuning fork. Her shoulders rose and fell a little faster with each labored breath.

  That’s right, pretty one, get angry. And a little interest wouldn’t kill you either. “Yes, well, I’ll be going then.” He set off at a sedate, but steady pace, not bothering to hide his smile anymore. The skin between his shoulders itched with the weight of Marian’s stare.

  “Wait.”

  He stopped, but didn’t turn to face her, merely tilted his head to the side to show he was listening.

  “This Robin Hood your cousin spoke of. Where is he?”

  “In the center of the wood, where the ash crosses limbs with the rowan and the willow. It’s not far from here.”

  Marian was silent for so long Robin thought she might have left. He was just about to give in to the urge to turn around and see for himself when she spoke again.

  “And what price did he ask of your cousin for this loan?”

  Hearing that sultry and still semi-angry voice without seeing her face was too much. Robin turned, smoothing his smile to look more casual, not quite so predatory. “Nothing. He gave my cousin the money and told him to pay it back in his own good time—never if that suited him.” He shrugged. “It seems Robin Hood has very little need for gold.”

  Marian’s eyes grew distant and she bit her lip. “I wonder.”

  “According to my cousin, Robin Hood can be found at those trees when the sun sets. That is all I know.” Robin turned, leaving the huntress to her thoughts.

  Until tonight, Lady Marian.

  Chapter Three

  “Robin Hood can be found at those trees when the sun sets.”

  The fur trader’s words echoed in Marian’s head as she prowled through a myriad of twisted tree trunks and high arching roots. Dry twigs and leaves dared her to keep her silence, threatening to give away her position with every step. Every footfall was planned, every shift of her weight slow and calculated to make the least amount of noise so that she could catch her quarry unaware. She moved her gaze back and forth in smooth, steady sweeps, searching the forest for the three trees the trader had spoken of.

  It was close. She remembered that fallen birch, the raven’s nest tucked in the slender silver vee of its highest branches. She paused, searching her memory. She’d come into the woods immediately after speaking with the trader, wanting to find the spot he’d spoken of for herself, to get the lay of the land before meeting with this Robin Hood. The sun had been barely sliding to her right then, and it was nearly sunset now, so that meant the clearing was…

  Marian pulled the hood of her brown cloak down farther, hiding as much of her pale skin as she could. Her red hair was plaited so tight it tugged uncomfortably at the corners of her eyes, the wild strands oiled down in the hopes the plait would hold a little longer, would keep those chaotic crimson strands from sticking out every which way like beacons to whatever predator wanted to find her.

  “That was not as entertaining as I’d hoped.”

  The voice was faint, carried from the base of the rowan in the distance. Her heart fluttered as she studied the nearby fallen willow tree, its trunk as wide as a mountain troll, split open and partially hollowed by the elements. Not twenty feet away, an ash leaned, trunk severely tilted by the force of some long gone wind, the top of its branches reaching toward the willow like a warrior bending to help a fallen comrade. Over them both stood a rowan with branches that stretched in a broad, protective canopy, its limbs curving down to encompass the other two trees like a mother cradling her children. Bright green moss coated the trunk and limbs of all three, painting them with the same vibrant blanket and giving the entire setting a distinctly magical feel. These trees were somehow more…alive than the others. The energy was different here.

  What are you, Robin Hood?

  The thought came to her suddenly, with a gut-wrenching sensation that she was playing with forces better left alone. How often had she heard stories of the fey, stories of foolish humans who’d been stupid enough to believe the promises of inhuman would-be benefactors? And now here she was, falling into the same trap. If she had any sense at all, she’d turn around now.

  “Not entertaining? Getting a little hard to please, aren’t we?”

  A different voice this time, more nasally. It drew a fingernail over her nerves, sent shivers down her spine and raised the hair on the back of her neck. Marian set her jaw. She hated being scared, hated anything that inspired that cursed emotion. She gripped her crossbow a little tighter, finger caressing the trigger in a self-soothing, rhythmic motion. Unlike her recurve bow, the repeating crossbow would give her three shots in near-simultaneous succession. Perfect for multiple targets.

  Inch by inch, she crept closer, the ends of her cloak tucked around her arms so it wouldn’t rustle the forest debris as she moved. Huddled in the safety of its folds, she peered around the trunk of a broad oak that stood just before the strange clearing.

  A man reclined at the base of the rowan, almost hidden by the slant of the fallen willow’s trunk. He was dressed entirely in green, from his tunic to his leggings to the boots that gripped his sculpted calves. Lean muscles bound a frame that, even folded as it was, looked to be taller than her own considerable six foot height. Long white-blond hair hung as straight as wet silk, framing ears that came to a subtle, but distinct point.

  Fey. Marian’s heart pounded a bruising, panicked beat against her chest wall. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She edged back a step, fighting to think through the sudden panic turning her thoughts to mud. The bravado of before, the urge to take on what scared her, shriveled up and died somewhere deep inside her. She could not get involved with a fey. Not for any reason, not when it might lead… Not when…

  She swallowed hard, feet turning to stone before she could retreat. Four hundred pounds was a great deal of money, more than she could ever spare—especially with the condition it be paid tomorrow. If there was any chance this Robin would help her…

  “He was carrying at least five hundred pounds, Robin.”

  The voice that had spoken last seemed to have no body, at least none that she could see. Biting the inside of her cheek, Marian settled down again, and narrowed her eyes, examining every branch, searching for the owner of the voice.

  There.

  A young man hung from one of the ash’s thick branches, his slender legs curved over the limb to keep him dangling effortlessly with his face a good five feet above Robin. His eyes were slanted, mere slits that held no irises, but were one solid almond shape the color of wet soil. His smile was too wide, splitting his face in a not altogether pleasant manner, and his ears curled out to either side like twisted parchment, long and more pointed than Robin’s. His clothing hung loosely about his body, as if they didn’t belong to him but had been taken from a much larger creature.

  Robin eyed the belt suspended from his upraised hand, poking at it with his finger to jingle the gaudy gold chain threaded around it. The thick leather was finely crafted and looked exquisite all on its own, the gold decoration wholly unnecessary. Based on the way it barely swung as he held it in the air, it must’ve had a decent weight. It could very well hold five hundred pounds.

  “You seemed to find it funny watching him try to run away with his pants falling down.”

  Another voice, this one much deeper, a low, growling base. A hulking figure lumbered out from the shadows of the trees, wide shoulders twice the width of Robin, and at least three times as wide as the skinny boy in the tree. His brown hair was streaked with gold and hung down past his shoulders, merging with a long, full beard that touched the top of his chest. Unlike his dangling companion, this man’s clothes clung to his body with the sort of desperation that suggested a button may launch itself at any moment. Despite his bulk, his solid gait and easy movement suggested a great deal of his considerable girth was muscle. He pressed his back against the trunk of the widest tree in the circle, the leaning wood groaning as he chased an itch.

  “
They’re all the same, Little John.” Robin’s expression waxed into boredom as the belt fell into the thick grass of the clearing with hardly a sound, the shift of metal muffled by the tender green blades. “I can’t remember the last man to give us a good fight, the last challenge. Why, when was the last time any of us shed more than a measly ounce of blood, hmm? When was the last time someone nearly died at the blade of a greedy noble, or a disreputable trader?”

  “Not all of us are as pleased with mortal wounds as you are, Robin.” The man hanging from the tree branch shook his head. “Then again, perhaps it’s more fun when you’re not mortal.”

  Robin arched an eyebrow at the speaker. “Silly Will. Don’t you know that there are things ever so much worse than death?”

  “Like boredom?”

  A sigh drew itself from the depths of Robin’s being, sending him down to collapse on the ground with an unceremonious thud. “Well said.”

  “I told you this wasn’t going to last.”

  There was enough heat in Little John’s voice to start a forest fire. Marian tightened her grip on her crossbow as the bear of a man heaved himself off the trunk of the stressed tree, the wood creaking in relief. He took one huge step toward Robin, face darkening like dry parchment kissed by flame.

  “I knew you wouldn’t last a decade. I should have stayed home, kept to my territory.” He threaded a hand through his thick brown beard, jerking it in sharp, agitated tugs. “I’ll have lost the territory now. No doubt it’s been claimed by someone else. I’ll have another challenge fight to go through—you know how I hate those. I’m getting too old for thi—”

  “Hold on now, I never said I was leaving!” Robin stared up through the thick canopy of leaves that shielded them from the fading rays of the sun. “I’m not leaving, not yet. Just a little bored that’s all.” He flicked something off his tunic. “Besides, it has been nearly nine years. You act like I gave up after a couple of days.”

  Little John crossed his arms, muscles bulging to strain the seams of his simple cotton shirt. “Nine years is little more than a couple of days to a sidhe.”

  Marian nearly choked at the sound of that word. Dear Goddess, not a sidhe.

  “Well, you can’t have expected me to anticipate you would realize that.” Robin spread out his arms, sliding them through the grass. “I will stay, I’m not saying I’m giving up. I just need—”

  “Quiet,” Little John said suddenly.

  Robin wrinkled his nose. “Most certainly not, you know I hate quiet—”

  “Quiet!”

  Little John held perfectly still. His warning had a similar effect on his two companions, and suddenly all three of them were frozen like topiaries, gazes sharpened as they peered into the trees. Marian followed the direction of their scrutiny, then smothered a groan as she realized what had caught their attention.

  Too late to back out now.

  Snapping twigs, rustling leaves. She was coming. Marian’s heart leapt into her throat, a sheen of sweat wetting her temples. She’d forgotten about her. If she was going to approach Robin, she’d have to do it now, have to go through with her plan.

  Time to make a choice.

  Little John’s nose twitched. “A woman. Coming closer.”

  “A woman?”

  “She came then. She’s here.” A smile blossomed on Robin’s face, lighting his features as no sunlight ever could. The expression gave his eyes a shine that promised mischief and more fun than it was wise to have. Marian blinked, shook herself when she realized she’d been staring.

  “Who’s here?”

  Will’s question fell on deaf ears as Robin straightened to his full height, brushing at his clothes in a manner that came suspiciously close to primping. Marian quirked an eyebrow at his preening, the tension bleeding from her muscles. The decision was made, no reason to worry about it now. Only way to go was forward.

  The branches of the thick trees that formed a sea of green around the clearing parted. A hint of a woman’s cloak, pale blue, and…hooves.

  Robin’s jaw dropped, an expression mirrored by his companions. Marian covered her mouth with her fingertips, resolving herself not to chuckle as a pale brown cow stepped out of the forest. Bessy, one of Marian’s favorites for her sweet temperament, willingness to follow direction…and near-suicidal obliviousness when it came to danger. After scouting the area earlier, Marian had left a subtle trail of rosehips—Bessy’s favorite treat—that led from her pasture to this clearing. There’d been no guarantee that it would work, but here she was.

  Bessy’s white muzzle shifted as she chewed on a bit of foliage, calm chocolate eyes indifferent to her audience. She flicked her ears a few times, stirring the mop of hair that fell over her forehead then dropped her head to root around for another rosehip.

  “Little John?”

  “Yes, Robin?”

  “Is that cow wearing a woman’s cloak?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  Steeling herself for what was coming, Marian crept through the trees toward the clearing. She glanced through a parting in the trees, saw Robin furrow his brow, drum the fingers of his right arm over the swell of his left biceps. “And is that something humans are doing nowadays? Dressing their livestock?”

  “I don’t believe so, Robin. Will?”

  “Not that I’ve seen.” Will released his legs’ grip on the tree branch, flipping in the air and landing gracefully on his feet. He took a step toward the cow. “I believe this may be an anomaly.”

  Bessy continued to ignore them, though she did keep one ear cautiously turned in their direction. Marian rolled her eyes. In all likelihood, Bessy’s concern didn’t reach beyond the possibility that one of these strangers may be after her rosehips. The bovine was truly the dumbest—sweetest—member of the herd. Shaking her head, Marian kept creeping around the clearing, toward the tree Will had just abandoned.

  “This wouldn’t be the female you were expecting?”

  Robin shot Little John a dirty look. “No.”

  “Could it be some sort of glamour?” Will asked.

  Robin carefully trailed a finger over the animal’s hide. Bessy flicked her tail, but accepted his inspection with good humor. Marian took a deep breath, held it, and crept around the circle of trees. Bessy was doing her part with the distraction. Now it was up to her to make use of it.

  “This is no glamour.”

  No kidding. She pressed her body against the trunk of the ash, listening carefully, visualizing their positions in her mind.

  “Are you sure?” Little John asked doubtfully.

  “There is no one better at glamour than I am,” Robin snapped. “I’m telling you, this is just a cow!”

  “Then what is it doing here, dressed in a woman’s cloak?” Little John snapped back.

  “How should I know? Maybe it’s cold.”

  “Maybe it’s a pet?” Will suggested.

  Marian lifted the crossbow, checking that the three arrows she’d loaded were straight and ready. Then she blew out a breath, counted to three, and swung her body around the tree, keeping the trunk at her back. “Maybe it’s a diversion.”

  As one, Robin and his companions whirled around. Marian kept the crossbow trained on the sidhe, holding the other two in her peripheral vision. The knave in green had the nerve to wink at her, a grin sliding over his handsome face as he ignored her weapon and dragged his gaze down her body from head to toe. A flash of Guy’s leering face flickered through her mind and she gritted her teeth, caressing the trigger of the crossbow.

  Before she could open her mouth to say anything, Little John’s eyes brightened from brown to amber. His skin grew fuzzy and his face bulged outward, lips turning black and curling up to reveal teeth much longer than they’d been a moment before. Marian’s eyes widened as claws as thick as her thumb sprouted from his fingertips and a wave of shaggy copper-brown fur flooded over his body. Muscles swelled, bones popped, and clothing tore. In what felt like the blink of an eye, she found herself looki
ng at a full-sized grizzly bear.

  A medved.

  The urge to turn the crossbow to the medved was almost overwhelming, but Marian clenched her teeth and kept it locked firmly on Robin. He was the ringleader, the sidhe. He was the one to watch.

  “Hello, pretty girl.”

  Will’s voice was a lilting, high-pitched jeer, the sound grating on Marian’s nerves. She didn’t take the bait, resolutely kept her aim on Robin, witnessing a second metamorphosis from the corner of her eye. The scrawny lad of a moment ago was growing, muscles thickening, chest heaving as it doubled in width, tripled, quadrupled. The clothes that had hung so pathetically from his frame before were now strained, threads groaning with the slightest movement. Black eyes peered at her from a face much larger than it had been before, the mouth full of teeth sharper than any human’s.

  A spriggan.

  “You’re early.”

  Robin’s casual voice seemed at odds with his companions’ new threatening visages. He took a step forward, his gait casual, unconcerned, and held out his arms. “Welcome to Sherwood. My little home away from home. Might I take your cloak? Will, do start a fire, won’t you? It’s getting dark and we need a little more light so that I can properly—”

  “What do you mean I’m early?”

  The smile on Robin’s face turned brittle, but didn’t fall away.

  Marian narrowed her eyes, settling the crossbow more firmly in her grip even as dread rolled like a leviathan in her stomach. “How did you know I was coming?”

  “Now, now, just put the crossbow down. I wouldn’t want my friends to think you were threatening me.”

  Robin waved a hand at the medved and the spriggan, a flutter of fingers as if he were gesturing at a pair of lovely necklaces he wanted to sell her. Marian ground her teeth, anger eating up her fear.