The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3)

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Little John nodded slowly. “Now you see.”

  “I never meant to bring her harm.” He’d meant the words to come out strong, protection against the guilt gnawing on his bones. Instead, his voice came out a whisper, a plea for reassurance that the danger coming for Marian wasn’t there because of him.

  “It’s been a long time since you’ve cared enough for someone to invite them to share your life, Robin. Will and I had no ties to our old lives, nothing holding us back from walking away to join you here. Now you care about Marian and you want her to be part of your life, but you must realize that she is not like us. She does have ties to her community, she has land, a home, responsibilities, people who care about her. You cannot expect her to just walk away from that, nor can you expect her to take it kindly when you start cutting those ties for her.”

  Robin looked away, studying the rocky hill that hid his cramped quarters. It had never mattered to him that his room was cramped, little more than a hidey hole in a hill. Deep down, he’d never really intended to stay there as long as he had. But now, if he were honest with himself, he viewed that little cubby as home. Little John and Will were home. And…and perhaps Little John was right. Perhaps what he really wanted was for Marian to call this place home too.

  “She wasn’t happy with that life.”

  “And that was your choice to make, was it?”

  “It was a choice that had to be made.” He threw the pieces of the broken arrow with more force than was necessary, anger rushing to eat away the guilt, warm the chill that had started in his spine. He faced Little John then, using his rising temper to gird himself against the shifter’s disappointment. “What everyone seems to forget is that before I came along, Marian was going to lose her land anyway. That life you speak of with such reverence, the one she clings to so illogically, was going to be gone. The sheriff—madman that I’ve made him—was going to take it from her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she killed his cousin.” He narrowed his eyes. “But you knew that.”

  The shifter had that dreadful look, the one that said he was about to make a point Robin wouldn’t like. “And why did she kill his cousin? Why was she on his property? Why had she been on his property before? What gave him the leverage he needed to threaten her, to back her into a corner?”

  Robin tightened his jaw, stared into Little John’s steady brown eyes. For the first time he could remember, he wanted to strike out at the shifter. Draw his bow, let an arrow fly. Anything to make him stop looking at him like that. It wasn’t even accusation in his eyes now, it was worse. Understanding. Pity.

  “We’ve kept her waiting long enough.” He didn’t wait to see if Little John would follow him, he didn’t care one way or the other. All he wanted now was to get away from this conversation, get away from the pain twisting his heart.

  The familiar tingle of his magic washed over him as he passed through the glamour, a calming caress that reassured him his hideout remained secret. It wasn’t a long walk to Will’s lookout point, but it took a little more time than usual since he had to beware of the spies. He was almost grateful for the distraction, for something else to think about besides the presence of the shifter behind him, the weight of their conversation’s implications.

  Robin wove a quick glamour to cover them as they moved, helping them blend in with the forest floor, their green clothing melting together with the leaves that surrounded them. Still, they continued to move slowly, avoiding unnecessary noise and disturbance that might draw the attention of the iron-clad wolves.

  At last they reached the towering copper beech tree Will favored as his lookout point. Neither Marian nor her two lupine followers were anywhere in sight. Robin put a palm against the smooth bark of the beech tree, waiting for a nod from Little John before springing up, snagging a branch, and hefting himself into the upper boughs. A particularly thick batch of purple leaves hid Will from sight, only a low whistle alerting Robin to his position. He headed for the source of the sound and found Will lying on a tree branch, arms and legs bent at odd angles, making them look like misshapen twigs. The spriggan’s eyes were trained with alarming intensity on something in the distance, orange shadows drifting over the sickly yellow orbs.

  “She’ll be back ‘round in thirty seconds,” he said under his breath, never taking his eyes off his target.

  “And the wolves?”

  “Thirty seconds after that.”

  Robin shifted his weight until he found his balance on a particularly wide limb then drew an arrow from his quiver. The sleek wood caressed his finger, the tension of the bowstring strong, reassuring.

  True to Will’s prediction, Marian came into view half a minute later. Immediately he knew something was wrong. This was not his Marian, not his huntress. This woman didn’t march, she meandered. Her cloak wasn’t pinned back to keep it out of her way, wasn’t held to keep it from rustling the forest debris or catching stray branches. It hung over her like a shroud, hiding her form and most of her face. Only the red curls escaping from the hood told him it was Marian. Even then, he would have thought it an imposter if not for the bow on her back. He recognized that bow, knew the craftsmanship, the curves that spoke of the love that had created them. Marian would not give up her bow. And so, this woman was Marian.

  You did that to her.

  He clenched his teeth, trying to silence the voice in his head, trying to shove it away. Damn them all, he knew he was right. She would be better off away from that life, better off with him. He would show them all.

  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 wi
th 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.”