The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3) (5 page)

“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.

“I’ve got an arrow for everyone. Whoever would like to receive his first, please step forward.”

All three men shared a glance, Robin’s eyes shining with an emotion that looked suspiciously like delight. The
medved
shook its shaggy head, dragging its huge claws over the ground and leaving deep furrows in the dirt. The
spriggan
picked at its teeth with the tip of one wickedly curved claw then lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

“Let us not waste time on unnecessary unpleasantries.” He gestured at the cow in Ermentrude’s cloak. “You’ve obviously gone through some effort to be here on your own terms—and I do appreciate a good joke. Why not put the weapon away and tell me what it is that’s brought you here?”

His amusement grated on Marian’s nerves, already raw from trying to keep her attention split three ways. The
spriggan
smirked and took a step to the left, while the
medved
took a large step to the right. Her pulse skipped a beat, adrenaline scalding her like acid.
They’re flanking me.
It seemed that regardless of Robin’s nonchalance, his two companions were taking the situation quite seriously. Deadly seriously.

“Stop moving. I will shoot you. Both of you.
All
of you.”

“You will shoot no one.” Robin stepped closer, hand out. Some of the amusement had leeched from his face, sharpening the line of his jaw. “Stop this nonsense and just give me the crossbow.”

The
medved
 took another lumbering step. The
spriggan
hopped several paces as well. A chuckle trickled from the
spriggan’s
lips, a higher-pitched sound that she’d expected from its new size. Eyes the color of tarnished brass glittered with anticipation.

Too many teeth. Too many threats, too much movement. All smiling, mocking.

“Marian, give me the crossbow.”

She had a split second to register that he knew her name. Then he stalked toward her like a disapproving parent coming to take a child’s toy.  There was no trace of humor on his face, nothing to soften the metallic silver glint in his eyes. And on either side of him, his friends moved to close ranks.

Marian narrowed her eyes, let out a slow breath…and released an arrow.

Chapter Four

Pain ripped through Robin’s leg, the head of the arrow burrowing through flesh and muscle, scraping against bone before exploding out the other side and coming to a stomach-turning halt. Like a dressmaker’s pin thrust through a pinch of fabric, the arrow remained in his calf, filling the air with the coppery scent of blood—and the outraged bellows of a furious
medved
and a bloodthirsty
spriggan
.

Little John reared up onto his powerful hind legs with an organ-vibrating roar. Arms thicker than a man’s thighs extended, brandishing huge claws that could turn a body into so much meat in the blink of an eye. His mouth gaped open, displaying a mouthful of thick yellow teeth. His eyes held no trace of the human he had been moments ago, no hint of the level-headed giant that was so often Robin’s voice of reason.

A side glance revealed Will had gone feral as well, his eyes glittering like a chest of pirate gold, saliva running freely from his mouth to drip onto the forest floor. He bobbed in place on the balls of his feet, ready to launch his considerable bulk at the huntress who had so unknowingly tapped into a bloodlust too long unsated.

“No!”

The word exploded from Robin’s lips, a barked order that held the full weight of his authority, his power. He cast his arms out to the sides, the agony in his leg a mere distraction as he fixed his gaze on the woman who’d shot him. He didn’t look to make sure his companions listened. They would listen.

The throbbing in his leg grew worse, the skin pinching with every movement. The arrow grew bloodier with every drop flowing from his veins to drip from its head and paint its shaft.  His own temper flared to life, heated his words as they formed low in his throat.

“There are very few souls in this forest who would dare what you have dared this night. Who would offer me the
insult
that you have.”

Marian’s face remained as impassive as stone, her jaw tight and her crossbow steady in her grip. “I have two more arrows ready to go, should either of your friends feel left out. Or perhaps you’d like to take another step? You’ve got a second leg after all. We could make them a matching set.”

Robin reached inside himself, felt for the warm swell of the power that fueled his glamour. His senses expanded, radiating out to soak in the details of the world around him. The scent of his blood, the damp earth, the moss-lined trees. The sight of the darkening sky, the shadows that stretched over the forest floor. The sounds of Will’s steady humming, Little John’s rolling growl, and Marian’s calm, even breathing. Every detail melted into his core, bubbled up into a froth of power. “So brave, for such a delicate being.”

He released the power, painting a glamour over the clearing. A mirror image of everything, an extra layer of reality that mimicked every detail down to the last hair on his head. As the image snapped into place, Robin darted forward, his movement hidden behind the glamour that showed everything as it had been.  The pain in his leg dug deeper, punishing him for the hasty movement, but he ignored it as he snatched the crossbow from Marian’s grip. Her eyes were still narrowed on the false image, and they flew open as he closed his hand around her throat. The look of shock on her face was too precious, the feel of her warm skin too promising. He threw her crossbow into the woods and walked her backward until her back slammed against the tree. 

“You should have run,” he rasped, his voice roughened by the pain eating at his vision.

She tightened her jaw. “I do not run unless I am chasing something. Or someone.”

“Your words would hold more weight if you weren’t forcing them past the hand I have wrapped around your windpipe. But the glare in your lovely green eyes helped them along nicely.” He leaned closer, the amusement draining from his face until all she would see was the pain pulling at the skin around his eyes, and the slight glow of his temper that would make his eyes shine. “It’s really too bad you shot me. I think we could have been great…friends.”

He tightened his grip on her throat with every pulse of pain through his leg, watching her face flush with the need to breathe. Her arms vibrated with tension at her sides as with obvious effort she kept herself from grabbing his hand and trying to tear it from her throat.

“Did you…a favor.”

Robin put his ear to her mouth to hear the strangled words, the bone of her jaw pressing into his fingers. “Did you say you did me a favor?”

She tried to nod, but it was a scant movement, pinned to the tree trunk as she was. Curiosity took the edge off his temper and he loosened his grip, just enough to allow her to speak more easily.

“What favor?”

“‘When was the last time any…of us shed more than a…measly ounce of blood.’”

His eyebrows lifted at hearing his own words repeated back at him. He laughed softly and leaned back, studying the bold redhead with new eyes. Her hair clung to the rough bark of the tree, the wood combing strands of orange crimson from the severe plait. Her eyes sparked cold fire, a vision of his untimely end shining in their depths. Her cheeks were still flushed a dangerously deep shade of red, the strain of restricted breathing all too plain. Despite her obvious pain and the panic that usually came with having one’s airflow threatened, she clenched her teeth as she met his inspection, throat straining as she tried to swallow past his grip.

“You’re welcome,” she croaked.

“Ha!” Robin released her abruptly, stepping back as her legs gave out and spilled her to the ground. Her cloak flared up, giving the illusion for a moment that she was melting into a puddle of chocolate.

Great, now I’m hungry.

Thoughts of chocolate turned his mind to Sanguennay. Sanguennay made him think of the strange witch and her promise to him that Marian LaFey held some wonderful secret that would cure his boredom—at least for a time. He studied the woman in question as she recovered quickly, hauling herself to her feet and pressing back against the tree for support. Her fingers dug into her thighs, like she was resolutely avoiding her abused throat that even now was darkening with impressions of his fingerprints. Several wild curls waved about her head, free of their captivity and flaring about her like radiant sunbeams.

What would it be like to see that hair completely unbound? Spilling onto the grass, perhaps beneath the moonlight…

“If you continue to look at me like that, I’ll be needing my crossbow back.”

Only every other word made it out, the rest lost to the hoarseness that came with near-strangulation, but the thought would have been clear from her expression alone. Eyes narrowed to slits, skin over her jaw leaping about as if the muscle would tear itself from her face to strangle him itself. Robin winked at her, but decided to let his delightfully carnal fantasy go. For the moment.

He shifted on his feet. Torn flesh screamed at him, hot agony lancing through his leg. He winced and sucked in a sharp breath. Marian smiled, triumph painted in every line of her face, and Robin ground his teeth as he flexed his fingers, ready to snatch her neck again, this time with a far less gentle touch.

“You have a strange way of behaving before you ask someone for help.” He forced himself to stand straight even as his leg wailed in torment. “Four hundred pounds is not a pittance, you know.”

Every muscle in Marian’s body stilled. Even her hair seemed to freeze. “How did you know the amount of my
eric?”

Robin smiled. “A little fox told me.”

Marian’s eyes flashed. Robin called his power again, summoning the same glamour he’d worn to meet her as a trader, painting his face with the same lines, loading his back with the same bundle of pelts. His whimsical green tunic faded to drab grey, the rich color muted to cloth worn ragged by time and hard work. Marian’s emerald eyes grew impossibly wider and her lips parted.

“You. You’re the one who told me to come here, told me that I could find help…from you.”

The spriggan, Will, laughed, a semi-hysterical sound that had no business coming from a body that size. Skin the color of aged cheese wrinkled with his glee and his lips spread to flash more sharp teeth. “A fine mess you’ve made for yourself then, lass. You’ll get no help from him now.”

“Now, now, Will, do not be rude. Of course we are going to help this fair lady.” Robin forced himself to walk on the injured leg, to show no pain, no weakness. He scooped up the fat purse they’d taken from an even fatter tax collector and loosened the silken drawstrings. “Four hundred pounds I think it was?”

Gold coins glittered in his palm as he held them up between himself and Marian. He waited until her eyes had locked onto the money, then without breaking eye contact, scattered the coins through the clearing with one flick of his hand. Marian jerked forward, realized what she’d done, and threw herself back against the tree with enough force to rattle her teeth. Her eyes burned with hatred as he repeated the process with the rest of the coins, flinging them about until the clearing seemed filled with golden rain. Will lost himself to a fit of giggles, broad shoulders quaking with mirth, but the bear that was Little John just snuffed an ursine sigh and shook his massive head.

When all the coins were sparkling in the grass like fireflies on a dark night, Robin strode back to Marian. “Gather your four hundred pounds. When you’re finished, we will have dinner and discuss the terms of repayment.”

No words escaped her lips, but they would have been redundant if they had. Her features were so expressive, they told him more clearly than any speech what was going through her mind. She wanted to tell him exactly what he could do with those coins. She wanted to scream at him—definitively wanted to shoot him again. The conflict played out on her face like a bloody war, the need to make him pay for his insult battling the knowledge that without the four hundred pounds, she would only face a similarly smug male face tomorrow. The kingdom of Meropis had a saying apropos to the situation—“between Scylla and Charybdis.” Robin wasn’t completely clear on who Scylla and Charybdis were, but he imagined they were two equally disagreeable females.

Finally, Marian’s gaze dropped like a lead fishing weight, her gaze dragging the ground as she took a small, but defiant step toward a particularly thick patch of gold. Robin chuckled as she passed him. Her shoulders sagged like a wet hat—a perfect picture of defeat.