Page 30 of Princess of Thieves

LJ turns to me and shuts the door. “I won’t let any of them come in here,” he says. “Not unless you say it’s okay.”

“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”

Then it hits me.

At first, it’s like I’ve missed a step coming up the stairs. Then, like the floor is sliding from under me. Vertigo—wicked and steep—and the tingling rush in my ears. My fingers clamp so hard around the envelope that I’m almost ripping the paper. I take a staggering step forward, flinging out a hand, which lands right on LJ’s chest.

He wraps a hand around my wrist, not too hard—just supportive. When I tip my dizzy gaze up to his face, his features are etched with concern. His eyebrows lifted, his lips slightly parted.

“It’s happening,” he says. “Again. You’re—”

“I’m fine,” I cut him off.

His grip around my wrist tightens. He lowers my arm to my side and grips his other hand around my waist. “No lying,” he orders. “You don’t need to impress me, Princess. You’re tough as shit—just knowing what you’ve been through the last few weeks, let alone what those assholes put you through.” He flicks a glance in the direction of the house. “You sit.”

He guides me over to a low armchair by what passes for his kitchen and opens the gleaming black door of his fridge. My temples throb as I try to fix him in focus—to not pass out, to not succumb to whatever it is that overwhelms me.

Even as I do, a spark of realization lights in my brain: if anyone can help me figure out who or what I am—what kind of powers I have (as ridiculous as it is to even think that sentence)—well, they live in this house in Sherwood Forest.

But first things first. Magical powers are all well and good, but I need my money back. I need a life of my own. I need to not pass out here.

LJ kneels beside me and holds out a series of plastic bottles: electrolyte water, a protein drink, and something neon blue that promises lots of BCAAs and creatine. I almost laugh, and he must notice, because his mouth twists into a scowl.

“I don’t keep a lot up here,” he says. “Just the essentials.”

“Just the essentials. If you’re a meathead,” I say, cracking a smile.

He doesn’t smile—not quite—but the scowl dissipates.

“I’ll take that one,” I say, indicating the colorful bottle. “Blue is my favorite flavor.”

LJ nods, cracks it open, and passes it to me. As I take it, his gaze drifts down to the now-crumpled envelope in my hand.

“It’s my birth certificate,” I say, after a swig of the drink. It sure does taste blue. I’ll give it that. But it does make me feel better. “I...I needed it to—”

“You don’t have to tell me,” LJ interrupts. “I don’t care where you’ve been, and I don’t need to know any details. I don’t want to pry.”

I take another swallow and feel my strength—and perhaps my sarcasm—returning. “Oh, yeah? So what do you want?”

He fixes me with a hard, unwavering stare. “I want whatever you want, Maren.”

There’s nothing seductive in his tone, not even a hint of flirtation like you might get from Will or Rob or even Tuck. But still, in spite of myself, hearing him say that in his low, sincere, gravelly voice sends a white-hot pang right to the center of me. My fingers tense around the cold bottle as I remember the feeling of pressing into his body on the motorcycle—the rumbling beneath us, the pounding of my heart.

I cross my legs.

“You feel better?” LJ says, getting out of his crouch and standing as he nods at my drink.

I nod back and drag a wrist across my forehead. “Yes, thanks.” I give my head a little shake. “This is also surreal. I can’t believe that this morning I woke up in Guy Gisbourne’s house, and now I’m—”

“You should lie down,” LJ interrupts. “It’s been a long day. It’s hot, you’re dizzy. I don’t want you pushing yourself.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “I’m sitting down in air conditioning with a cold drink. I’m not pushing myself.”

But as I go to stand up, I wobble a little.

“I’ll watch everything,” LJ adds. “I won’t let them in.”

I didn’t realize that was the reassurance I needed until I hear him say it, but when he does, I lose all resistance. My body feels heavy.

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