Page 20 of Kings of Sherwood

“Uh oh,” Will says. “Someone’s regretting her late night.”

“I regret nothing,” I mumble from under my hair, “but you’ll regret not letting me nap.”

A deep chuckle that I realize is LJ’s. “Damn right, you need your sleep, princess,” he says, a light tug at the back of my hair lifts me up just enough to see his face. “You’re meeting me for training. At 1 p.m., sharp.”

I MAKE MY WAY TO LJ’Sapartment slightly after 1 p.m., with a little more sleep and slightly more food and feeling as close as I can to ready for some combat training. I pulled on some leggings and a sports bra and tied my hair into a ponytail with one of the thousands of hair ties Rob bought me way back when. I guess I look the part, but I’m not exactly feeling it.

I hesitate on the last two steps up to the landing, wondering if I should knock or just barge on in. But LJ, as usual, makes the question redundant by pulling open the door as soon as my footsteps creak on the last step.

“Come in,” he says—more order than invitation.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I say.

I haven’t been in his apartment since we got back, since it kind of operates like vampire rules: you basically have to be invited in. But if anything has changed, I can’t really tell. It was sparse to begin with—more training yard than living space—and I guess he’s had time to rearrange everything the way he likes it.

“They really ransacked you, huh?” I say.

LJ grunts. “Mm.”

“Guess they figured hauling out an entire punching bag was too much effort,” I say, casting a gaze around his various tools of the trade.

“Mm.”

I throw a glance at LJ. “Something up with you? You’re even less talkative than usual.”

“Nothing,” he says, striding over to a corner and starting to wind some tape around his knuckles.

A shiver of awareness passes through me—good or bad, I’m not sure. It’s kind of hard to tell with him, and to be honest, I’m not sure those things are always that distinct.

“Did I do something?” I ask hesitantly. “Besides not know how to fight.”

My joke falls flat. LJ rips the tape and smooths down the last edge.

“You could’ve been hurt the other night,” he says.

“Oh, this again.” I sigh. “Look. I know those guys were bad news, and it was scary, but I had all of you with me.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean.”

I close my mouth. “It’s not?”

He shrugs his shoulders up and down, sighs, rolls his neck, then finally stares at me.

“You don’t remember.”

“Remember what?” I say, thinking back. “I mean, we were in the bar, drinking, dancing, having a good time...”

“You were taking risks,” he says.

“I wasn’t.” I frown, wandering over to him as I think. “I mean, maybe kind of. But you guys were there, and—”

“You talked back,” he says. “You were downright disobedient.”

I’m barely two steps away from him now, and a cold fire burns in his eyes when I tip my chin up to look at him.

“Oh,” I say. I swallow. My throat’s like sandpaper—and not just from the residual hangover. “I guess I was a little bit—”

“Didn’t know you had that in you,” he goes on. “That kind of bratty streak. Caught me off-guard.”

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