Page 38 of Kings of Sherwood

Will opens his mouth, shuts it, then points at LJ. “You. It was you. That burst of...whatever it was. You did something to Maren, and you made her...”

“Ordidn’tmake her,” I say. “Am I right?”

LJ’s eyes go dark. “I told you. I don’t kiss and tell.” But there’s a smirk under his beard. “She didn’t earn it. Had to deny her.”

Will winces. I just have to laugh.

“Good Lord, my friend. You’re a stronger man than I.” I press a humble hand to my chest—because, really? Get that woman all riled up and begging for it and I’m putty in her goddamn hands. “Remind me to swipe you a purity ring next time we lift some jewelry. Truly some king shit to be able to do that.”

“That,” Will says. “Or he got her warmed all the way up and then left her cozy at home with Tuck to reap the benefits.”

LJ rolls his eyes and keeps walking.

“I’m just saying,” Will says, shout-talking over the sound of the rain as we plod on. “He’s probably got her bent over that desk of his right now. Probably—”

“Can it,” LJ barks. “Don’t be fuckin’ crude.”

Will scoffs. “Crude? First of all, I’m insanely jealous of the man if that is indeed the case. Second of all, don’t act all innocent when we all know you’re the only one of us with a filthier mouth than mine.”

I wipe rainwater out of my eyes as we ease down a slight slope. Judging by the markers, we’re closing in on our second roundabout. If nothing turns up in the next, say, three minutes, I’m going to call it a night.

“Speaking of filthy, Scarlet,” I cut in, hoping to ease some of the tension, “when are you going to show her your whole bag of tricks? If memory serves, you’re hoarding an awful lot of gear and whatnot in that armoire of yours.”

“Yeah, to jerk off with,” LJ mutters. Will, to his credit, ignores him.

“Whenever she wants,” Will says easily. “The only correct answer to that question. Besides, probably want to ease into it regardless. Shibari isn’t exactly a spur of the moment kind of—”

LJ flings out an arm.

“What was that?”

I freeze, quieting my breath. Even over the rain, I hear it now: a crunch. Too heavy for a deer.

Someone’s out there.

LJ doesn’t say a word, just flips his lenses and scans the tree line. Behind me, Will clicks his tongue and nocks an arrow. And I don’t need telling twice: my crossbow’s unclipped, already lining up the direction of the noise.

In my pocket, I feel the motion sensor ping on my burner, vibrating against my thigh.

There we go—confirmation.

“I see him,” LJ murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. “Thirty yards. Moving—hey!”

His voice raises almost to a shout because I’ve already fired.

“You fucking crazy?” LJ asks. “You can’t see for shit.”

“Don’t need to.”

The bolt flies right where it’s supposed to, trained dead on that little flicker of movement—but the bastard ducks. The bolt thunks harmlessly into a tree trunk, vibrating with the force.

“Shit,” I hiss, already moving, and already behind LJ.

He’s off like a damn shot, boots digging into the muddy ground. Scarlet’s right behind him, crashing through the underbrush, and I’m on his tail.

It’s a messy fucking chase. Branches are whipping out every which way, it’s dark as an oil spill in a coal mine, and the rain makes it all godawful. Sightlines are trash and footing’s worse. I swear a blue streak under my breath and thank whatever God there is that I recruited men with more sense than my own sorry ass.

I look ahead; we didn’t lose him. LJ veers wide, flanking, and Scarlet’s pushing forward to cut off the path. I stay on the guy’s tail—he’s fast, whoever he is, but not too fast, and from what flashes I can see he’s flailing in all directions, arms flying—a recipe for a turned ankle in these woods when it’s dry as a bone, let alone pouring buckets.

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