Page 42 of Kings of Sherwood

“I’m not going to make it worse,” I promise.

Nick hesitates, then lifts one skinny shoulder in the best shrug he can do with his hands behind his back. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Let me see.”

To my surprise, Will moves in to help pull his jacket back, pushing it down his arms to hang off the cuffs, and I see the source of the blood: a long, angry scrape up the front of his forearm, presumably from where he braced to break a fall.

“Here.” I grab it, delicately, and press my hand to his arm. In half a second, the warm energy flows forth and skims over the wound, leaving nothing but skin.

Nick’s mouth falls open. “Did you just...” He looks at Will, then the rest of them. “Did she just—”

LJ growls. Will sighs. Rob rolls his eyes. I guess they’re not fans of me just up and showing off my power. But really, what difference does it make?

“Coffee,” Tuck announces, swinging back into the room with a French press and a few mugs. He’s also put a shirt on, to my relative disappointment. “What’d I miss?”

“Just Florence Nightingale over here,” Will mutters. “Let me at that stuff.” He takes the carafe from Tuck and pours it into one of the mugs he sets down, then takes a sip and winces. “Think we could Irish this up a little?”

Tuck ignores him. “So what exactly is going on here?”

Rob launches in again. “All right. So we’re patrolling the perimeter, nothing suspicious—”

“They’re both taking for fucking ever,” LJ interrupts. “And I’m just trying to—”

“Excuse me,” Will cuts in, “but I was carrying literally twice what you were—”

The cacophony of voices rises again, and I decide to help myself to a cup of coffee even though it practically guarantees I won’t sleep tonight. I pour one, and, after considering a moment, offer it to Nick. He smiles a tiny smile, but shrugs again—his hands are tied.

Right.

“One of you got a knife?” I ask. “Or are you going to make him stand like that all night?”

LJ grunts, but I roll my eyes. “I doubt he’s going to book it,” I say, and hold out a hand. “Come on.”

Neither LJ nor Will moves, but Rob does. He fishes in a cargo pocket and pulls out a multitool, flicking open the blade. “Here. Don’t do anything stupid.” In a swift jerk, he’s cut Nick free.

Nick nods, looks at him, looks at me. “So...sorry, but is she like, your girlfriend, or—”

“Yes,” the four of them say at once.

Nick nods, then frowns.

They all launch right back into talking.

“Here.” I hand him the mug, which he accepts with the kind of reverence you’d give to the Holy Grail, gawking at me the whole time. I give a non-committal half-shrug and decide to make a joke.

“I mean, look at them. Couldyouchoose just one?”

Nick goes very bright red. “Um...”

Before I can say anything further, a piercing, two-note whistle cuts through the chatter.

“Enough of this bullshitting,” Rob says, once we’re quiet. “Kitchen. We’ll sit and talk.”

I rise out of my slight crouch and follow them to the hallway and toward the back end of the house, watching Nick’s eyes somehow go even wider as he takes in the full sweep of the place. Once in the kitchen, everyone naturally settles into position: Rob leaning against the counter, arms crossed, Will sprawled in one chair with the foot on the seat of another, Tuck sitting easily at the table, hands around his coffee, and LJ pacing. For my part, I take up a spot at the breakfast bar, sipping my own coffee but mostly studying Nick, who stands just a step or two in from the threshold, shifting his weight uneasily and dripping onto the tile.

“And?” Rob says, throwing a glance at Nick. Nick says nothing.

Rob’s face hardens slightly.

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