Page 93 of Kings of Sherwood

They found me.

Behind them, Wheatley screams something incoherent and bolts for his vehicle.

But Will’s already there.

Flames rocket through the windshield and windows in a shower of safety glass and rippling heat. Then calm, rushing in as the blueish pieces fall, the metal frame warps, and then—

Boom.The chassis blasts outwards in every direction as the fuel tank explodes.

The force nearly knocks John over as he stumbles, backward, hands up—but it’s too late. LJ barrels into him like a freight train, muscle and teeth and rage. John yelps as the bear rears back, roaring, slams both paws down on the ground inches from his face—

But Wheatley’s moving. Hand to his belt, going for his gun, aiming at—

“Tuck!” I scream.

The shot rings out.

Tuck leaps. Pale fur rippling in the breeze.

And lands, feet away from me. Unhurt. A miss. Barely. He’s a white blur in front of m vision until I see teeth sunk deep into the mercenary’s arm, tearing him away from me.

The man cries out, dropping me, stumbling back with blood dripping down his sleeve.

“Get out of here, friend,” Rob shouts down to him, voice like steel.

The man doesn’t need to be told twice. He bolts, uneven and half-limping, up the slope. Through the trees. Gone.

Wheatley swivels as the man dashes past, his eyes darting between the blaze, the dragon, the bear, the wolf.

Then he runs, too.

Fucking coward.

Will’s narrow head pivots, tracking him, his wings tense for flight just as Rob shouts “Scarlet! Stand down!”

And then he comes to me.

He slides down the ravine like it’s nothing, bow in one hand, feet steady and even on the loose dirt giving way beneath him. I don’t even wait—I run, throw myself forward, and he catches me with one arm. Pulls me in.

“You’re all right,” he murmurs into my hair, and I realize I’m sobbing again. “You’re all right. We got you. It’s over.”

Something nuzzles under my arm—Tuck, like he’s trying to hold me steady. I lean on him, dizzy, barely upright, and clumsily climb up the slope and back to level ground to where John’s a crumpled mess beneath the bear’s weight.

He wheezes, arms thrown up in a pathetic attempt to shield his face, while LJ growls low and brutal, swipes his massive paw across John’s chest.

Not a killing blow. But he doesn’t stop, either.

“LJ!” Rob calls out. “Stop!”

The bear doesn’t even twitch. Keeps growling, keeps slashing and pushing John further into the mud like he could pulverize him out of existence.

Rob’s grip tightens around me. Then he lifts the crossbow again, aims.

Thunk.

The bolt zips past LJ’s ear and buries itself in a tree.

“I saidstop,” Rob says. “She’s safe. We don’t kill no one unless we have to.”

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