Page 14 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

All this time, I thought my father died by some random sword or arrow of one of Prince John’s men. All I knew was that a battle had taken place at our Locksley estate, and my father was killed for his unwavering loyalty to the king.

I knew the Sheriff had been there, but I didn’t know my father died by his blade.

I lean back against the tree, giving it my weight as I remain frozen, stuck trying to figure out what to do from here. Wondering if I should let this change things.

Then a harsh roar cuts through the trees and crashes into the chaos of my thoughts. They break, falling apart and making way for panic.

I push myself off the tree and turn in the direction Henry disappeared. My feet are heavy as I follow his trail until I see him standing a few yards away, his back to me, his body motionless.

When I peer ahead of him, I see the grizzly that he’s staring down, saliva dripping from its terrifyingly huge canines.

A fucking grizzly bear ? There aren’t supposed to be grizzlies in Colorado.

But that’s the least of my concerns right now.

What the fuck do I do?

The bear has its sights set on Henry. I could run for it and let the grizzly make a fucking meal out of him. It’d serve him right. I could let the universe avenge my father’s death so I wouldn’t have to worry about doing it myself.

But…dammit, I can’t just leave Henry to die.

As much as I’m tempted to, I can’t .

I can’t explain it. Maybe he really hasn’t changed one bit. But something in my bones tells me that just like with parts of Robin Hood, the Sheriff wore a mask too—one that was controlled and manipulated by the prince.

It’s easy to give up on someone who’s never shown signs of wanting to be helped, so it should be easy to give up on him. But there’s a difference between wanting help and needing it.

And, unfortunately for me in this situation, I’ve always had a soft spot for those in need.

As I stand there, holding my breath and keeping my body perfectly still, I try to figure out what to do. I’ve never faced a grizzly before.

Unless Henry counts?

The bear lets out another deafening roar, rearing up on its hind legs like a demon out of some old wilderness myth, its massive body blotting out the sun for one awful second.

Henry acts, reaching for the gun at his side.

He manages to get it out of its holster just before the bear charges, a snarling blur of fur and fury.

Blood rushes in my ears.

“Henry!”

The grizzly swipes at him. Henry screams and goes down with a sickening crunch as the gun flies from his grasp. It skitters across the dirt and lands on the forest floor between us.

I don’t think. My body moves on instinct.

I dive, hitting the hard ground as my hands scrape over rocks and moss to grab at the weapon.

I roll over onto my side to see the bear looming over Henry like a harbinger of death, raising its massive paws to strike again.

I raise the gun, holding it tight in both hands.

I squeeze the trigger.

The first shot cracks through the air, echoing off the trees like thunder. It misses and hits a pine trunk to the left.

I’m definitely not as skilled with a gun as I am a bow.

The bear jerks its head toward me.

Shit.

I fire again.

This time, the bullet hits the bear in the shoulder, causing it to let out a roar filled with rage and pain. Its agonizing cry reverberates through the woods and then just…stops.

Time itself ceases.

The bear freezes, paralyzed, trapped in time. Its mouth hangs open, a heavy string of spittle suspended from its chin without dripping off, defying gravity.

And then every other law of physics flies out the window, soaring through it on the breeze that passes through the trees.

The bear… explodes .

That’s the only way I can describe it.

Not with fire or blood or bone.

With color and wings.

The brown, furry body of the creature erupts and transforms into hundreds of brightly colored butterflies. Their wings flutter as they scatter in a haze of oranges, yellows, pinks, and blues, turning the forest into a butterfly sanctuary.

Mine and Henry’s gazes lock. We’re both covered in dirt and sweat, our chests heaving. The right sleeve of his jacket is ripped where the bear’s claws swiped at him, blood staining the fabric.

“What the hell was that?” he asks even though we both know what it was.

It takes me a moment to find my voice, and when I do, I answer with one single, certain word.

“Magic.”

We both scramble to our feet at the same time, our eyes scanning our surroundings. The butterflies continue to swirl around us in lazy spirals, their colors catching the sunlight when they fly into the rays that pour through the overhead canopy, turning them into wings of stained glass.

“Show yourself, you fucking coward!” Henry shouts into the woods.

We circle around each other, back to back, as we search for the source of the magic that just attacked us.

For the first time ever, we’re on the same side of something.

However, I fear it won’t last long when the forest remains still except for the fluttering of wings. They’ve started to thin out, dispersing through the trees, leaving the forest a little calmer, a little quieter. Meanwhile, our own confusion and turmoil grow louder.

Suddenly, the gun is jerked out of my hand. I didn’t realize I was still holding onto it until Henry yanks it away. He lifts it into the air and aims it toward the sky. The shot he fires peals through the forest as the remaining butterflies flee.

“Henry!”

He shoots again.

“Henry, stop!”

He rounds on me, his face red with indignation, his arm wet with blood. My eyes dart to the weapon still in his hand, and I’m at least relieved to see that it’s not aimed at me. I’ve been shot enough to last me the rest of the year, thank you very much.

“Whoever’s out there, whoever just pulled that shit, is who sent us here, Robin!”

“I know. I get that.” My voice isn’t raised as much as his, but I still take a breath to try to gain some composure. “But what are we supposed to do? They have magic. If they don’t want us to find them, then we’re not going to.”

He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “Giving up? That was never like you.”

“Yeah, well, a lot has changed. Before we ended up here, I was already planning on giving up the hood after Marian died, so, yeah, I guess I’m a quitter.” A thought hits me then, along with a sharp pang to my chest. “Did you have something to do with Marian’s death too?”

He doesn’t look shocked by the question, but his face falls. “No. I would never.”

“Because you loved her.”

“You knew?” he asks, his brows drawn.

“Of course I did.” Letting out a sad laugh, I shake my head. “She was too good for either of us.”

“At least we can agree on something.” He stares at me intently for a moment longer before he shoves his gun back into the holster at his side.

When he turns his back on me to start walking away, I’m not surprised. This is the most we’ve talked since he showed up here, and of course he’s going to run away from it. But I won’t let him. Henry is the perfect example of what happens when you hold onto the past too tightly.

I don’t want to be like that.

So the choice I have to make is easy.

“I forgive you.”

He stops. A tense, heavy silence stretches between us before he peers over his shoulder to scowl at me. “What?”

“For killing my father. It was over seven years ago. It was a different life, Henry. I won’t hold onto that and let it ruin me.”

His jaw clenches so hard that it’s visible even with his thick beard. “I don’t want your forgiveness.”

“Too bad. I’m giving it anyway.”

Several seconds pass, and I can practically hear the battle raging in his head. I may not understand what each side is fighting for, but I watch it happen, hoping the right side comes out victorious.

I don’t think it does.

“It must be nice,” he sneers as he turns his body to face me and takes a few steps forward. “To not have anything that haunts you.”

“There’s plenty that haunts me, Henry. I just don’t let it burden me.”

His scowl deepens, and his nostrils flare. It wasn’t meant to be a personal jab, but if that’s the way he takes it, then I’ve been right this entire time.

There are still a few yards between us, so I take a couple of steps in his direction, approaching slowly as though he’s a wild animal. He’s nearly as terrifying as that damn bear was, so the caution is warranted.

“I know you’ve hated me all this time,” I tell him, “but we’re not back there anymore. We probably never will be. That old life doesn’t exist for us here, so why not start over?”

“You think that’s what haunts me?” When he moves again, it takes a burst of self-control not to back away.

His eyes are dark, an abyss of anger and hatred and pain.

“Let me tell you something. You could go back to Sherwood Forest and shoot an arrow right through Prince John’s heart, and I wouldn’t give a fuck.

It’s not the ghost of who you used to be that haunts me, Robin. It’s the ghosts of nothing .”

I’d be impressed by how much he’s finally speaking to me if I wasn’t busy trying to figure out his riddle.

My brow furrows as I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”

He presses his lips into a thin line, and I think that’s it. That’s all I’m getting. He’s locking it all back up tight and throwing away the key.

But then there’s that war behind his eyes again, and I know he’s fighting against that part of himself that doesn’t want to talk, that doesn’t want to open up and be vulnerable. It’s a piece of him that’s so deeply ingrained that I don’t know if he can win the battle against it.

And, yet, he surprises me.

His voice comes out deeper and slower than before, the manifestation of all that anger and hatred and pain that was in his eyes. “You and John left me on that hilltop.”

My continued confusion is brief, and then it hits me all that once.

We left him…