Page 2 of Queen of Rebels (Shifters of Sherwood #3)

The forest breathes around us, each exhale carrying the last echoes of pursuit deeper into the darkness. Stars peek through the canopy like distant watchmen, their light too weak to pierce the shadows we've claimed as shelter.

We've been quiet for hours, each caught in our thoughts. Will hasn't stopped pacing, his movements precise as clockwork. LJ sits with his back against a tree, dark eyes catching every movement in the undergrowth. Tuck, practical to his bones, has been studying the clearing, hand to his chin.

"We need fire," Tuck finally says, pushing his glasses up. The gesture pulls at something in my chest—a reminder of countless nights spent watching him work in the kitchen. Back when things were normal, or as normal as they ever were for us. "For light, if nothing else."

He’s right. Even for a summer night, it’s a little chilly, and none of us is dressed for camping. And I kind of understand the impulse—the need to solve something, to fix any small piece of this broken night.

Tuck starts gathering twigs with the precise attention he usually reserves for weighing ingredients.

"The friction method should work if we can find the right type of wood," he mutters, arranging sticks like a geometric diagram. "Though the ambient moisture content might prove problematic given the—"

A flash of silver cuts through the darkness: Will, starlight catching in his hair, shifts again without warning, and a precise jet of dragon-fire ignites the kindling, sending flames leaping shoulder-high.

“...or that,” Tuck finishes lamely.

"Show-off," LJ rumbles.

Will’s smile holds the first hint of himself I've seen all night as he pulls his clothes back on, human again. "Some of us prefer to be efficient.” He glances at Tuck. “You’ll still earn your merit badge, though.”

Their familiar rhythm settles something in me, like the first inhale after a long dive underwater. I turn away, ostensibly to gather more kindling, but really to collect myself. They're trying so hard to be normal, to be them , even with everything tilted sideways.

The fire crackles before us, Will's show-off trick painting shadows across our faces. In its light, I can see them better, for real now: the tightness around Will's eyes, the tension in LJ's jaw, the way Tuck's hands keep searching for problems to solve.

And somewhere out there, Rob faces the night alone.

“I’m going to get more wood,” I say abruptly, and turn to the rest of the clearing. We don’t really need any, not yet. But just for something to fucking do.

I don’t even know what makes for good firewood, though I’m not sure that even matters with dragon fire. Idly, I pick up some branches, twigs, a sizeable hunk the length and width of my forearm. The forest floor is treacherous in the moonlight, shadows masquerading as solid ground, and I probably should be more careful, should watch my feet instead of letting my thoughts wander. But I'm not, and the ground suddenly vanishes beneath my step.

“Fuck!” I yelp. I crash down hard, pain blooming across my hip and shoulder like spilled ink. Some kind of hole, covered in brush, has grabbed my leg to the knee, stopping my progress and slamming me to the ground. For one crystalline moment, I'm certain something's broken.

"Maren!" Multiple voices call out, but I'm already closing my eyes, reaching for that familiar warmth inside me.

Mentally, I’m still not used to having this power—having any power. But the healing comes on like an instinct, something I don’t even have to bid forth or remember, just my body following its natural rhythm, and I let it. It rises like morning fog, flowing through my veins, seeking out every bruise and strain until it tingles across my skin like static electricity, leaving behind nothing but phantom echoes of pain.

When I open my eyes, all three of them hover above me, their faces all firelight and concern. Will's right hand hovers near my shoulder, not quite touching, with a burning cluster of branches in his left for light. LJ's already reaching down to lift me out. Tuck's gaze is clinical, cataloging my movements even though he knows I can heal myself.

"I'm fine," I say, accepting LJ's help but making sure to stand on my own once I'm free. "Just clumsy."

"You're exhausted," Tuck corrects quietly. "We all are."

He's right, of course. The healing might have fixed my body, but it can't touch the weariness that comes from running all night.

“Hell of a pothole to find out in the middle of nowhere,” Will says mildly, brushing at a branch with the edge of his bare foot.

I don’t bother laughing. As I untangle myself from the hole, my fingers brush against something that isn't root or rock but...wood. But not wood like a branch. This is solid and straight—planed, like a board.

I frown.

"Hold the light closer," I tell Will, and for once he complies without comment. The hole is roughly circular, maybe four feet across, and the dragon-fire casts dancing shadows across it: a square frame of two-by-fours, their surfaces dark with age but still solid, reinforcing the edges. A boulder sits nearby, partially buried in leaves and time, positioned in a way that seems too deliberate to be natural, like it’s some kind of marker.

Someone put this hole here. Someone meant for this to be found only by those who knew where to look.

My heart seizes.

“Whoa.” Tuck snatches the makeshift torch from Will and holds it closer to the lip of the hole. “This is...”

“Some kind of trap?” LJ finishes, echoing my thoughts.

“I don’t...” Tuck runs his hands along the wooden frame, his glasses catching the firelight as he leans in closer. In the center, the hole descends deeper, and I can just make out what looks like a rope, anchored an armslength or so beyond the top edge. Tuck looks back at us, excited. “It’s a tunnel,” he exclaims. “Supports built out—see?”

I look where he’s indicating. Maybe ten feet down, there’s ground, and I can just barely glimpse more timber, disappearing somewhere to the right.

“Look at how they anchored the cross-beams,” Tuck marvels. “This isn't some hunter's trap—it's engineered."

LJ crouches beside me. His nostrils flare, testing the air like the bear within him. "Goes deep," he rumbles. "And there's a draft."

He's right. Cool air rises from the darkness below, carrying hints of stone and age and something else.

"There could be old mine workings down there," Tuck says, excitement briefly overtaking exhaustion in his voice. "Or civil war shelters. These mountains are full of—"

"Fascinating history lesson," Will cuts in, but I catch how his eyes linger on the darkness below, sharp with curiosity despite his tone. “But—”

“I’m going in.” Tuck drops to the ground, swinging his legs into the hole, torch in one hand so he can grab the rope with his right.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Will lurches forward, with LJ close behind, but they’re too slow: Tuck has already braced his back and legs to steady himself and is crab-walking downward, rope in one hand.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Will calls down as Tuck descends. “Are you insane?”

LJ straightens up and folds his arms. “His funeral.”

“Don’t,” I say, even the joke about one of them dying too much for me.

LJ purses his lips. “Sorry.” He peers down into the hole, the edge of the firelight barely visible at the top. “You okay, Tuck?”

“Yeah,” comes a distant, muffled voice. “Shit, it really...it’s a whole tunnel.”

“Well, don’t just wander down— Tuck! ” Will cries as the light disappears. He rubs a hand against his forehead. “Goddammit. Doesn’t he know curiosity killed the cat?”

“Wolf,” LJ corrects, and darts a glance at me. “He’s not going to die.”

“Better not,” Will grouses. “I’m not doing any kind of cave rescue.”

We all stand there, tense, waiting—though for what, beyond Tuck’s safe return, I don’t know. Finally, after what feels like an hour of forest breezes and crickets and leaf rustles, there’s a shout—not of pain or danger, but surprise.

Will cocks his head, looking up from where he was staring at the ground. “He say something?”

LJ shrugs. “Not that I can understand.”

Gradually, the sounds of footsteps echo up to us, and Tuck’s voice comes out louder and clearer.

“You guys,” he calls up. “You’ve got to see this.”

Will and LJ share a look. Neither one of them speaks. So I do.

“See what?” I call down, leaning over the hole.

“Just come down,” Tuck replies.

Will blinks. “Is he serious?”

“Sounds like it,” LJ says.

Both of them look at me.

“It’s safe, I promise,” Tuck calls again, before I can say anything. “Seriously, there’s a...I don’t even know. A place we can hide.”

I glance back to our clearing, where the fire is already starting to die. Even with some warmth and light, we're still too close to the surface, too vulnerable to the dogs and deputies that could return at any moment. A hole in the ground is, weirdly, exactly what we need: a way to disappear.

I look back to the others, and meet each of their eyes in turn: LJ's protective intensity, Will's carefully constructed disdain.

Then I do what I've been doing since LJ and Will found me in the woods so many weeks ago.

“Fuck it,” I mutter.

I take a deep breath, and I descend into the unknown.

“Maren!”

I slip away from LJ’s grab for my wrist just in time, and it’s surprisingly easy to manuever my way down: the hole’s just wide enough to brace my legs, and the rope gives me something to balance as I baby-step my way down. The rope feels treacherously worn with age, but it holds my weight, and when I reach the bottom, Tuck is there, the small smoldering sticks still carrying a little light, casting strange shadows down the earthen walls that stretch to the right.

“Come on,” he says, reaching for my hand.

The tunnel is maybe five feet high, just enough to make me stoop, and it stretches maybe thirty feet before my feet feel a slight slope upward and the walls curve. We follow the spiral up until we emerge through a craggy opening, out into a ravine.

“Ta da,” Tuck says, and gestures at his find.

It's a cabin, of sorts, though 'cabin' feels too generous for the half-rotten structure before us. It hunkers down in the ravine like it's trying to hide from the world, which I suppose was exactly the point when it was built. The stone base looks surprisingly stable, with rough-hewn logs stacked above in a way that's kept it standing through what must be decades of weather.

“I took a peek inside,” Tuck says excitedly. “The walls lean slightly but the foundation looks solid. Whoever constructed this place knew what they were doing.”

I take a few steps forward to run my hand along the weather-worn wood. “Good bones.”

"How reassuring." Will emerges from the tunnel opening, shimmying through the squeeze and squinting at us, and our discovery.

LJ follows close behind him, ducking to clear the low overhang of rock and bramble. His gaze sweeps the space with tactical precision: not just the cabin, but the ravine that surrounds it.

"Defendable," he grunts. “Tunnel’s the only way in. Unless you can fly.” He glances at Will, who ignores him, brushing dirt off his shoulder.

“Well, yeah. Probably hidden for a reason. Look at this." Tuck sweeps past me and pushes open the warped door, revealing a single room that's somehow both smaller and larger than I expected.

I step in after him, followed by Will and LJ, and take stock of the place in the flickering light of the dying torch. Shelves line one wall, an odd assortment of dusty bottles scattered on their surface. A few old crates lie around, some open, some not, and a pot-bellied stove squats in one corner, its pipe disappearing into a cleverly disguised chimney. In the other sits a heap of copper and rust—junk, I assume at first, but on second glance, it’s clearly some kind of...machine.

Despite everything, that piques my mechanic’s interest. I crouch down to examine it: some sort of pot with a series of pipes working their way over and around it, although time has eaten through some of the connections. A condenser, and what looks like some kind of cooling system, if there was a way to flow water through it.

“It’s a still.” Tuck peers over my shoulder, pushing his glasses up. “For whiskey. Moonshine.”

“Whoa.” I can’t help but be impressed. My fingers trace what's left of the pressure gauge mounting.

“It’s a bootlegger’s hideout,” Tuck goes on, straightening to adjust the others. “Probably all the way back from Prohibition days.”

“A waystation.” LJ nods. “Explains why it’s so well-hidden.”

“And why it’s rotting,” Will says, although I catch him eyeing the still with interest. “Don’t suppose there’s any whiskey left in there?”

I run a hand over the still one last time, absently, thinking vaguely of that era: desperate times and clever solutions, people working outside a system that was stacked against them.

Not so different from what we're doing now, really.

“I think we could stay here,” Tuck says, looking to the rest of us. “For now, at least.”

LJ shrugs. “Beats the alternative.”

“Oh, sure.” Will picks his way across the dusty floor to glance out a grimy window. "I'm sure it will be delightful once the tetanus sets in."

"You got somewhere better in mind?" LJ's growl has teeth in it.

"There might be supplies," Tuck suggests, ever practical, though his tone suggests he's really trying to deflect the brewing argument. I jump into action, finding a stack of moth-eaten blankets. The wool is scratchy but serviceable, and I try not to think about those Egyptian cotton sheets we left behind. Better than sleeping on bare ground, at least.

Will picks up a tin can, its label long surrendered to time. "Yes, because century-old food is exactly what we need right now." He kicks a empty crate, sending up a cloud of dust. "This is beneath us. We should—"

"Beneath you, maybe." LJ's massive frame fills the doorway, blocking any escape. "Some of us didn't grow up eating off silver spoons."

The air grows thick with more than just dust. Will's eyes narrow, catching the firelight like a blade catching the sun. "No, you grew up in a cave, didn't you? This must feel just like home."

My heart stutters. In the mansion, their bickering was light, clever—friendship, for the most part, once LJ got over his hangup about me and the air was properly cleared. But here, in this primitive space with fear rubbing all of us raw, it’s different. Charged.

LJ takes a thudding step forward. “Say that again, you little—”

"Stop it." My voice cracks through the tension like a whip. "Both of you. We’re not going to do this, okay? We're alive, we're hidden. Right now, that's all that matters."

Something passes between them—a current of understanding, or maybe just mutual exhaustion. Will turns away first, his shoulders tight with unspoken words. LJ's exhale is almost a growl, but he steps back, giving us all room to breathe.

"It's sturdy enough," I go on. "The roof’s...mostly intact, and the walls are solid. And like LJ said, it’s better than sleeping in the woods."

"Such high standards." But Will's voice lacks its usual bite. He looks as exhausted as I feel, the events of the past days catching up with all of us.

"We stay," LJ decides, and something in his tone brooks no argument. "At least until we figure out our next move."

They work together after that, transforming our underground shelter into something almost habitable. Tuck finds the driest corner to set up a bed, LJ hauls the non-rotted crates to form a makeshift platform, and Will throws down my salvaged blankets into something approaching comfort.

After checking the flue, I throw the torch into the stove, where it catches on some dusty unburnt logs and crackles. As I straighten, I sway slightly, fatigue hitting like a physical wave. Three pairs of hands reach for me simultaneously, and I'd laugh if I had the energy.

"I'm fine," I start, but Tuck's already walking me over to the blankets

"Sleep," he orders, gentle but firm. "We'll take turns keeping watch."

I want to argue, to insist I'm fine, but then Tuck’s tugging me down onto the makeshift bed. They arrange themselves around me like points on a compass: LJ's solid warmth at my back, Will curled protectively at my front, Tuck pressed close to my side.

It’s good, but not complete. Rob's absence aches like a phantom limb, and I feel tears prickling at my eyes again.

I swallow hard, and LJ’s arm tightens around me, like he can sense it, and I relax on instinct.

Okay , is all I can think. Okay.

Maybe we lost the mansion. But I haven’t lost my home.

Not entirely, at least. Not yet.