Page 24 of Queen of Rebels (Shifters of Sherwood #3)

I turn to leave, my heart pounding as Guy’s cold words echo in my ears. But before I can take another step, his voice slices through the air like a blade.

"Don’t bother pretending, Maren."

I freeze. My blood runs cold as I slowly turn back to face him. His mask is gone now, the polished charm replaced by something sharper, darker. His expression is hard, his eyes glinting with barely restrained disdain.

"You didn’t really think I’d believe you, did you?" he says, his tone mocking, almost amused. "This little act of yours—coming to your senses, leaving the shifters behind—it’s as flimsy as it is pathetic."

My throat tightens, my mind scrambling for a response, but he doesn’t give me a chance.

"I know you’re still with them," he sneers, stepping closer, his movements deliberate. "Those filthy shifters. Those animals. " He spits the word like it’s poison, his disdain cutting through the air like a whip. "You’ve been running with them, protecting them, letting them corrupt you."

I take a step back, my pulse roaring in my ears. My carefully constructed facade is crumbling around me, and Guy knows it. He takes another step forward, his presence suffocating, his words a venomous hiss.

"You think you can outplay me? Outmaneuver me?" He laughs, a cold, hollow sound. "I know everything, Maren. Every move you make, every lie you tell. And let me tell you something." He leans in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You can’t win."

The panic rises in my chest like a tidal wave, but I clamp down on it, forcing myself to stay calm. I meet his gaze, trying to keep my voice steady. "If you know everything, why bother with the theatrics? Why not just turn me in?"

His smile is chilling. "Because I want you to see what happens when you defy me. I want you to feel it."

The words send a shiver down my spine, and I realize I need to get out of here. Now.

"I’m done here," I say, my voice sharper than I expect. "Excuse me."

I turn on my heel, my legs trembling as I walk briskly toward the door. I expect him to stop me, to grab my arm or block my path, but he doesn’t. Instead, his silence is worse, the weight of his stare burning into my back as I open the door and slip out into the hallway.

My breath comes fast and shallow as I make my way back toward the conservatory, my heels clicking against the polished floor. The noise of the party grows louder with each step, the muffled hum of conversation and laughter like a lifeline pulling me forward.

I push through the doors and into the crowded space, the warmth and light of the conservatory wrapping around me like a shield. My eyes scan the room desperately, searching for Cecily, for anyone who can help me.

And then I spot her, standing near a group of donors, her posture elegant and composed as always. Relief washes over me, and I start toward her, weaving through the throngs of guests. My heart still pounds, but the sight of her—and the knowledge that the shifters are somewhere nearby, watching—gives me just enough strength to keep going.

Whatever Guy’s next move is, I need to be ready. And I need allies. Fast.

I don’t have to look up to feel Guy’s presence as he enters the room. It’s a shift in the air, a chill that makes my skin crawl. The crowd parts for him instinctively, and when I glance up, he’s already making his way toward me, that smooth, infuriating smile firmly in place.

"Maren," he says, his tone so pleasant it feels like a trap. "I was hoping we could have a word."

I don’t trust myself to speak, but I nod, my hands clenching at my sides as I follow him. He leads me away from the crowd, toward a quieter corner of the conservatory where the warm glow of the chandeliers fades into shadow. My heart pounds, each step tightening the knot of unease in my chest.

When we stop, he turns to face me, his smile sharpening into something colder. "I think it’s time we had an honest conversation, don’t you?"

I swallow hard, forcing myself to hold his gaze. "What do you want, Guy?"

"What I’ve always wanted," he says smoothly, stepping closer. "To fix the mistakes of the past. To ensure that you, Maren, make the right choice."

"The right choice?" I scoff, though my voice wavers. "You mean whatever it is you’ve decided will benefit you."

Guy chuckles softly, a sound as polished as it is condescending. "You’re more like your mother than you realize. So quick to defy, to rebel, without stopping to consider the consequences." His tone darkens, his eyes narrowing. "But let me ask you something. Have you ever wondered how your father’s... little addiction started?"

The question hits like a slap. My breath catches, and I falter, trying to process his words. "What are you talking about?"

Guy’s expression is predatory now, his voice dropping into something almost gentle, almost pitying. "He was in pain, Maren. Real, unbearable pain. And your mother—Caroline—could have healed him. She had the power. She could have taken it away, erased his suffering with a single touch."

I can barely breathe, the weight of his words sinking like stones in my chest.

"But she didn’t, did she?" he continues, his voice soft but taunting. "She was too proud. Too stubborn. Had to leave all of that behind, pretend she was just another human woman. And in doing so, she left him to his own devices. She turned a blind eye while he spiraled. While the pain consumed him."

"Stop," I whisper, my voice breaking. "That’s not true."

"Isn’t it?" Guy presses, his tone a mockery of concern. "Think about it. All the signs were there, weren’t they? The strain, the desperation. He didn’t stand a chance, Maren. She abandoned her gifts, abandoned him, and left him to fall."

The words tear through me, leaving a hollow ache in their wake. My mother—the woman I’d always thought of as strong, as loving—could have saved my father. But she didn’t. Why? Was Guy telling the truth, or just twisting the knife?

"You’re lying," I manage, though the conviction is gone from my voice.

"Am I?" His smile widens, cruel and knowing. "Your mother made a grave, grave mistake, Maren. She rejected her destiny, and in doing so, she destroyed more than just herself. But you don’t have to repeat her errors."

I shake my head, the room spinning around me. "I’m not like her."

"No," Guy agrees, his tone turning coaxing now, smooth and persuasive. "You’re better. You’re stronger. And you have the chance to fix everything she broke. To fulfill the destiny she rejected. Don’t you see? I’m giving you the chance to correct her mistake, Maren. To take your rightful place."

I can barely speak, the world tilting under the weight of his words. My mother’s rebellion, my father’s downfall—it all feels like it’s crashing down on me at once. But even through the haze of confusion and hurt, a spark of defiance burns.

"You think this is destiny?" I ask, my voice trembling. "Forcing me into a choice I never wanted, just like her?"

Guy’s smile falters, his eyes narrowing. "It’s not forcing, Maren. It’s giving you purpose. Don’t waste it."

But I take a step back, shaking my head as the spark grows into a flame. "No. Whatever this is, whatever you’re trying to turn me into—I don’t want it."

Guy’s expression hardens, the cold fury in his eyes barely masked. "You’ll regret this," he says, his voice low and threatening.

I don’t reply. I turn and walk away, each step toward the crowd a victory, even as my chest aches with the weight of what I’ve just learned. I can’t let him win. I won’t.

The crowd’s hum surrounds me as I push my way back toward the safety of the conservatory’s center, but my mind is spiraling with Guy’s words, his revelations. My mother’s mistake. Her abandonment of her powers. My father’s addiction. It’s all tangled together, threatening to drown me.

And then, amidst the chaos in my head, one thought rises clear and strong.

She chose love.

Not the kind of love Guy is trying to twist into something transactional and controlled, but love in its truest form. She chose my father, despite everything she was told she couldn’t or shouldn’t do. And me? Without realizing it, I’ve done the same. I’ve defied tradition in a way that goes even further than my mother did.

She chose one love over tradition. I’ve chosen many. Not just Rob, but Will, Tuck, and LJ. Together, they’ve become my heart, my family, my reason to fight. And that’s not weakness. It’s strength.

I stop in my tracks, the realization flooding through me like a burst of light. I turn back toward Guy, who’s followed, his expression darkening as he closes the distance between us.

"You’re wrong," I say, my voice firm despite the storm raging inside me. "I don’t need to fulfill my mother’s destiny, because I’ve already done something she couldn’t. I’ve broken the rules completely. I’ve found love, real love, with people who aren’t trying to control me or mold me into something I’m not."

Guy’s steps falter, his expression flickering with surprise before his features harden into fury. "You think that makes you powerful?" he sneers. "A handful of broken shifters clinging to you like a crutch? That’s not strength, Maren. That’s pathetic."

I stand my ground, the fire in my chest blazing hotter. "It’s stronger than anything you’ll ever understand. Because it’s real. And that’s why I’m saying no. I won’t be what you want me to be. I won’t be yours."

The room seems to freeze as my words hang in the air, sharp and final. Guy’s mask shatters, his face twisting with rage. "You ungrateful little—" He cuts himself off, trembling with the effort to rein in his temper.

Before he can speak again, Cecily steps forward, her voice calm but commanding. "That’s enough, Guy."

We both turn to her, her elegant figure standing firm, her gaze steady as she addresses her son. "She’s made her choice. And it’s not you. Let it go."

"You don’t understand," Guy snaps, his voice sharp and venomous. "She’s throwing away everything for a group of animals."

"Animals?" Cecily’s eyes narrow, her voice gaining an edge. "You’re the one behaving like a beast, Guy. Forcing her into this? Manipulating her? Your obsession with control is going to destroy you."

Guy’s jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Stay out of this, Mother."

"No." Cecily steps closer, her voice unwavering. "You’ve gone too far. And I won’t let you drag Maren—or anyone else—down with you."

The air seems to ripple as Guy steps toward Cecily, his composure shattered. I’m braced for another taunt, another cutting remark—but what happens next is beyond anything I could have imagined.

At first, it’s subtle. His shoulders hunch slightly, his breathing quickens, and his jaw clenches tight enough that I can hear the faint crack of his teeth grinding. But then his body starts to shift in ways that defy explanation. His limbs jerk unnaturally, his muscles ripple and swell, and his skin begins to darken—not bruising, but changing.

"What—" The word catches in my throat as I stumble back, my pulse hammering. "What’s happening?"

"You don’t get it, do you?" he snarls, his voice distorting into a guttural growl. "You think I hate them. You think I want to destroy them. But you’re wrong."

I can’t move, can’t think, as his face elongates, his mouth twisting into a feline snarl. Thick, glossy black fur erupts along his skin, shimmering in the low light, and his fingers curl into razor-sharp claws. His entire form grows, his frame broadening, his legs shifting into powerful haunches. He isn’t a man anymore—he’s a panther, but not like any I’ve ever seen. He’s monstrous. Corrupted. His golden eyes glow unnaturally bright, and his claws are so long they scrape the floor with every movement.

"You’re one of them," I whisper, the realization crashing over me with crushing force. He doesn’t just want to control the shifters—he is one.

"Of course I am," he growls, his voice now a guttural rumble. "Do you think anyone else could truly understand what Sherwood is? What it means to wield its power?"

Cecily steps forward, her expression composed but her voice trembling just enough to betray her fear. "Guy," she says, her tone low and commanding, "stop this. Right now."

He turns his glowing eyes on her, his growl deepening. "You’ve always been weak, Mother. Always clinging to your morals, to your antiquated ideals. But look where it got you."

"Don’t do this," she pleads, her voice steady but urgent. "You can still stop."

He doesn’t. Instead, he lunges.

Time slows as his massive body moves with terrifying speed, his claws flashing like blades. I can’t move, can’t scream, can only watch in frozen horror as he tears into Cecily, her form crumpling beneath his immense weight. Blood splashes across the conservatory floor, vivid and shocking against the pristine tiles.

The sight jolts me out of my paralysis, a scream tearing from my throat as I stumble backward. My body is moving before my mind can catch up, my feet carrying me toward the crowd, toward safety.

But as I run, the image of Guy’s monstrous form burns in my mind. He isn’t just dangerous. He isn’t just power-hungry. He’s something far worse—a shifter corrupted by ambition and darkness, and he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.

Even if it means tearing the world apart.