Page 6 of Queen of Rebels (Shifters of Sherwood #3)

No!

I can’t tell if I’ve screamed it or not, can’t hear anything but the buzzing ring of panic as I shoot forward, the rough surface scraping my already battered skin as I scrabble forward on all fours.

The tranquilizer dart protrudes from LJ's eye socket like some nightmare made real. Blood and something worse, thick and unctuous, streams down his face, matting in his beard.

"No, no, no..." My hands shake as I cradle his massive head. He's shifted back involuntarily, the bear's bulk melting away to leave just LJ, vulnerable and human and hurt.

Hurt because of me.

I gulp an ugly breath. “Don’t—stay with me, stay with me..."

The razor wire cuts on my arms throb, dripping steady crimson onto his bare chest, but I can't think about that now. I just need to focus. Need to heal him like I healed Rob.

Simple. Simple. I can do it.

My fingers close around the dart. The metal shaft seems impossibly long, the barrel thick. Just pull it out and fix him. You can do this.

But when I tug, the serrated tip catches. LJ makes a sound I never want to hear again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." The dart finally comes free with a wet sound that turns my stomach. More blood wells up, too much blood.

His eye... god, his eye...

My own vision swims, my own eyes slamming shut, and I force myself to breathe.

You can heal him, Maren. YOU CAN HEAL HIM.

But this time, when I reach for the power, it rises sluggishly, feebly.

Come on! I press my hands to his face, willing the energy to flow, to knit flesh and save his vision. But it's like trying to start a flooded engine - the power sputters, fades.

Tears blur my vision as I try again. And again. Each attempt weaker than the last. Why isn't it working? Why the fuck isn’t it working?

My own blood drips faster now, razor wire cuts refusing to close. The world tilts sideways, ground suddenly unsteady beneath my knees and LJ’s skin clammy under my touch.

His breathing is getting shallower and shallower, the dark hair of his chest barely rising and falling. The tranquilizer's hitting him hard - too hard.

The realization hits like another wound: that dart was loaded for a full-grown bear. That’s why it was so gigantic. In human form, that dose could...

"Please," I sob, cradling his face as his good eye starts to drift closed. "Please, I can't lose you. I can't..."

But I can barely hold my head up now. My arms are soaked red to the elbows, vision going grey at the edges. And somewhere in the night, sirens are getting closer.

Will's dragon form unfurls like liquid moonlight. He angles his long neck, considering, then exhales a precise thread of silver flame. The heat sears across my arms and I bite back a scream as it cauterizes the razor wire cuts.

When he moves toward LJ, I throw myself forward. "No! Not his eye - we can't risk..." The thought of dragon-fire anywhere near that delicate tissue sends fresh panic through me. "I'll heal him. I have to heal him. This is my fault, I have to fix it, I have to—"

"Maren—"

"I'm supposed to be able to heal people!" The words tear out of me. "That's my whole thing, right? The special power that makes me useful? But I couldn't even... I let him..." I'm gulping air between words now, vision blurring. "He was protecting me and I just watched him get hurt and I couldn't even..."

"Focus." Will's voice cuts through my spiral. "He needs you now. Fall apart later."

Right. Right. I press my hands to LJ's face one more time, forcing myself to breathe. Focus. Just like fixing an engine - one component at a time. The healing power finally responds, sluggish but there, sealing blood vessels and stabilizing the worst of the damage.

Will shifts back, elegant even in crisis. "What about his eye?"

"I don't know." My voice cracks. "I don't know, I don't..." The words dissolve into hiccupping sobs. "He trusted me. They all trust me and I just... I let this happen. I let them put him in danger and now he's..." I can't finish, can barely breathe around the guilt crushing my chest.

"Maren." Will's hands catch my shoulders, steadying. His fingers find LJ's pulse, and some of the tension leaves his frame. "His heart rate's stronger. Whatever you did, it helped." He straightens, all Boston efficiency now. "I'm going to shift again. You'll ride on my back - I've carried Rob before, it'll work. I can hold LJ in my claws."

I look at LJ's unconscious form, at the ruin of his eye that I couldn't prevent, couldn't heal, couldn't fix. Something inside me cracks, spilling out in fresh tears. But Will's already moving, his body beginning to shimmer with that otherworldly light that precedes his transformation.

Above us, the moon hangs like a silent witness as a dragon prepares to carry his broken family home.

A sob rips from my throat, ugly and raw. After everything - the careful planning, Rob's rescue, LJ's sacrifice - we're going to die here in the dirt behind the county jail. And it's my fault. My weakness. My failure to—

The sound registers before I process what it is - a rhythmic pulse of air, gusts of wind steady as a heartbeat. Then silver scales catch moonlight as Will's dragon form blocks out the stars.

He shifts the moment he lands, running for us as soon as his legs hit the ground. “Maren! We got worried when you didn't—" The words die as he takes in the scene - LJ unconscious, my blood-soaked arms, the mangled mess of LJ's eye.

"Can you heal him?" Will's voice carries that sharp edge it gets when he's scared. "Or yourself, at least?"

I try to explain, but it comes out as half-sobs. "I can't... the power won't... I keep trying but it's getting worse and he got hit with bear tranqs and I can't..." My voice breaks completely. "I can't fix it. I’m too hurt or too...too...”

“Maren!”

Will lunges for me before I teeter over, clutching my bloody arms, and when I finally meet his gaze his expression is utterly firm—no humor, no panic, just steel. “I can help you.” His voice has gone clinical. Professional. “I think. Stop the bleeding. But it’s going to hurt.”

I nod, beyond caring about pain. “Yes. Whatever it takes. Please."

Will's dragon form unfurls like liquid moonlight. He angles his long neck, considering, then exhales a precise thread of silver flame. The heat sears across my arms and I bite back a scream as it cauterizes the razor wire cuts.

But it works. They’re burned, but not bleeding.

Will moves toward LJ, but I throw myself forward. "No! Not his eye - we can't risk..." The thought of dragon-fire anywhere near that delicate tissue sends fresh panic through me. "I'll heal him. I have to heal him. This is my fault, I have to fix it, I have to—"

"Maren—"

"I'm supposed to be able to heal people!" The words tear out of me. "That's my whole thing, right? The special power that makes me useful? But I couldn't even... I let him..." I'm gulping air between words now, vision blurring. "He was waiting for me and I just watched him get hurt and I couldn't even..."

"Focus." Will's voice cuts through my spiral. "He needs you now. Fall apart later."

Right. Right. I press my hands to LJ's face one more time, forcing myself to breathe. Focus.

The healing power finally responds, slow-moving but there, steady. It pours out of me like honey, sealing blood vessels and stabilizing what I hope is the worst of the damage.

Will shifts back, human again, concern etched on his features. "What about his eye? Can he still—”

"I don't know." My voice cracks. "I don't know, I don't..." The words dissolve into hiccupping sobs. "He trusted me. You all trust me and I just..." I can't finish, can barely breathe around the guilt crushing my chest.

"Maren." Will's hands catch my shoulders, steadying. I stop, biting my tongue to restrain the sob, and Will lets me go. His fingers find LJ's pulse, and some of the tension leaves his frame. "His heart rate's stronger. Whatever you did, it helped, okay?” He straightens, all efficiency now. “Listen. I’m going to shift again. You'll ride on my back - I've carried Rob before, it'll work. I can hold LJ in my claws. I’ll get us back.”

“Fly?” I shake my head. “But someone might—”

“It’s that or get caught here,” Will says, his voice rising. “Which do you want, Maren?”

I look at LJ's unconscious form, at the ruin of his eye that I couldn't prevent, couldn't heal, couldn't fix. Something inside me cracks, spilling out in fresh tears. I don’t answer, but I don’t have to. Will's already moving, his body beginning to shimmer with that otherworldly light, and I hold LJ's hand as the night prepares to swallow us into darkness.

#

The hideout's musty air wraps around us like a shroud. LJ's weight against my shoulder feels both too much and not enough as we cross the threshold—his strength turned to dependence by my choices, my plan, my fault.

Footsteps rush toward us. Two sets, each distinct as a fingerprint. Rob reaches us first, moving with the fluid grace of the newly healed. The irony settles beneath my ribs like stone.

“Holy—”

“Just help us, would you?” Will grits out. “She can’t carry him. She’s hurt too.”

Rob nods, broad hands taking some of LJ's weight from me, steadying him, as Tuck clears a path to the makeshift bed of salvaged blankets.

“What happened?” Tuck asks gently as Will and Rob settle LJ on the bed. His eyes drift to my arms, the burns, and he sucks in a breath. “Maren, Jesus, you’re—”

“It’s fine,” I say, swallowing against a dry throat. “Will did it.”

LJ groans faintly from the bed, and the sound squeezes my heart.

"Water," Tuck says briskly, striding over to the stove. He pours the cooled pan of water into a bottle and hustles it to LJ’s side.

Rob and Will look at me, then at each other. The silence, except for the sound of LJ struggling to drink, half-conscious, is too much for me to bear.

"I tried," I say. "I tried. I—”

"Easy, easy," Rob says, stepping over to me and pressing a tender finger to my lips. I purse them and shake him off.

"I don’t know why it didn’t work," I say. "I healed you."

Rob sighs, shoulders dropping. "Could have been a lot of things, Maren. You weren’t in such hot shape yourself." He glances down at my arms, then at Will. "She gonna be like that for a long time?"

Will shakes his head. "I don’t think so. I kept the heat as low as I could. Light touch. Shouldn’t be worse than—"

"Maren!" Rob rushes forward, cutting Will off, because I’m gripping my own forearm, determined to make it work. To heal myself. To vanish these burns. To prove that I am not failing.

"Let me go!" I snap, ripping myself from his grasp and darting away across the sagging floorboards. "I have to heal myself."

"You’re worn out," Rob says. “We all are. But we’re all here. We’re all whole. Well..." He chews his lip, glancing at LJ. “Shit, Maren, you know what I mean.”

I do, but I don’t. Because we’re not whole. Not anymore.

I look down at my rippling skin, close my eyes, and try again. The power rises in little ebbs as I trace my hand back and forth across my skin. It works in fits and starts, healing spots in patches like trying to draw with a dried-out marker, but I manage something. Gritting my jaw, I will myself to find the strength to make my skin look less like crusted wounds and more like pink, fresh scars.

"You’ve got to give it a rest," Rob says gently. "You’re going to wring yourself dry, and then there will be no more Maren. And then where will we be?"

“Shit...”

A gruff voice from the side of the room startles me.

“Shit outta luck,” LJ finishes. “Is where.”

Surprise and delight flood my body so powerfully I almost sink to my knees.

"LJ," I whisper, and almost trip over myself as I rush across the room.

"Princess," he manages through pale lips.

Tuck has ripped the sleeve from his T-shirt to tie over LJ’s eye, and I shudder to think of what’s underneath it.

He looks like death. Pale. Drawn. Not like himself.

I glance at the makeshift bandage. "Let me—"

"Stop," Tuck says gently, pressing a hand to my sternum. "He needs to rest. You need to rest. It’s been a long day."

“And food,” Will says. "We all need food."

"You can say that a-fucking-gain," Rob mutters. "I could sleep for a thousand years. And eat a horse. Not in that order."

"Take your pick of beds," Will jokes, gesturing around us. "I’m afraid the California king’s spoken for, but there’s still some less luxurious accommodations." He glances at me. "You too, greasemonkey."

I nod, but before I move, I reach for LJ’s hand and give it a squeeze. He smiles faintly, but his eye blinks slowly, softly shut. Tuck grabs his other hand, feeling for a pulse.

"He’s all right," Tuck confirms. "Just sleeping.”

I nod, swallow, and drop LJ’s hand. The three of them look at me, watching for my next move.

Then Tuck nods at Will. “Hunting?”

Will nods back. “We’ll find something.” He reaches for the hem of his shirt and tugs it over his head, then sheds his pants, smirking slightly when I meet his eyes. “What? Don’t want them getting dirtier than they already are. Might as well leave them here before I shift.”

I smile, even though I don’t feel much like it. Tuck just rolls his eyes, but does leave his glasses behind. I watch out a grimy window as their shapes cross the ravine and slip through the hidden entrance, disappearing into lengthening shadows.

The hideout feels larger without them, emptier. Yet I can barely breathe.

"I’m gonna..." I trail off. "Go outside for a second."

#

I perch at the bottom curve of the ravine to think.

It’s a rare cool night for late summer, the air almost crisp instead of muggy and sweaty. I settle on a jut of rock, dragging my feet through the leaves and trying to focus only on the sweet, earthy smell they stir up.

But it’s no use.

My fingers tense on the rock beneath me, so hard it feels like I might break a bone. I know, logically, maybe, that this wasn’t my fault. I know, logically, that these men live a high-risk life, that this sort of thing was likelier than not to happen to one of them—all of them—at some point.

And yet. And yet.

I’m so disappointed in myself.

I fist my hands in my hair, pull my knees up to my chest

“Hey now, that’s some awfully pretty hair you’re about to rip out.”

I look up, and Rob’s silhouette is sauntering over to me.

“From an awful pretty head, too,” he says. He stays a few paces away, studying me, not rushing in to coddle me or kiss me, and I strangely appreciate that.

“What do you want?” I say, the words sharper than I intend.

“Nothing much,” Rob says, unfazed. “Maybe to say thank you for busting me out of the joint, is all. Didn’t really get a chance to earlier.”

“Hah.” I puff out a breath past the lump in my throat. “You’re welcome.”

My hands have left my hair, I realize. I fold my arms instead, needing some kind of protective posture.

“Shoulder feels good, too,” he goes on. “Right as rain. Although I’m starting to wonder if you’re a magnet for that particular injury on my part. Once is bad luck. Twice is...well, more of a coincidence.”

I don’t bother laughing this time, just stare into the dark.

“C’mon, Maren.” Rob shifts his weight, his voice softer. “You can’t—”

“I can, ” I say. “It’s my fault. I laid out the plan, I called the shots, I was late to get back to him. Who else can be to blame but me?”

“Maybe the fucker who shot at him?” A touch of color creeps into Rob’s voice, and he comes to lean just beside me, on the other side of the rock. “Nah, Maren, you did everything you could.”

“Did I?” I swivel to look at him, hair flying wildly and a sudden crop of tears in my eyes that I pray he can’t see in the night. I blink them away, sniffing pathetically, but just find myself looking back at the cabin.

Rob's hands find my shoulders, turning me away from the evidence of my failure. His touch feels steady, certain—everything I'm not. "You got me out. Got everyone else out. Got the job done.” His voice drops low, meant for my ears alone. "That's what leaders do, ain’t it? Sometimes—" His fingers tighten fractionally. "Sometimes people get hurt. Doesn't make it the wrong call."

I nod, wordless. I wonder if this is how Rob feels all the time—this constant calculation of necessity against loss, of action against consequence. His hands remain on my shoulders, warm through the fabric of my shirt, anchoring me.

Still, my breath catches on something that might be a laugh or might be its opposite. "His eye—"

"Was a risk he chose to take." Rob's gaze holds mine, a ring of gold bright around his pupils, at the edge of the green. "The plan was solid. You did what needed doing. Hell, the man got shot up with bear tranquilizer, Maren, and I suspect your power is the only reason his heart didn’t give out. And if you start second-guessing your thinking or wondering what if this or why didn’t that you’re only going to screw yourself over in the long term. It’s...” He blows out a breath. “Shoot, it’s instinct, Maren. I’m damned impressed at all you figured out. The power, the backup power, the back door, the goddamn razor wire —”

“Zayn gaves us all the intel,” I interrupt. Rob paws at the air dismissively.

“Ah, fuck Zayn. I mean—please don’t. Not that he’d be interested. But you know what I mean.” Rob gives me what I think is a grin in the dark. “You could give some people a damn treasure map of that place and dust all the deputy’s doughnuts with sleeping pills and they’d still find a way to screw it up. It’s how you use the intel that counts.”

Something stirs in me—not pride, exactly, but not the cold block of failure that was crushing my lungs before. I lick my lips. “Thank you.”

“Nah, like I said—thank you. ” Rob does a mock salute, and then leans in to press a kiss to my temple. It’s warm and real and even though it’s been only three days since the last time he kissed me it’s something I’ve desperately missed. “Let’s get you some rest,” he whispers, and finally, I oblige.