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The glade didn't have an official name. Huge, it sprawled for a good twenty miles, winding its way through the foothills of the western Cascades that bordered the back end of New Forest, Washington.
Grieve had called the thicket the Golden Wood but I thought of it as spider heaven. In spring, summer, and fall, golden and white orb weavers hung thick in the copse, spinning their webs from tree branch to bush to giant fern, a thick lacy net for catching flies and mosquitoes and the occasional dragonfly.
I jammed my hands in the pockets of my jeans as I came to the edge of the lawn and glanced back at the house. Rhiannon was sitting in the living room at Heather's desk as she spoke on the phone, illuminated by the light spilling out from the bay window. I stared at her through narrowed eyes. For some reason, the realization that I could see her so clearly from here made me nervous, as if I were a hunter, watching a doe through a rifle scope.
Taking a deep breath, I shook off the feeling and approached the edge of the ravine, my boots squeaking on the powdery snow. The undergrowth thickened, rich with bracken and brambles, and maidenhair ferns stood half as tall as I. Every sound grew muffled as I stepped into the shelter of the towering firs. I let out a long breath, glancing around. Nothing jumped out at me, or caught me up, and I took another step, then another.
Dim light splashed through the trees, making for an eerie play of shadow puppets against the falling leaves and trunks. My boots scrunched along the trail as I scrambled my way down the overgrown path leading into the heart of the ravine. Pausing, I closed my eyes and listened.
At first all I could hear was the scuffle of small animals rustling through the brush and the call of birdsong that echoed in the frozen air. After a moment, I caught the cadence of wind and let my mind roam.
There--voices from off to my right.
"Grieve?" I whispered his name, sending it along the slipstream. It had been a while since I'd tried to harness the breeze this way. There wasn't much call for it in the city, but here . . . here, everything came streaming back.
After a moment, I whispered his name again. "Grieve, are you here? Are you really still here?"
Never hurry. Grieve's voice echoed in my memory. Give it time. Don't try so hard--I know it's hard to be patient when you're still so young, but you'll need these skills, Cicely. You'll need them as you grow up.
He'd known, I thought. He'd known that I was leaving soon, and he'd tried to prepare me.
Another pause. Then, slowly, the wind picked up, carrying the sounds of arguing headed my way. Before I could blink, two men stood beside me.
My heart thudded in my chest and I wanted to cry. It had been so long, so many years, and yet--here he was. Grieve . . . it was Grieve. And Chatter stood beside him. Both gorgeous and mesmerizing.
Olive-skinned, Grieve and Chatter had slanted eyes and their chins were sharp and narrow, as if the flesh had been stretched taut across their faces. Grieve had a thick head of platinum hair that curled down his back, while Chatter--slightly stockier--wore his hair in a raven-black ponytail. They were dressed in camo jeans. Tight, form-fitting jeans and long dusters that looked oh so hot.
But something was different . . . While Chatter's eyes still glistened pale blue, the blue of cornflowers, Grieve's had changed. They'd grown dark--no white showed, and no pupils, just glistening ebony orbs. But unlike a vamp's, scattered amid the inky blackness sparkled a field of glowing white stars. Like the woman in Rhiannon's vision.
"Grieve . . . what happened to you?" My whisper sliced through the silence, my heart thudding in my chest. As I took a step forward, Ulean hissed in my ear, stopping me.
Be cautious, be careful.
I paused, tuning in to the energy and went reeling. Grieve had an edge to him that I didn't remember, a palpable arrogance. Chatter--not so much. But Grieve felt wary, almost hostile.
I caught my breath, wanting to throw myself in his arms, but I restrained myself and gave them a gentle nod. Play it light, keep it superficial at first.
"I'm back, boys. I'm home. To stay. Did you miss me?"
Chatter broke the silence first. He held out his arms, pulling me close.
"Dear Cicely. Of course we missed you. We heard word on the wind that you were home." He smelled like sweet grass and raspberries and his hug ran through me like sheets fresh from the dryer on a cold night.
"But you shouldn't be here. Not now. You need to leave the wood," he whispered so low I had a feeling that even Grieve couldn't hear him. "Before the dark comes, get out of here for your own safety."
I stepped back, staring into his eyes. He looked frightened.
"Chatter--I missed you." I turned to Grieve, hesitating before I said, "I missed you, too." Please, oh please, don't reject me.
Grieve held back. He didn't reach out like Chatter had. "You returned." There was a hint of distrust in his voice and he looked angry. "I thought you were done with me. With New Forest. You said as much, last time."
"I guess I deserve that," I said, stung even though I knew he had every right to be angry. I scuffed the ground. "Are you so unhappy to see me?"
He took a step back and shook his head. "You must leave. You have to get out of this wood. Now. And stay away, especially during the night." But as he watched my face, his eyes lit up and the tip of his tongue crept out to lick the corner of his lips.
Confused, I wasn't sure what to think but my body answered for me, hunger welling up as I watched his thick, full lips curl into the hint of a smile. Just the look of him made me want to reach out and . . . Touch me, take me, taste me, feel me, hold me. My wolf let loose a low growl, hungry.
Grieve had implanted himself on my heart years ago, the roots taking strong hold. His rejection hurt, even though I knew I'd brought it on myself.
