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"If I'm so unwelcome, why are you worried about me?" I crossed my arms. "I can take care of myself, you know."
"You're the one who should be worried, Cicely," Grieve said, his eyes narrowing. A hint of threat rode the wind and I eyed him cautiously. Oh yes, Grieve had changed drastically.
Never show fear if you're not sure whether they're friend or foe. Lesson number twenty-nine from Uncle Brody, an old black man who lived in the first rooming house we'd stayed in after leaving the Veil House. I still thanked that old geezer. He gave me a running start--his cautions a guidebook to living the life into which my mother had dragged me.
"I'm not six years old anymore. Too old to be captured for a changeling."
"Not the subject to joke about. Not now, not here." Grieve slowly reached out for my hand. "You've fully grown up. You're more beautiful than you were the last time you came to visit." His gaze raked over me like hot coals.
"I'm home to stay, Grieve. Marta's dead and I'm taking over her business."
I froze, forcing myself to breathe normally as he took hold of my hand and brought it to his lips where, one by one, he brushed a kiss against each fingertip, soft silk against my skin. Slowly, he turned my arm so my palm was facing up, and lowered his lips to my wrist. I closed my eyes, sinking into his touch. I remembered that touch, those lips.
His feral smile was punctuated by dimples that were neither cute nor comforting. Sharp, brilliant white teeth shone against the dim light of the forest, and, as I watched, he grazed my skin with them, leaving a trail of thin, red marks from two tiny fangs I'd never noticed before.
What the fuck . . . What was he doing? Biting me?
My skin welted up and a flush raced from the wounds through my bloodstream. I was spinning, like when I had the flu or the one time I'd eaten tuna fish and ended up passing out from an allergic reaction.
As the spiraling heat flared through me, all I could think about was what it would feel like if he took hold with those teeth and never let go. Common sense warred with my body. I shook my head to clear my mind, and managed to throw off the glamour.
Chatter shook his head, looking browbeat. "Grieve . . . please . . . not her." He stepped forward, stopping as Grieve motioned with his other hand. "Grieve, she's our Cicely."
"Hush. You talk too much, Chatter." Grieve never took his gaze from my face. Afraid to make any sudden move, I kept silent as Grieve brought his hand to my mouth.
As he traced my lips, I slowly parted them, unable to resist as he slid a finger just barely inside. I slowly wrapped my tongue around it, tasting him gently. Cloyingly sweet, like sugared dates. He tasted different than I remembered. I tried to back away, but he grabbed my wrist and held fast, staring into my eyes.
Ulean brushed by me on the wind. Don't lose yourself to him. It's not safe here. Snap out of it. Wake and beware.
The abrupt sting of her touch against my skin cleared my thoughts again. I forced myself to focus. "Grieve, let go of me. Now."
His brow narrowed and a nasty look crossed his face, but he acquiesced. I slowly backed away, then hopped onto a deadfall where I brushed away the snow and squatted, my chin on my hands, elbows resting on my knees. I knew two things: Grieve had changed, and change or not, I still wanted him. I was ready to curl up inside his embrace for good.
When I felt steady enough, I said, "What the fuck's going on, guys? What's happening out here?"
The dark look fading, Grieve shook his head. "Go. Don't stick around this town, Cicely."
Chatter spoke up. "It's bad, Cicely. We've lost so much over the past few years--"
"Shut up," Grieve said, not even glancing at him. Chatter closed his mouth and bowed his head, looking contrite. I caught sight of a series of bruises on the back of his neck that looked like thumbprints. Please tell me Grieve didn't do that . . . but I didn't say anything. I couldn't bear to think the marks were Grieve's doing.
I tried to sort out the interaction between them. Grieve was a prince in the Court of Rivers and Rushes, nephew to Lainule, the Queen. Chatter was his cousin, but not one of the nobility. Grieve had always been a control freak, but he'd been fair. Now, his heightened sense of authority set me on edge. Chatter had always been jovial. Now he darted glances over his shoulder. He reminded me of a whipped puppy.
"People have died. You know that, don't you? Members of the Thirteen Moons Society are dying and disappearing. Marta is dead, her throat ripped out. Heather, my aunt, is missing." I stared at Grieve, forcing myself to not break eye contact.
Chatter glanced at Grieve, who gave him one shake of the head.
After a moment, Grieve said, "I'm going to tell you this once, and only once. And I only tell you because I once loved you. Convince your cousin that it's in her best interest to leave. Take her and get out of town. This wood . . . all of New Forest . . . is now ruled by Myst, the Mistress of Mayhem, Queen of the Indigo Court. Any more than this would be unhealthy for you to know."
Once loved you . . . I reeled, but tried to keep my composure. I'd known he probably wouldn't wait for me, but the proof hit me like a sledgehammer in the gut. And then I realized he'd mentioned the Indigo Court, and a cold sweat washed over me. What did Grieve have to do with Rhiannon's vision?
"Grieve, I'm staying. I missed you. And I need your help."
"Stick around and you'll get more than my help," he said, taunting me.
Tears sprang to my eyes, but I dashed them away. I wouldn't let him make me cry. "That sounds like a threat."
"Take it any way you want."
