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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.
"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.
