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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."
Sliding off the tree, I wiped my hands on the legs of my jeans. "Our roots are here. My aunt's home is here. She's a member of the Society." Impulsively, I added, "So, what will it take to get you to help me? You want me to beg? To cry? I will--for her life, I'll get down on my knees and beg your forgiveness."
Grieve's eyes flashed and he grabbed my arm again, twisting the leather of my sleeve. "Don't challenge me, Cicely. It's not safe."
The weight of his hand on my body was like fire.
Angry and embarrassed, I tried to pull away. "And don't you push me. I'm harder than you think, and I won't put up with anybody treating me like crap."
Grieve was dangerously close. The truth: I was afraid, but I knew better than to show it. This new Grieve scared the hell out of me, and yet--for all of his fierceness, the headiness I remembered was still there, compounded by whatever this new energy was. I wanted to push his buttons, to throw down the gauntlet. The wolf on my stomach growled, but whether in warning or challenge, I wasn't sure and right now, I didn't care.
"Listen to me and listen good. If you insist on being stupid and staying, then I can't help you. And I very well may . . ." He paused.
"You might what?"
"You are so beautiful and strong," he said, his voice husky. "Your energy still sings to me . . ." His lips were near my ear and his tongue flicked out to tickle my neck. I couldn't help myself. I pressed against him.
He fisted my hair, holding me fast as he whispered, "You know what the men of the Indigo Court do with beautiful women, don't you? You want to find out just how I've changed, don't you, Cicely? I could teach you what it means to be paramour to a dark prince."
"I refuse to play your game," I whispered back. "You can't frighten me."
One more inch and he'd be kissing me. As Grieve pressed his lips to my neck, I caught an odd smell. Dust and chill evenings under the autumn stars. Fields burnt to ashes and musk. The metallic tang of blood. A primal scent that set me on edge and reminded me of graveyards.
"Grieve!" Chatter's voice shattered the silence.
It also seemed to shatter Grieve's focus. He furrowed his brow and roughly shoved me away, ignoring me when I tripped over a root and fell into a soft pile of snow and leaves. "Don't come into the ravine again. Stick to the land around the house. Stay out of the town at night, and you might be safe. At least for now."
"But why is it dangerous for me to be here? What's out here? Why are you pushing me away? What's the Indigo Court? Tell me!"
Chatter backed away as Grieve motioned to him.
"Stubborn woman," Grieve said. "I don't want you here." But the tone of his voice said otherwise. "You don't belong here anymore, Cicely Waters, and if you insist on staying, there's nothing we can do to help you or your aunt. Take my advice and keep your nose out of the world of Fae. It's never been a safe place to play and it's far more dangerous now. Mortals are play toys . . . expendable. The magic-born are in danger."
He paused, then added, "Especially witches. Especially you."
