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“To call forth his demon to waking, cast a circle round him with salt and then inside that, a ring of crystals—quartz—and lastly, a ring of belladonna. Then follow these simple steps,” he said, giving me the rest of the instructions.
“Thank you. We need Kaylin, and he’s our friend.”
“Think you friend, think you foe. Either way it can go. But you must not tarry. If he lingers too long in the world of dreams, he will never wake, and his body will fade.” And with that, the shaman abruptly left.
I tucked the fetish inside my pocket, making sure it was zipped shut. As we stood, I turned to look back at the King of Dreams. He was standing now, his wings outstretched in a terrifying wingspan that filled the area around the throne.
“Cicely!” His voice echoed through the chamber. “Go now. But do not forget—we are watching. And you have now caught the attention of the Court of Dreams. Lainule owes us a favor. As do you.”
And then, with a swirl of shadow and fog, he was gone and we were outside the cavern.
Shuddering, I turned to Chatter. “Get us out of here. Now.”
He nodded. “I think it best we leave. Come.”
All the way back to the portal, we kept silent, moving as quickly as we could. We entered the cavern, stepping into the vortex of the portal, and everything became a spinning top of energy as we passed out of the Court of Dreams and back into the cavern on our side.
When we exited the cave, we found morning had arrived.
I was dragging butt. “We were there all night. That’s kind of a good thing,” I said. “The Shadow Hunters will be hiding from the light.”
“Yes, but we have to hurry. I have a great sense of urgency.” Chatter pushed us forward, not allowing us to rest. By the time we were partway through the underground tunnel, I was walking in my sleep, so tired. Peyton didn’t look much better, but Chatter seemed fueled by an inner fire.
The snow was falling thickly when we emerged from the tunnel and began to work our way back toward the road. We’d walked a good fifty miles—since, I supposed, the day before, although time wasn’t fixed in the realm of Faerie—and my body ached. My mind was running on autopilot and I ignored the quiet hush of the snow as it layered deeper and deeper.
As we neared the road, there was a rustle in the bushes and my wolf began to howl. I pressed my hand against my stomach and turned, knowing in my deepest core that he was there—watching me.
And there he was. Panting with pain, leaning against a tree, Grieve stood, his gaze fastened on me.
Oblivious to common sense, I raced toward him, my muscles screaming as I pushed them beyond their limits.
He opened his arms and I fell into his embrace. “Cicely, oh Cicely, my Cicely,” he whispered, covering me with kisses. “I can’t stand this. I miss you. I need you. I have to have you.”
And I knew then, I was lost.
Chapter 7
“Grieve!” I closed my eyes as he embraced me, his lips covering mine, his tongue parting them as he pulled me ever tighter. His hands raced across my back, my ass, my hair, as he held me against him. I pushed him back, cupping his face in my hands, searching for some sense that things were okay again. But the wild streak in his eyes frightened me.
“I couldn’t stay away. I sensed you in the woods; I had to be near you. I needed you,” he panted, trying to hide from the daylight, and my wolf whimpered in pain. “I can’t stand this. I can’t stand being apart from you, but she forces me. She controls me, Cicely—and she’ll kill me if she finds out I’m here with you. But I’d rather be dead than call her my consort.”
He was broken. I could see it in his eyes. Myst had broken him. Or at least she was making a good attempt.
“Hold strong, don’t let her win. I won’t let her have you. Can’t you break free and come with me? We can lock you in the basement during the day. I can . . .” And then it hit me. Lainule and Geoffrey were working on an antidote. I could get hold of it somehow. I could save Grieve. I could take away his rage at—and inability to withstand—the light. If it worked. Then it would be easier to get him out of Myst’s clutches. “I may be able to help you.”
“My lovely Cicely, you have a death wish, don’t you?” His eyes were cunning, but behind them his love stirred. I could feel it wash over me: his longing, his desire, his hunger. I leaned toward him and he wrapped me in his arms again, lingering against my lips with his own, plying them with his tongue.
“Let me drink from you. You give me strength. You give me hope. You are my all, Cicely Waters. You are the only reason I have to live.” And he dipped his head toward my neck. “You’re shaking,” he whispered.
How could I tell him that he terrified me? That I feared him as much as I loved him? I swallowed my fear and looked into his eyes at the emotions waging war within him. The clash of tension, the clash of swords, the desire to hunt and the desire to love, all played out across his face, and all I wanted to do was hold him tight and wipe away the pain.
“Grieve . . . will she know? If you drink from me?”
He shook his head. “She is not all-powerful, though she is a force and fury. She is cruel, and vicious, and I’m terrified I’ll become like her. I can feel myself shifting, every moment I’m with her. She is the corrupter, the Snow Queen with the heart of ice. And she means for me to be her king.” His hands shifted and he leaned down again. “May I drink? It will help me keep my sanity—for a little while longer.”
“Cicely, get away from him.” Chatter’s voice echoed through the snow and I glanced over at him. “Let her go, Grieve. If you truly love her, let her go.”
Grieve stared at Chatter for a moment, snarling. “You would become a turncoat on me, too? You would forsake the one who saved your worthless life?” His voice was harsh and cruel.
