Night's End

Chapter 2

Deep into the Barrow we made our way, past guards, past the places where the ordinary citizens were allowed. We were headed into the heart of the Court of Snow and Ice. To the very core from whence the magic of this realm emanated. My heartstone might have revived the Court, but the shamans guarded the magic, communed with the Elementals, and kept the light flickering within the ice. Without them, the Barrow would be harsh and brutal. They were the keepers of comfort, the dreamers of dreams, the visionaries who walked between the worlds. They were the eyes and ears of my land.

The tunnel was labyrinthine and long, and as Grieve and I followed the twisting passages, accompanied by Check and Fearless, I thought back to the days of my life, less than two months ago, and how different my world had been.

My name is Cicely Waters, and I’m a Wind Witch. And now I’m the Queen of Snow and Ice and the Fae Queen of Winter.

My journey down this road began at birth, though of course, I didn’t know it then. My cousin Rhiannon and I were born on the same day—the summer solstice. Rhia was born in the morning, during the waxing half of the year, and I was born during twilight, after the tide had turned and the year had begun to wane. We called ourselves twin cousins.

Aunt Heather—Rhiannon’s mother—called us fire and ice, amber and jet, for Rhiannon was born tall and willowy with curling red hair, and I was born short and pale, with long, smooth, black hair. Our eyes had been different then. When she took the throne of Summer, Rhiannon’s eye color changed from hazel to gold. And as I ascended to the helm of Winter, mine changed from emerald to the frozen blue of northern ice.

When we were five, my cousin and I met Grieve and Chatter out in the woods, and they taught us how to tap into our magic. The magical Fae prince and his friend became our mentors, and by the next year, when Krystal, my drunken and drug-addicted mother, dragged me off on a journey that would last the next nineteen years of my life, I was prepared for the ordeal to come. Grieve had bound Ulean to me by then, and with her help, I was able to survive the cruel underbelly of the cities through which we traveled.

We’d never stopped long in one place, hitchhiking most of our way up and down the west coast. I explored the seedy streets as my mother sold her body to vamps and to men. I’d learned quickly that she wasn’t cut out for survival. Krystal was on a one-way path to self-destruction, and I didn’t want to go down with her. Even at six years old, I knew that if we were to stay alive, I’d have to figure out how to keep us going.

So Ulean warned me when danger was near. She told me when to run, when to hide. I’d played hide-and-seek with rapists and thieves; I’d hustled Krystal out of the dives we lived in too many times when the landlord was on his way down the hall carrying a baseball bat, looking for his money.

When we were first on the streets, I’d met Uncle Brody, an old black man with a heart a mile wide. He’d taken one look at my situation and done his best to teach me how to survive. I learned a lot of street smarts from the man, and would be forever in his debt. Uncle Brody’s Rules he called the set of guidelines he’d taught me. By the time Krystal dragged me out of that city—wherever it was, I could never keep them clear in my mind, one place was just the same as the next—I was older than I ever should have been at that age. But I was ready to play the game.

So we ran, from city to city, from man to man, as Krystal sought to escape the visions in her head. She was one of the magic-born, and she hated her ability to read thoughts. So she steeped herself in booze and drugs to escape. But there was no real way to leave it behind. If you have the power, that’s it. She refused to accept my abilities, too, and so I kept quiet and used them on the sly. Meanwhile, Krystal sank so deep that no one could reach her. Not even me, her daughter.

By the time she died in an alley, drained by some vamp, I was staying with her out of a sense of responsibility. Love? What’s love when you have to take over your own mothering? When you have to mother the woman who gave you birth because she fucked herself up so bad?

The day I found her, sprawled there, throat ripped out, I realized that any love I thought I had left was curiously absent. I felt sorry for her, like I would any stranger, but she was just some poor hooker who had lost the game. I fished through her pockets, took her wallet and anything that might identify her, then I walked away. When I was long gone, I called in an anonymous tip to the cops. I never looked back.

I took to the road on my own, winning a car in a game of street craps. And from there I restlessly prowled, always wanting to return home for good but never getting up the nerve to ask.

Two years later, my aunt Heather sent a message on the wind. She needed me. As a teen, I’d been allowed to take a few trips back to see my cousin and aunt. Each time I’d wanted to stay, but the knowledge that Krystal wouldn’t survive without me haunted me and I always went back to her.

But now, Heather was frantic. Something was wrong at the Veil House, and would I please come home. Feeling happy for the first time in years, I rushed back to New Forest, only to find my aunt had been abducted by Myst in a war waging between ancient forces.

That was about two months ago. And now, here I was, a thousand miles away from the night I was pulled back into New Forest, Washington. I’d parked my car in the lot of a hotel, and walked into a life I’d never expected to live.

Reunited with my cousin, and now married to Grieve, I was a woman instead of a child. A woman fighting a desperate battle against the Vampiric Queen of the Indigo Court. And I wasn’t all that sure we were going to win.

The tunnels through the Barrow grew narrower and darker. They were infrequently used, and few dared to come this far. The shamans of the Cambyra Courts had a frightening reputation, and they scared the hell out of people, which was just as well, because it meant they didn’t get overwhelmed by curious members of the Court.

The walls glistened, and I realized that we were in a series of ice tunnels—glacial passages leading out of the actual Barrow into the depths of the ice field that spread out as far as the eye could see. We were still within the magical boundaries of my Court, that much I knew, but here the ice was illuminated from within, glowing with soft white and violet sparkles. The lights flickered, as if emanating from some cold flame deep inside the core of the ice sheet, and when I looked down at my feet, I realized the surface of the floor was the same smooth glass. But we glided over it as if it were a faint mist.

My transformation into the Queen of Winter had changed me into a creature of the snow and ice, and the elements were now my blood and soul. I belonged to Winter as sure as the flakes that blanketed the land.

Grieve moved in silence, his face set in a stony expression. Once we had married and he had taken the position of King, he had changed subtly, grown older in a way. His feral nature would never be tamed, but once he accepted the responsibility for our people, his stature had shifted. He had become regal, and to a degree, stern.

I glanced back at Check and Fearless, who walked a few steps behind us. While they were also suspect, we’d had to bring them with us. I couldn’t go wandering around without protection, and to order them to stay behind would only put everyone on alert.

But Grieve and I kept our eyes open, and with Ulean following, she could warn me before they moved more than an inch to attack. Ulean had my back, and she always would.

The tunnels ran deep, a labyrinth spiraling toward the shamans’ lair, and as we continued, it grew progressively colder. I watched the puffs of air hang in front of my face, freezing and then exploding into a fine powder. The decreasing temperatures told me we were reaching the outskirts of the Barrow, which meant from here on out, the wild would encroach, and even though we were still within the boundaries of the Court, we would do well to be wary.

There were no branches or forks along the way. These tunnels led in one direction only, straight to the shamans. There were no opportunities for any thing or any person to burrow in from an alternative entrance. I had no clue if there was an exit from their chambers to the outside, but if there was, it would lead into the chill desolation of the realm, where nothing could survive unless it was already acclimated to the area.

After a while, I fell into a light daze, not knowing how long we had been walking. I wasn’t tired, per se; everything had just become a blur.

The Fae Courts existed in their own world. Outside their boundaries, time flowed like a river, but inside? A week spent in the realm of Faerie could easily translate into minutes in the outer world. Or decades, depending on the will of the Queen. And here, I was the one who set the pace, though I didn’t know how to tinker with time yet. The thought scared the fuck out of me. What if I screwed up a friend who came to visit? What if I messed with someone’s life, keeping them here too long as the outer world passed them by? But sooner or later, I’d have to learn how to adjust the flow of the realm.

“Are we nearly there?” I glanced over at Grieve, wanting to take his hand. But now that we had taken the throne, when we were in public we had to watch our decorum. A kiss? Was acceptable in certain quarters. Holding hands? Passable, depending on the situation. But snuggling and cuddling? All of those affections had to remain in our chambers now. I didn’t like this part of being Queen much, but there was nothing we could do about it. At least, not yet. Perhaps in time I could change tradition, but right now we had a war to focus on. Changing the stance on how much PDA the royals were allowed, well—it wasn’t exactly high on the priority list.

“We are. It takes time to reach the shamans because they wanted to avoid the chance for invaders to reach them quickly. Gives them a chance to set up defense. That’s how they kept fairly immune from Myst’s first attack. Same with the Court of Rivers and Rushes.”

Grieve grinned. “I can feel your desire, you know.” He reached out and, with light fingers, caressed my hand. I lingered over his touch, then reluctantly pulled away. My wolf let out a low rumble in response. Grieve wanted me. It was a nice reassurance.

The tattoo on my stomach was that of a wolf’s head, staring out from in front of a trailing vine of silver roses and purple skulls. Running from my hip to the opposite ribs, it linked Grieve to me—he was a wolf-shifter—and I could feel his energy through it. When he was upset, it growled; when he was hungry for me, desire emanated from the core of the wolf. When he was in pain, I felt his pain.

I was marked with three other tattoos. On both upper arms I had identical bands, a silver dagger through the moon with a pair of owls flying past. On my breast, a feral Fae girl hid behind a bush. They all connected to facets of me—they all were part of my essence and core.

I nodded. “I thought as much.”

A moment later, Check pointed out a shift in the color of the ice covering the walls. It had changed from a white fading into pale blue to a white fading into purple.

“Subtle, but enough to tell us that we are within their territory. Purple is the color of the shamans’ magic. I warn you, they may bow to the Queen and King, but they are beyond all laws save a very few. They live within their own world. Do not anger them. While they would not harm you, their cooperation is vital for our continued existence in this realm. While your heartstone brought the Court back to life, the shamans make that life habitable.”

As he finished speaking, we came to the end of the tunnel. What waited beyond was impossible to see because a veil of energy stretched across the opening. Shimmering like the aurora, the rays streamed across the passage.

“Here we are, then.” Grieve turned to me. “This will be your first time meeting them, though trust me when I tell you, they have followed you since birth. Lainule and Wrath told me that they were instrumental in setting up the circumstances of both your and Rhiannon’s conceptions. While the shamans are not like the Wilding Fae, I advise you, my love, do as you do with the Snow Hag. Think before you speak.”

“No jokes or snark, I take it?” I had a habit of mouthing off when I felt threatened, and it had fucked me over more than once. When I’d ascended to the throne, I had come to a swift realization that my days of free and easy speech were numbered. Everything coming out of my mouth would have to be thought out and planned in order to avoid rumor and to avoid stirring the waves. A mistake now could lead to far more than hurt feelings—one wrong word and I could start a war. End an alliance. The more power I’d gained, the more restrictions I found myself under. It was a sobering realization.

If this keeps up, in years to come, I’ll be locked in an ivory tower.

Ulean whistled past. But Cicely this is what it means to be the Queen. And yes, you will find your world narrows, even as it expands. The higher you climb, the less your life is your own. One day you’ll look back, and all the days before you became Queen will seem like a dream. A distant memory.

That thought terrified the fuck out of me, but I let it be. I turned to Grieve. “What do we do? Do we just pass through?”

He nodded. “Yes. But Fearless, go first. Check, bring up the rear.”

And so Fearless moved to the front and passed through the veil. I watched him go as the energy crackled and snapped around him, sucking him in. A moment later, Grieve stepped through, motioning for me to follow. With a deep breath, I obeyed.

Stepping into the crackling waves was like plugging my finger into a light socket. Even though I closed my eyes as I entered the veil, forked lightning played across my eyelids, spearing my vision. My skin prickled as a web of sparks danced its way across my body; it felt like a hundred stinging gnats. As my teeth began to chatter from the buzzing in my head, I stumbled through to the other side and was out. Grieve and Fearless were waiting for me. Check followed shortly after. It took a moment for my vision and hearing to clear, and I felt jarred, like I’d had way too much caffeine.

I looked around. “Are we in a secondary Barrow?”

Grieve nodded. “Yes, though this is still technically part of the Eldburry Barrow system.”

The chamber resembled a cave more than anything else, with walls that glistened like frosted glass. I ran my hand over them only to find they were ice. The illumination from within the walls cast a dim light through the chamber, silhouetting our shadows against the walls as we crept along in silence.

The room was large, with benches carved from the ice floes and frozen tables, and everywhere there was the feeling of stasis—as if time stood still here, even more so than out in the regular Barrow. I looked around to see if there was anyone in sight, but there were only shadows against the walls. And then I realized the shades were moving on their own.

Grieve motioned for me to join him at a circular table in the center of the chamber. Fearless and Check followed, taking their posts by our side. I kept my mouth shut. I had no clue what to do, and I’d discovered it was generally best to remain silent until I knew what I was dealing with.

As we sat there, the temperature dropped even further, and though I was wearing my cloak, a shiver of fear ran through me when the shadows stepped off the walls. They began to take form, the inky blackness falling away like grains of sand as a man—short and dark, with long hair caught back in a cascade of braids adorned with beads and feathers—stepped into sight. He was wearing leather pants with a fur cloak and bare chest. But the cold didn’t seem to faze him, and he strode to the chair between Grieve and me, and sat down.

I remained silent. There was a palpable energy in the room that threatened. Do-Not-Fuck-With-This. By his shimmering blue eyes and the crackle of his aura, I realized that this man was one of the shamans.

Grieve inclined his head. I followed suit.

Check and Fearless bowed, looking anything but sure of themselves. I began to realize just how much power the shamans wielded in the Barrow. I may be Queen, but they were in control when it came to the inner workings of the magic that sustained this place.

“Thorn, at your command.” The shaman turned to me. “I am the Speaker for our council. I am also the Elder. Instruct me.”

I stared at him, unsure of what to say. First, he understood me and I understood him. I wasn’t used to that with the majority of my people. Second, I realized that he hadn’t spoken aloud. I’d heard him like I heard Ulean, in my core.

Stammering, I tried to figure out what to say—and how to say it. Should I speak aloud? Should I try to project my thoughts to him, or speak into the slipstream? But as I struggled, once again a whisper-light touch ran through my thoughts. It was nothing like when Kaylin had intruded into my mind, which had felt very much like an invasion. This . . . This was cautious. A gentle hello, very respectful.

A moment later, Thorn spoke aloud. “I know what you fear. I know what we must do. We will begin with the King and your guards.” He stood and motioned for us to follow him.

Hesitantly, I obeyed. Grieve swung in stride next to me, with Check and Fearless behind us. I wondered if they could guess what was happening—and if they could, how they would feel. Would they hate me for what was about to happen to them? Or accept it as their duty? The shadows on the walls were standing at attention now, watching as we passed. Ulean followed at the rear.

I whispered to Grieve. “What would happen if Check or Fearless tried to run?”

Thorn turned and, without missing a beat, said, “The Watchers would come off the walls and rip them to pieces. As they would your King if he tried to avoid our summons.”

Grieve leaned close. “He searched your mind and saw your need. We must all be tested in order to assure your safety. Once the Queen—you—gave the order, the shamans are bound to destroy those who try to avoid your ruling.”

“They took my thoughts as an order?” I blinked.

“The Fae Queen’s will is law, whether it be in word or action. Or thought. They heard your need and are responding. They live to serve you . . . and will die in your service.” He reached out and gently stroked my cheek as we followed the shaman. “As do I. And as I will.”

His touch was like fire, sparking off a flush of desire that raced through my body, setting off a deep, gnawing hunger. I pushed back my need. This wasn’t the place, but when we were done, I needed to fuck him, to press skin against skin and feel him thrust deep, drive himself into me. While I’d always been sensual by nature, ever since I’d returned home, my sex drive had taken an exponential leap. Every step I took, every movement, every touch, seemed to trigger me off.

We veered into a side passage that forked to the right, and Thorn stopped in front of a door. He whispered something under his breath, and as the door opened, he ushered us through into a softly lit chamber. Here, a circle of chairs surrounded a raised bed. Well, it wasn’t exactly a bed, but instead was a raised, padded bench covered with a fur cloak, reminding me of the place in which my heartstone had been created. Another row of chairs lined one wall.

He motioned for us to sit in the chairs against the wall as a group of men and women filed through a door on the opposite wall. They circled the bench and took their seats. Thorn motioned to Grieve.

While I had never seen this rite performed—for there was no doubt this was a full-fledged ritual—Grieve obviously had, for he silently stood and walked over to the bench, where he lay down. One of the women sitting in the circle rose to cover him with the fur blanket then took her seat again.

The shamans reached out and joined hands, creating a ring around Grieve. One of them began to hum, his voice low and resonant. The rest joined in, one by one, until they were weaving a rhythmic, sonorous tone that threatened to draw me deep, drag me under the waves. As I began to follow the thread of music, I found myself in a long tunnel. In the light that blinded me from up ahead, I could see the shamans standing, only they were once again the dark shadows they had been on the walls. They surrounded a brilliant indigo form, and I knew it was Grieve hiding beneath that glowing light.

The music began to swell into a tide, a wave that rolled far out in the ocean like the beginnings of a tsunami, biding its time before its inevitable march toward the land. It loomed over Grieve, rising up like a great shadow—roiling waves ready to crash down on him and drag him under. I could feel his fear. The wolf on my stomach whimpered, cowering down, as it watched the wraithlike ocean descend. And then, as our link tied us together, I began to feel his pain as the storm broke, ripping into his mind, tearing it to shreds with a whirlwind of questions, a flurry bombarding him as the shamans sought their answers.

He let out a long scream as they rammed into him, penetrating deeply, tossing aside every block, searching every hidden nook and cranny of his mind. They stripped away the covering to every recess protecting those private shadows we all have. I tried to break free, not wanting to intrude, not wanting to see something that I might never be able to forget.

But then, as I jockeyed for my footing, I found myself roughly shoved to one side. As our link was severed, I went reeling back into my body, slamming into myself so hard that I fell off my chair. Dazed, I allowed Check and Fearless to lift me up and help me back to my seat.

Grieve was convulsing. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he was foaming at the mouth. I struggled to go to him, but the guards held me down. He was in pain, in horrible, terrible pain, and I realized this was the most intimate of intrusions, forcing into his very essence. The shamans were raping his mind, ravaging him to shed light into every corner, uncover every secret nook.

Crying, I watched, helpless to stop them.

Check leaned over. “Your Highness, do not weep. Show no emotion. This must be done in order to ensure the safety of the Court. To ensure your safety. His Lordship understands this, and volunteered to do it because he cares for you. Do not fear. Do not cry. Don’t make his sacrifice meaningless.”

Bleakly, I looked up at him. “You and Fearless will have to undergo the same ritual. Do you understand this now? There’s a spy in our midst, and we have to find out who it is.” Perhaps I shouldn’t have blurted it out, but I couldn’t face watching anyone else get roughed up who might be innocent.

Check nodded. “And so will all who come into contact with you in any capacity. And, my Lady, while it hurts, we understand the nature and necessity for this pain. The good of the Court and the good of the realm come before our personal comfort. For your sake, and the safety of all, we willingly submit, so that we might avoid having to submit to a far more dangerous force.”

Fearless nodded, and then did something that surprised the hell out of me. He reached out and patted my hand. As if realizing he’d just made a gaffe, he pulled back, but his eyes still crinkled with kindness, and the feel of his cool skin on mine managed to calm me down.

I turned back to watch Grieve. He was shaking now, though the convulsions had calmed down. Even from the outskirts, I could still feel the racking pain that raced through his mind. Helpless, knowing this was one of those horrendous duties that I would have to face again and again, I forced myself to watch. As I did so, Ulean fluttered around me.

This is your life. This is your destiny. You must wrap up your feelings and fears and tuck them away in a box. During times like this, you must learn to observe and let be what must be. Grieve will survive. Your King will be all right. Will he remember the pain? Yes, as will everyone who undergoes this rite. But it will not harm them, unless they have dangerous secrets to hide. And then . . .

And then . . . and then if he had something to hide, a terrible choice loomed before me. If Grieve was my betrayer, he would die, and I would be forced to make the decree. The thought of having to condemn him to death sent me into a cold sweat. Even if he was the spy plotting against me, how could I offer him up for execution? How can you order the death of someone you love, even if they deserve it?

You will do what you must, because you are the Queen of Snow and Ice. This is what wearing the crown means, Cicely. You face terrible possibilities, and you must learn to stand in your decision without flinching. You will do what you need to, because you must. It is as simple as that.

Simple? No. But true? Yes.

I caught my breath, struggling to inhale. As the shamans continued to rip their way through Grieve’s mind, I waited. Counting the seconds. Counting the hours. Time was mutable, and I lost track of how long the session went on. My emotions had become numb, and the tears stopped as time rolled past. But, just when it seemed it would never end, the energy spiraled up, away from Grieve, and vanished in a wisp of smoke.

Thorn turned to me. “He is loyal, heart and soul. He is not your spy and has not betrayed you. Nor is he likely to.”

And with that the sun rose again in my life, and the terrible night came to an end. And yet, even as two of the others helped Grieve over to the chair next to me, where he slumped, exhausted, I knew that the long night had barely begun.

Check and Fearless were next. Check volunteered to go first, and once again, I forced myself to stand witness. If they were being put through hell for my sake, the least I could do was stand in silent watch.

It was a little easier with them—I didn’t have the connection I had with Grieve, but still, watching them writhe and twist, watching the shamans bear down on them, fierce lights burning in their eyes, I began to realize just how ruthless was this realm over which I now ruled. Ruthless and terrifying and harsh. My people were rugged, and they expected me to be the Queen of Ice, cold and stern and able to stomach far more than I’d ever had to face.

Slowly, as I watched, I tried to accept my place. There was no other option—if I didn’t adapt, I’d fuck up and run the place into the ground.

Check was released, and Fearless took his place in their midst. As the process began again, Check and Grieve whispered together, before turning to me.

“When Fearless makes it through the ordeal, he and I will escort Strict and Silverweb here, and they shall be put to the test.” Check stretched his legs, wincing. “We will simply instruct them you have ordered their attendance.”

Strict was my chief advisor, Silverweb my treasurer. It stood to reason they should be next, though I dreaded seeing Silverweb undergo the ritual. Somehow, in a double-standard sort of way, it seemed wrong to order another woman into the arms of the shamans.

But you must, Cicely. There can be no weakness based on gender. The best way to exploit a vulnerability is to play up to one’s fears. And whoever your spy is, they will know this.

Ulean made sense. For a brief moment, I feared that maybe Ulean had turned on me, traded sides. My feelings must have seeped through to her because she embraced me with her gentle breeze.

Cicely . . . the shamans would not allow me in here if they thought that possible. I was bound to you when you were six years old. There is no spell, no magic strong enough to break that bond, save for death. And I do not die. The only way for you to be rid of me is to give me to another—like Lainule did when she ordered Grieve to bind me to you.

I nodded, knowing she was right. I was jumping at shadows, fearing they might be hiding Myst’s hunters. I started to apologize, then stopped. Ulean knew what stress I was under. She could read my energy, hear my whispers into the slipstream.

And so we waited, silent, as Fearless underwent the long dark rites of his soul, deep into the night. And when they were done with him, the shamans bade Grieve and me to rest, while Fearless and Check went back to the Barrow.

Grieve and I retired to the chamber they provided and shut the door behind us, closing away the world. It would be some time before Check and Fearless returned with Strict and Silverweb, and we were both exhausted.

But as I turned to my love, the pain in his eyes overwhelmed me, and I fell into his arms, sobbing quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m responsible for what you went through.”

He held me, his arms wrapping around my waist, and buried his nose into my hair. “Cicely, my love. It’s all right. Please, believe me. This is the way of our people. I have undergone this ritual before—in Lainule’s Court. And Myst put me through it, for her pleasure. But for you, I would endure so much more. I needed you to know I was true to you. I need you to know that in your heart.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips to mine. As his hands slid over my ass and along my back, the heat within me rose, and I yanked off my crown. The only time I was allowed to take it off was when we were alone in our chamber, or when I was sleeping. It had become an anchor around my neck, and I welcomed the times when I could remove it, even though the weight of responsibility was there regardless.

Grieve pushed me back, staring into my eyes, and I lost myself in his gaze. His eyes had been cornflower blue once, blue as the morning sky, but when Myst had turned him, they had shifted to inky black, with a sparkling of stars through them. The Vampiric Fae all had eyes like the night sky.

He reached out, touched the busks on my corset, and I let him undo them. Grieve preferred to undress me, and I liked it when he did. He undid the steel fasteners one by one, easing the pressure on my midriff, and then my boobs bounced free. I had large breasts. I was five-four and a sturdy one hundred and forty pounds of muscle. As he ran one finger up my side to slide over my breasts and then pinched my nipple, hard, I inhaled sharply, gasping at the pain before the fire hit. And then, in a haze of hunger, I unzipped my jeans and kicked my way out of them.

Grieve, like all full-blooded Fae, could shed his clothes with a single thought, and did, now standing naked in front of me. He was glorious, my Faerie King, and his hair grazed his shoulder blades, pale and shimmering as the cool winter sun. Exotic and dangerous, he bared his teeth—they were razor sharp from the turning. I gasped, oh so hungry.

“Fuck me. Fuck me, please.” I needed him. I wanted his hands on me, roughing me up, pushing me down, stroking against my thighs, my breasts, over the tattoo on my stomach.

He could feel my need—my wolf growled in response to his rising hunger—and he stepped toward me, gaze still fastened on me. I danced back a step, teasing him, daring him to join the chase.

“You want it that way, then?” His voice was soft, running smooth over the words, but it set me off, the sparks racing through me at a rate I could barely stand. “You want it rough? You want it dark and dangerous and deadly?”

I could only nod. “I need you to be the strong one. I need you to take control.” As I said it, I knew it was true—I couldn’t handle making another decision; I couldn’t handle another choice in the day.

I wanted to forget, to be set free from the constant demands put on me. And the only way that I could lose myself and get out of my head was for Grieve to be strong enough to overpower my thoughts, to overpower my choices, to take me into that dark deep place where I could feel through pain that turned to pleasure. I needed to bleed onto the ground, the pain of the wounds making me know I was still alive, that I wasn’t just a figurehead, a symbol, an icon.

I stretched out my arms, and Grieve slowly moved around behind me, taking my arm in his hand, stroking the skin, stroking the flesh up to my elbow. He turned my wrist upward, his lips lingering over it, and then with those razor-sharp teeth, ran them along the flesh, scoring it as he went, a thin red line welling up. The sight of the blood, the sting of his teeth sent me into a frenzy, and I cried out, my head dropping back.

Grieve moved up to stand in back of me, and he encircled my waist, stroking my stomach with his fingers as his teeth found my neck, nipping me sharply, drawing more blood. The venom in his saliva could no longer entrance me, but it sent me reeling, as strong as any aphrodisiac. I moaned as he sucked lightly, drawing drops of blood, and then he leaned around and licked my face, trailing my life force across my cheek, kissing me deeply, his tongue probing my mouth as he began to grind against me.

His cock rose up, strong and firm and thick, and I moaned again, the taste of my own blood in my mouth. But he wouldn’t let go. Instead, he walked me toward the bed, his hips swiveling against mine. I ached so deep, so hard, that I could barely stand the pain. I wanted him in me, wanted him to thrust so deep and hard that I wouldn’t be able to stop screaming.

And then we were at the bed, and I began to fall backward, my legs opening as he drove in toward me, finding my cunt, finding my center. I was wet, and he slid inside, fitting perfectly, filling me up. The next moment, he was moving in me, thrusting with a passion that I had never met from anyone before—not even Lannan. I wrapped my legs around his back, holding on so tight that I would have broken his back if he tried to pull away.

“Never stop, never stop. . . . Screw me till I can’t remember my name.”

“I’ll fuck you forever. Until you lose yourself completely. You’re my shooting star, Cicely, my dark queen in the middle of the night sky. And the only one I will ever share you with is that goddamn Lannan Altos . . . because he saved your life, and that is enough for me to let you take what you need from him.”

Tears in my eyes, I rocked back and forth as he plunged deeper with each thrust. And with every thrust, I lost a little bit more of myself until it was all a blur of the night sky and cold fire and the silver stars in his eyes.

And then—in the darkness of his love and his fury, I came to the edge of the precipice, and as he roared to life, the wolf master of my world, I was able to let go and topple over. All thoughts of fear and guilt vanished as I gave myself up to the ecstasy that destroys us all with its passionate drive. With one sharp scream, I let go and flew, and in that flight, I knew that here was my strength—the cold fire of ice and snow, the fire of passion and pain, and sex under the dark and torturous sky.