Night Veil (6 page)

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Authors: Yasmine Galenorn

BOOK: Night Veil
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“Grieve, is it really you?” I whispered, pressing against him.
He said nothing but pulled me in, his lips touching my own. I breathed in his scent, reveling in the feeling of being in his arms again, wanting to stay here forever. Grieve, regardless of his nature, was my other half—my soul mate. My love. He murmured softly as he fisted my hair and slid his hands over my body.
“Cicely.” His voice was sultry and I melted into his embrace. “My own Cicely.” One hand rose to stroke my breast and I bared my neck, aching for the needle-sharp sting of his teeth. It was so different than when Lannan bit me—this I enjoyed, reveled in.
As he lowered his lips to my neck and gently slid through the flesh, I gasped again, sliding into the dream-filled ecstasy that his bloodletting brought to me. My body raced with heat, the blood pumping through my veins as he gently licked it from the wound on my throat. He circled my waist with his left hand as his right slid down, across my stomach to between my thighs.
My wolf whimpered and I let out a long sob as he gently circled my clit with a feather-light touch, claiming me as he stoked my fires. All thoughts of Lannan and his perverted whims faded into the background, becoming white noise, as my hands sought out Grieve’s chest and I slid down that olive skin. Grieve claimed me with his kiss, stoking my fires, sliding between my legs to carry me away from fear and pain. Another few inches and I held Grieve in hand, his rigid desire throbbing against my palm. He slid both hands under my butt and lifted me up, pressing me back against a mossy tree as he thrust himself inside me, so deep that he touched my core.
The moss on the tree itched against my back, but it protected me from the bark as Grieve drove himself into me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he freed one hand to stroke me again, his flesh soft and warm and living against me.
“I missed you so much,” I whispered. “I love you so much.”
“I miss you, too. I can’t stand that Myst holds my chain. Every time she demands my attendance, I want to attack her, to destroy her, but I can’t. She is too powerful. I don’t even think the gods themselves can strike her down.”
“Myst can’t have you—you’re mine. We belong together. We’ve always belonged together. I won’t lose you again.”
“I’ll never give in, never give her the satisfaction of thinking she can let down her guard near me. You’re mine, Cicely Waters . . . I will be with you forever, or die in the attempt.”
And then, a gust of wind swept past, chilling me to the bone.
“Cicely . . .”
His voice sounded distant, as if he were speaking through a long tunnel, and his touch began to fade as I came, sharp and with a sting of pain.
“Grieve—what’s happening?” I found myself standing by the tree, and he was reaching for me but now we were separate, divided by some invisible chasm.
“Cicely . . . I love you . . .”
I realized that I was now frozen and cold, and the snow hurt against my bare feet. I looked around frantically as Grieve began to fade, still reaching for me. “No, you can’t go. Don’t leave me—”
But a tall woman clad in a gossamer gown woven from the silk of her ice spiders glided up behind him. She was as glorious as a midwinter day, with hair as black as the night and her eyes spun with starlight. Her skin held a cerulean cast to it. Her breasts were firm and her belly slightly rounded, just enough to give her curves. She put her hand on Grieve’s shoulder and he languidly turned to her, opening his arms to her embrace. Her hair fell against his, jet against his platinum strands, and as she bent to kiss him and his lips touched hers, I let out a long, single cry.
No . . . can you still hear me? Can you feel me? You have to fight her. Please. Fight Myst with everything you have.
Myst turned to look at me, laughing. “You’ve lost, Uwilahsidhe. You traitorous bitch. I warned you long ago that I would destroy you for what you did. I’ve only just begun. Geoffrey’s not my only target. Know that, Cicely Waters, Wind Witch. I will systematically take everything you hold dear and taint it. I will destroy everything and everyone you love. You will be broken and alone at the end, with no one left to care. Then, and only then, I will come for you, and teach you what it means to betray me.”
She swept Grieve into her arms and kissed him deep, and his gaze slid away from me as he lost himself to her, and they faded from sight.
With a sharp cry, I shot up in bed, covered in a cold sweat. I jumped out of bed. Was it just a dream? A nightmare brought on by Lannan’s threat? But as I turned back to the sheets, I saw loose moss scattered in the bed, and a few leaves, moldy from the snow and weather.
I glanced in the mirror at my back. The imprint of bark ran down my skin, and moss clung to me. I realized that I’d had an orgasm. My body no longer ached, but my heart felt like it was breaking.
No . . . it was real. Grieve is out there and he was thinking of me, and somehow I went to him. But Myst . . .
The reality of what we were facing hit home then. With tears flowing fast and thick, I climbed in the shower and quickly rinsed off, and then changed my sheets. But the memory of Myst’s words rang in my head, and it was a long time before I was able to get to sleep again.
 
The next morning, I woke, feeling hungover from emotion and adrenaline. As I stared out of the window, squinting in vain for any sign of Grieve, Ulean swept around me.
He is not there. He is sleeping now; the pain of the light eats them into madness otherwise. Try to focus on something other than vampires and the Indigo Court. That is all you can do for the moment.
As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew she was right.
I can work on Wind Charms . . . we’re almost ready to open and Peyton is coming over this morning to help me put the finishing touches on the storefront.
Ulean made sounds of approval.
Good. Cicely . . . do not give up hope. Myst is a fierce and terrifying adversary, but Grieve is not totally lost to you. Not yet. I would know if he were. He is torn, conflicted, but there is still a faint hope.
I knew about torn and conflicted. I’d been that way every day of my life, it seemed. But with Grieve . . . one time stood out. A time I wished I’d never had to experience.
I headed for another quick shower, the bracing water waking me up as my mind turned in a million different directions.
I’d never expected to go into business for myself, but when Marta, Crone-Priestess of the now defunct Thirteen Moons Society, had left me her magical shop—or rather the inventory and clientele—in her will, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her place.
Most of my life I’d lived on the road. When I was six years old, Krystal—my junkie, bloodwhore mother—had dragged me away from my aunt Heather and the Veil House and Grieve, and everything that was familiar. Even then, I knew nothing would ever be the same.
I sniffed my vanilla body wash. The scent was warm and inviting, and it comforted me gently as I lathered up. It reminded me of the visits home. Aunt Heather always had plenty of vanilla and lavender bath wash waiting for me. Every year or so, Krystal would put me on a bus and send me, alone, back to New Forest for a week. And when it was time for me to go back to life on the road, Heather would cry as she returned me to the bus. If she’d tried to keep me, Krystal would have taken me away forever.
In my early teens, I’d fallen in love with Grieve. At seventeen, he’d asked me to stay with him. And I . . . I’d walked away.
 
Grieve and I sprawled under the cedar, lolling around on one of my rare visits back to the Veil House. My mother let me return once a year for a couple of weeks, and I took full advantage of it. I missed living here, missed being off the streets. My mother had snatched me away when I was six from all I’d ever known—my aunt Heather, cousin Rhiannon . . . the Veil House . . . and Grieve and Chatter. I’d been on the run ever since, learning to steal, to bluff my way through potentially dangerous situations. At seventeen, I felt old—older than any teenager has any right to be.
Before my mother ran away with me, Grieve had helped me bond with Ulean and sent her with me as a protector.
I’d tried to forget. Even at six, I knew that if I held on to the past, I’d never be able to face the present. But Grieve . . . I couldn’t forget him. My child’s memories of his kindness, of his otherworldly nature, remained safely tucked in my heart. With each year, as I visited, he grew out of being a child’s crush and I realized I was falling in love with the Fae Prince.
When I was fifteen, he began to kiss my hand. To walk with me in the ravine. To talk to me like an adult. At sixteen, I handed him my heart, made the first move and kissed him on the lips as we ran through the glades, laughing and dancing in the sunlight.
Grieve never pushed, never made a step over the line. But with that first kiss, his lips crushing mine, a longing so deep it nearly tore me apart rose up and I broke down weeping, wanting only to stay with him. To be with him. To love him. To never leave his side.
And now . . . at seventeen, I was home again. I whispered to him gently, tickled his ear, and opened my heart and body to him.
“You cannot leave me,” he said, toying with my fingers, kissing their tips slowly. “I love you. I’ve been waiting for you to remember.”
I stared at him, afraid to say those three words for fear of what they’d bind me to. But I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be a princess in his realm. What would it be like to be with my love forever?
“Remember . . . what am I supposed to remember?”
He swept his gaze to my face, his lashes long and lazy. “Oh, my sweet. If you have to ask . . . never mind. It’s no matter. But stay with me? I must protect you. Take you away from the life you lead. You long to be here; I can feel it. The Golden Wood is your home. Your cousin and aunt are here. You belong by my side.” Stretching out on his back, he folded his arms behind his head as the sunlight broke through the clouds and splashed across his face.
He was gorgeous, my prince. With eyes so blue they mirrored the morning sky, and hair as silky as spun platinum. His skin was a deep olive and he barely looked human. But his energy was that of summer apples and warm hay, of long nights under the stars with the scent of roses heavy on the breeze. I caught my breath, wondering again at the connection that I felt with this man. This Fae Prince. For it ran like a river beneath the surface, wide and vast and deep, rolling thunder as it moved along and took me with it.
I leaned down, slowly, brushing my lips to his. “You are the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”
He slid his arms out from beneath his head and ran his hands lightly up my shoulders. “Cicely . . .” His voice was hoarse. “Cicely, you are like wild honey wine. I can’t get enough of you. You were adorable when you were a child, but now . . . now you are grown and you are my passion and dream. I wish you could remember . . .”
“What is it, my love?” I sprawled in his arms and he rolled me over, looming above me.
“I cannot tell you . . . I cannot interfere. But one day, you will know the truth of our bond, and you will be mine forever.” A shadow brushed across his face and he whispered, “Or perhaps you will forsake me.”
“Never! I will never let you go. I love you, Grieve.” I sprang up, blurting out the words that I’d wanted to say for the past three years, but I’d been too young. Too afraid. Even now, I knew it was too early—that I couldn’t back up my feelings. My mother still controlled my life and I was at her beck and call.

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