Night's End (6 page)

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.

Chapter 3

A knock on the door woke me. I had fallen asleep in Grieve's arms, but now I was on my side of the bed. I never did do well sleeping in someone's arms. A moment later, Druise entered the chamber. She looked exhausted, and I realized she'd been through the wringer. Again. But she ducked her head and smiled wanly as she tiptoed over to my side. I sat up too quickly, grimacing. I'd slept in an awkward position, and everything ached. Or maybe it was just stress. Whatever the case, I didn't feel quite up to snuff.

“Pardon me, Your Highness, but Thorn—the shaman—he asked me to come wake you and His Lordship.” She held out a warm robe. I'd slept in the nude, since we weren't in our own bed, and I slid into it, wrapping it tightly around me. Though I was fairly immune to the cold, here in the shamans' lair, the chill seeped through insidiously, catching me unaware until I realized I was shivering. How they lived this way, I didn't know. It felt silent here, and tomblike, as if a stasis ran through the air, brought about by the ice itself.

“Did you . . . did the shamans . . .” I couldn't finish my question but she finished it for me.

“Yes, they tested me. I wouldn't be here if they hadn't.”

She showed me to the bathroom; then when I finished washing up and returned to the bedroom, I found she had thought to bring a change of my clothes with her, including fresh underwear, for which I was grateful. I slid into the panties and jeans, then allowed her to bustle me into a warm but sheer black under blouse, over which she laced me into a silver corset. I slid on my boots as she swept my hair back with the brush. She seemed to pick up on my mood, and remained silent, humming softly as she worked.

After a few minutes, I glanced over my shoulder. “I'm sorry we had to put you through that again, Druise.” She'd underwent the procedure before being hired into her position, and I knew how much that invasion had cost her.

Druise gazed at me, her eyes clear and steady. “Your Highness, may I be blunt?”

“By all means.” This surprised me—Druise was usually reticent. At times, I thought her overly grateful. But then again, her job with me meant her family was in a better position than they had ever been. She wanted to keep her post and I knew she'd do just about anything in order to make me happy.

“I think . . . I don't dare to presume, but I believe your advisor, His Lordship Strict, would caution you against apologizing to the help. Or to anyone, for that matter. It is not my place to question your motives, or your orders, but to accept them as you will.”

I let out a soft laugh. Lainule, the former Queen of Summer, had already had my head over that one. “I think you're right, Druise. But I'm still . . . I regret having had to order this. Allow me that much, at least.”

“Honestly, yes the procedure hurts, but for you? I'd walk through fire. You treat me like a real person. You aren't cruel or demanding. I never feel afraid around you—well, not so long as I mind my manners and do my work right. Your Majesty, I would give my life for you.” And with that she stopped, flushed and looking ever-so-slightly embarrassed, the brush half-raised.

The realization that I literally held her life in my hands—every life in my Court—sank in at that moment. I was responsible for them all, and I could terminate any of them—including Grieve—with one fit of temper or pique.

“Druise, I value the trust and faith you place in me. And obviously you're here because you passed the challenge. The shamans wouldn't let you near me without that. Please know that, any time we . . . I . . . put you through something like this, it's only for the good of the Barrow.” And what was good for me, was good for the Barrow. But I didn't say that.

She curtseyed, then finished brushing my hair into a ponytail, then affixed my crown, making certain it set firmly on my head. As she finished up, Grieve woke, and even as he slid out from the covers, his clothes appeared, forming as he stood. Druise curtseyed to him, too, but since she was my lady's maid, she was primarily at my beck and call.

My stomach rumbled. I turned to her. “Breakfast?”

“There will be food in the testing chamber, they said.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a roll. “I brought you this, though, Your Highness. I knew you'd be hungry.”

Grinning, I took the bread. “You know me, Druise. You do at that.” And, biting into the soft, crumbling bread, I allowed her to open the door. One of the shamans' guards was standing there, and he led us back to the chamber.

Check and Fearless were there, as well as Strict, Silverweb, and several other members of the Court. I recognized them all by now—prime power players in my Court whom I needed to rely on.

“Their loyalty is unswerving, Your Majesty.” Thorn eased into the chair nearest me. “Whoever the spy in your Court is, the person is not among those here. You should also check your magic-born friends.”

I started to protest—the very thought that Peyton or Luna or Kaylin might be working against me rankled, but then I thought back to Leo. He'd not only convinced Geoffrey to turn him into a vampire, but he'd then turned against my cousin Rhiannon, to whom he was engaged. In the end, he'd kidnapped her and put her through hell before we staked him. So Thorn was right. I couldn't very well ignore the possibility that one of my friends was no longer my friend.

“Can you . . . Will this ritual work on them, too?” I asked.

Thorn shook his head. “No, it only will work on members of the Cambyra race and on half-bloods. You must seek another method of checking the loyalty of your friends. And I advise you do so as soon as possible. Meanwhile, we will put all the guards to the test, starting with those who wield more power among your troops, as well as anyone who has any close contact with you.”

“How much time are we looking at?” I couldn't stay here until they'd gone through the entire Barrow.

With a shrug, the shaman held out his hands. “I don't know, to be honest. These rituals will take time. Our task cannot be accomplished overnight—even we must rest, and this magic for this ritual requires a great deal of stamina and endurance on our part.”

He motioned to the empty seats around the bench. “The others have withdrawn to rest and renew themselves while the next group of guards are being brought to the task. They are on their way now. Meanwhile, we suggest you keep your eyes open and always make certain Check and Fearless are with you, regardless of where you are.”

And with that he turned and walked away. There were baskets of rolls, smoked meats—though no fish—and apples on the side tables. As I nibbled on another roll and a piece of jerky, it occurred to me that, until we'd cleared everybody, Thorn was right. I'd need to have Check or Fearless with me at all times. They were sitting nearby, patiently waiting and eating.

As I watched them, I realized that they'd be hard-pressed to catch any sleep. From now on, their sole duty would be to guard me. And that meant they would have to sleep in the sitting chamber of our bedroom in order to be at my beck and call. Another thought crept in—they'd need to watch themselves. Potential spies or assassins might target them as well.

Feeling overwhelmed, and once again slightly claustrophobic, I contemplated our next move. Myst was on the offense. She had been my mother, lifetimes ago, and we were still connected even though I didn't like admitting it. I could feel her out there. She had pulled back briefly to regroup and recruit more of her warriors from other nests where she'd left them. But the hard fact remained: She was ready to go on the attack again.

Closing my eyes, I drifted in the stillness that comes with trying to push out a world of thoughts so you can actually see things clearly. And in that second, all sound stopped, and everything around me faded.

I was standing at the top of a ravine as the wind whistled through my hair. The scent of snow rode in on the gusting currents, and before nightfall, the land would be white and it would be, once again, our time.

My name was Cherish, and I was the daughter of Myst, the Queen of the Indigo Court. Myst, the conqueror who had come to this land, where there was still room to grow and expand, to spread out and plunge deep roots. Like the fungi that traveled beneath the earth, that spored and spread through the ground, my mother was planting her seeds, growing a race of hunters. The regional Fae Queens ignored her—or perhaps, they took no notice or did not even know she existed. My mother was good at camouflage and recognized the value of keeping herself a secret. Crafty and cunning, she had passed those traits on to me.

We had come to this land and slowly spread from one end till now, we neared the other coast. All along the way, we laid the foundation for what would—long in the future—become a coup. We had left nests as we worked our way west, to breed and gather strength.

The yummanii who walked these forests knew very little of us, calling us the “blue demons” or the “hunger who walks upon legs.” In both senses, they were right. We
were
demons, and we knew it and reveled in it. And we were constantly hungry.

The hunger churned in my stomach even now. The hunger for flesh, for blood and bone and sinew. The hunger for life force. The hunger to chase, to corner and rip and tear into body and muscle. I licked my lips as I thought about the taste of blood on my tongue, of fresh meat.

“What do you hear? Are there voices on the slipstream?” My mother's words echoed from behind me, and I turned to see her lithe, spidery form rising up. She was lean and tall, with eyes the color of the night sky, and stars glimmering in those jet-black pools—the same as my own. Myst's hair was long, as was mine—again, the black of night—and our skin took on a cerulean cast as the shadows of afternoon lengthened toward dusk.

I did not answer, merely turned back to the ravine to listen. Her question was far from rhetorical—I had a knack for hearing voices in the wind. It helped when we were on a hunt, for I was the best at tracking quarry down, at locating our dinner.

Now I listened, closely. A whisper here, a whisper there. And then—a brief voice crystal clear and shattering to my ears.

You have a split soul, Cherish.

What? Who was talking to me? Frowning, I tried again.

Nature is full of checks and balances. When there is an imbalance in the system, she creates a counterweight to even things out again. You are that counterweight. You are the remedy to the monstrosity who should never have been born. You are the antidote to a creature who stands outside of the balance.

Startled, I reared back, opening my eyes as I searched for the source of the voice. But there was no one in sight. I shaded my eyes with my hand, trying to locate whoever it was that had been talking to me, but not a creature stirred. The birds and animals could smell my mother and me and kept still for fear we would gobble them up.

“What is it?” My mother leaned over my shoulder, resting a thin hand against my back.

Something inside warned me to keep my mouth shut. I didn't know why, but whatever it was I had heard put me in danger. I had no clue what the woman—for it was a woman's voice—was talking about, but it unsettled me. She'd been talking directly to me, and it had sounded too definite, too authoritative for comfort.