“Silas,” I offered with a slight turn of my head, refusing to look directly at him over my shoulder, my voice a stark contrast to his. Mine was the sweet rush of a melting spring stream, his like the coarse bite of bark. The two should never meet, but here we were.
The honeysuckle-pink chiffon of my skirt that tickled the backs of my thighs, my knees, now pinched between his bold fingers. He touched me like he had earned that right, fiddling with my dress, toying with the ends of my loose hair. More little bumps erupted along my skin, a familiar yet quite unwelcome tingle resonating in my belly. I shifted about, refusing to brush my hands down my arms, refusing to smooth out the evidence of his effect on me—refusing to even acknowledge it. Instead, I lifted my chin, eyes wide and accusatory as he circled me, ever the prowling predator.
Swathed in black, Silas was a beast of a man. Even at my full height, which was substantial in its own right, he had at least a head on me. His hair shone like polished obsidian tonight, curving around his face in rough black waves, right down to his shoulders. It was my understanding that warlocks like him, high priests, heads of these dark clans, had a uniform to abide by, yet tonight he was rather… careless. Carefree, maybe. Another unwelcome shiver licked across my skin, pearling my nipples the longer his gaze burned me.
My face. My neck. My breasts. That gaze took such liberties with me, juniper green and cruel.
Juniper green and wanting.
I swallowed hard, refusing to wilt before him.
“You look lovely tonight,” he rasped, daring to draw a finger from the hollow in my throat down between my breasts. I waited, poised and ready, until just the right moment to slap his hand away—hard. His chuckle did horrible things to me, things it ought not. Things that belonged in the darkness alone, and yet they found me, here, in my home.
“You look unkempt,” I told him, in no mood to play—no matter what my wretched body demanded. I looked pointedly to his coarse black facial hair, then down to the fitted black suit. Not unkempt at all, that suit. In fact, even without touching it, the expense of such fine material was palpable beneath my fingertips. Tailored around his broad chest, his tapered waist, his muscular thighs. A button-up. Slacks. A jacket made for fisting one’s hands in, for clinging to sharp shoulders.
“Ríona,” Silas crooned, emphasizing every syllable so that I felt it, “you wound me.”
Not yet I haven’t. I gave him nothing in return. No jest. No jeer. Not even a thin smile. Nothing to further this battle of wills. His lips lifted victoriously again, and his whole being pulsed with shadow magic, raw power—a gift from the dark god below, no more than a petulant fallen angel. My own magic lapped at my insides, warm and pure and good, but it was no match for his. I sat nearly at the bottom of the Seelie Court, my powers hardly above average for any normal fae. Illumination. Healing. Luck. Flight, though no more than heightened speed without my wings, of course, my magic unable to sustain them in the human realm. Only the brightest and the best kept their wings here.
I never needed them, not in Harper’s Grove.
Not until tonight.
I flinched when his thumb caught my chin, and then glared into those juniper greens with all the defiance I had.
“Come away with me, goddess,” Silas whispered. Romantic words—tainted by that smirk. Spoiled by arrogance, by darkness. I swallowed hard again and said nothing, only retreating further when his thumb came calling again. He lashed out, snatching me up by the chin instead, a black brow lifted expectantly. Still I said nothing. The warlock exhaled sharply, his breath hot against my cheek, his fingers biting into my jaw. He smelled distinctly masculine tonight, rich and musky, yet his breath was like mint.
Artificial mint, to be certain. Nothing like the real stuff. Manufactured and packaged, like so much of the modern human world.
But not him. Only his breath.
“Fine.”
Self-satisfaction rose deep within me; my silence bothered him. Good. I wasn’t here for his amusement, regardless of how the rest of our night went.
And if I had my way, our night would end shortly.
With a wave of his hand, a dismissive gesture that only highlighted the tightness around his mouth, the earth released me. Before I could climb out of the twin pits, loose dirt and grass and moss clinging to my calves, Silas ducked low and threw me over his shoulder. A high-pitched sound escaped me at the flurry of movement, made worse when he jostled me around before rising to his full height. One burly arm curled around my thighs, my ass far closer to his smirking mouth than I cared for, and my upper half hung uselessly down his back.
Something glinted from the corner of my eye, and both suddenly widened with delight; all that tossing me about had rumpled his jacket, peeling back the lush fabric to reveal a knife on his belt. Ceremonial in nature judging by the handle encrusted with rubies and black pearls, the jagged stretch of silver was nearly a half foot long and deadly sharp. Meant for me, no doubt, for what was to come. A third involuntary shiver, this time squarely between my legs, smarted like the flicker of a match. I clenched my teeth, scowling.
Silas hadn’t made it more than three steps away from my willow before I yanked the blade from its flimsy leather holster and embedded it deep within his side.
His grip faltered, his stumble paired with a sharp hiss and a curse under his breath. Heart soaring, I sprang into action, taking advantage of his weakness and shoving my knees into his chest, my hands to his shoulder. We lilted to the right, struggling, until his knee gave out and we plummeted to the ground. As soon as I had the room to detach myself, I did so, rolling from his side and leaping to my feet. There stood my willow, her branches swaying, calling me home—
And in an instant, there stood Silas, blocking my path, unnervingly nimble despite his injury. He faced me with a grimace, a darkness in the juniper that made my heart plummet now, my belly bottoming out as I tiptoed backward. The darkness held a promise: I wouldn’t get by him. I wouldn’t reach my willow, cross the fairy ring, retreat into the Otherworld.
I swallowed thickly. So be it. There were plenty of other nooks and crannies in Harper’s Grove to shield me, where I might ride this night out in solace.
We held one another’s gazes a beat longer, his handsome mouth lifted in a snarl, a hand at his bloody side and coiled around the dagger’s hilt—then I was off. The forest blurred around me, my feet barely touching the ground, my skirts and hair like a comet’s tail blazing in my wake.
Much to my surprise, he thundered after me, crashing between the trees, ripping through the undergrowth. No longer the creeping shadow, the warlock was a hurricane destroying all in his path, his slightly off-kilter gait an unpleasant echo. For a man with a dagger in his side, he did remarkably well keeping pace, but I was faster—I always would be.
As I fled, all my usual hiding spots seemed so obvious. This hunter wasn’t one I could lose like the mortals who used Harper’s Grove for hiking and picnicking and fucking. Fewer ventured into my domain these past years, less children to climb the bows of my beloved trees, only the occasional couples interested in moonlight strolls beneath the canopy. I had made this place beautiful for them, the humans in the town to the east. I had nursed the forest back to life, cured it of the dark magic oozing from Silas’s village to the west. No part of it was unknown to me. As a forest shepherd charged by my king, I would never abandon it.