“Yes, Tricia. Feel the power of the forest feeding you.”
The voice stalls me in my tracks, and I spin a full circle, searching above where lions hide, within the vegetation where shadows stalk me, below where slithering things slink between my shoes. “Who are you? Where are you? Show yourself.”
“This is your blooded power, your lineage, your royalty. Claim it as your ancestors have done for millennia. Embrace who you are. Own your powers. Own your destiny…”
The voice fades, and my vision sharpens as I stare upward where askew branches leave me confused. There’s a spider high in the glass-leafed tree, wrapping its victim in a silk tomb, her many eyes seeking out my gaze. “Did you talk to me?”
Round and round, she blankets her victim, one sticky thread after the other. I want to be a spider. I want to be the one who spies its enemy, who impales its rival before the foe knows its path leads to certain death.
A hiss of pain on my fingertip produces a crimson bead that I study for a long moment before I lift the sustenance to my parched lips.
Silky. Salty. Sanguine.
Dry. I’m so dry. So thirsty.
Hungry.
I stick out my tongue, dabbing at the droplet, making each draw last. Could I feed myself? Could I nourish myself by fueling this body with my blood? I suck and pull until my cheeks hurt, until the forest spins around me, until I’m inhaling the power of the trees, the earth, the sky. Triskele. Of desire, of indecision, of fear. Triskele.
As if in swallowing darkness, my blooded darkness, the evil that courses through my veins and mixes with the taboo that exists in this place feeds my soul. But will the darkness I feed from save my daughter?
Chapter 12
Tricia
Pressure on my shoulder, I flutter my eyes, spotting Riley’s red gaze above me. It doesn’t shock me, not now. We are connected without thoughts or words.
“Tricia. Wake up. Tricia.”
Under the dusky twilight of Faery, I come to terms with Riley’s panic-stricken gaze. It takes me a moment to realize the additional men above him. They struggle with as much agitation as his. I do a mental body check, followed by a physical one: face, shoulders, chest, and belly. My belly. My baby. I’m pregnant. It’s the first time I feel a solid protective sense fall over me.
Protect her…
It’s not as strong as it should be, I chastise myself, but it’s something more than it was before I fell asleep. Was that the dream’s purpose? Is my selfish quest for darkness hurting my baby?
Save her…
“What was that?” Riley prods.
Intuition tells me I was having some kind of an out-of-body experience. One as protective as if the darkness is my child I’m carrying. I plant my hand on Riley’s chest and give him a slight shove—nothing too hurtful, just space to breathe. “Nothing. A dream. Me in the forest following a little pixie, I think.”
He lifts my finger, a bead of blood trickling out from the spot where the skin looks pruned, wet, and pink. “It was something. You were crying out. I felt something...evil. This place somehow hurt you without touching you.”
Only it didn’t hurt. It felt good. It felt right. “This forest is where I belong. This forest holds the answers to saving my life and the life of our child.” I struggle a bit, freeing myself from his grip. I don’t want to face his discerning gaze or a temper that flares as he wrestles with what I’ve just shared.
I shoo the others away, feeling uncomfortable when I’m not exactly embarrassed. I’m defensive of my growing addiction.
Except, as I glance down at my swollen belly, feeling our child roll inside, I’m not sure the forest isn’t set on claiming me, and through me, her. “How long did I sleep?”
“An hour. The path is cleared?”
I pull myself together, noting the fire is nothing but a thin layer of charred embers. I roll to a stand, grabbing my backpack that I’ve used for a bedroll and spotting a corner of the book has surfaced. Was I touching the book? Did it suck me into a portal once again?
I tuck the jacket back over the cover, but when I look up, Riley’s checking me out, as if he’s wondering the same thing. Did the book steal me away while I slept?
Pushing a smile on my face, I thread my arms through my pack. “The nap helped. I feel rested. I’m better. Let’s go.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Ignoring Riley, I march past him, dearly wishing the river flooded to the point I could refill my bottle, I’m so thirsty. In truth, though, I’m better than better. Stronger than ever, the forest hums with energy. I think Riley’s onto me, giving me the side-eye every few minutes. He thinks I’m turning into Catherine. Am I?
We trek forward as we retake the trail that courses along the edge of the granite bluff to my left. There’s no hiding what I’m feeling from him. We are bonded, but something about this forest makes me consider doing just that—hiding. Coveting its power for myself.
I dart my gaze through the trees to my right, looking for the presence in my dreams, hoping in a secret way that the forest will speak to me again, will give me clues to this new sensation I shouldn’t trust. For answers….
Dim light filters through the canopy, elongating the artificial shadows, turning our once bright place into a murky path, but the sweet scent of lupine still infuses the air, as if blanketing what lies behind the stone wall.
The others strike up dust, stamping the ground with their boots, gear clashing against their padded protective uniforms.
My mouth sticks together. I’m bone dry, my headache suddenly reaching its peak. I’m no longer sweating, but I keep that to myself. Blame my reasoning on the lack of water or the salted meat I ate. My foolish urge to rush in ill prepared. Elgrim was right about one thing: metal and weapons will never feed my thirst. At least my thirst for water. Soon as we reach the river, I’m diving in.
“Look out!” Peter, my fae guard, carves a tight circle around a thick-trunked Darley Oak, the upper branches jutting out at bizarre angles and crooked branches warring space.
Others burst from the line, their shouts demanding my attention. I cup my belly as I pick up my stride to join Riley, who blocks me with his body.
“What’s happened?” I demand when he won’t meet my eyes.
“Keep to the path, do you understand?” He moves to the side, his feet never leaving the two-foot wide trail as he skirts me along.
I try to picture what I’m seeing, tilting my head from side to side.
This spot of the forest is unique. A grove of trees hugs the bluff side and the cobbled wall side. Here, the trunks seem mirrored, a fine sheen of reflective resin coating the bark. I remember it from when I came with my mother and sister. At the base, where neither ferns nor leaves scatter the ground, the soil appears almost sterile. The sparse canopy doesn’t tremble with scattering birds or trill with their chatter. The air scents with old mold and the constant presence of dark magic.
I stand in front of the trunk, catching my ghoulish and distorted reflection. It’s just an illusion. I can’t possibly look this bad after only eight hours. “Why are we shocked by the mirrored trees? Faery is full of unearthly things.”
“It’s not only a tree. Look higher. The Y in the trunk. I believe this is one of Elgrim’s kinsman bound by the tree.”