As she stepped into the thick forest, she drew deep, calming breaths. She crushed the carnation she’d secreted into the bag inside the pocket of her cloak and whispered a quick, ineloquent spell.
“Goddess, though I walk alone,
your moon’s rays light my way.
Let nature’s bounty, your gift to us but still your own,
do no harm or deter me along my way.”
Despite her prayer, she glanced around the deepening darkness and hoped she’d recognize the tree when she saw it. The canopy above her allowed only dapples of moonlight through to the forest floor. She’d found the oak only days ago when she’d been searching for moss for a fairy house she was constructing to sell online. No one else would have noted it. The tree was old. Its bark thick and rugged. Although shorter and squatter than the lovely old oak in the open field the witches used for their rituals, this one appeared ancient—much more suited to her task. When she’d rapped on its bark to awaken its spirit, she’d felt the old oak shiver its branches and sensed its anger at her intrusion. Only a grouchy old oak would serve her purpose.
With the picture of the squat oak in her mind, she reached into her right pocket and crushed the dried honeysuckle there, letting its sweet aroma rise around her, and sought the oak with her other sight.
When she again opened her eyes, moonlight gleamed brighter straight ahead. She plunged forward but didn’t note the vine on the forest floor. Her foot snagged and sent her toppling to the ground. As she pushed upright, she thought she heard something rustling in the bushes. Not a small animal. Suspicious, she narrowed her gaze and stared in the direction of the sound, sure a certain wolf with better night vision than she had stared right back.
She waited, listening, but when no other sounds intruded, other than the rustling of dried leaves above, she continued her way. If Sigurd were trailing her, he would already have made his presence known. He was forever standing in her path, forcing her to raise her gaze to his. In those moments, she felt as though her lungs constricted, and her voice got very small. She wasn’t exactly intimidated, because she knew he’d never harm her, but his size and steady, all-seeing gaze looked right through her. Like he could read her mind. Which was impossible. Still, she found deceiving him very hard, which was why she’d decided to sneak away in the dead of night. As soon as he’d fallen asleep, she’d crept from the house. Yes, she’d heard the slam of a door in the distance, but she’d been well around the bend in the canal. No, he couldn’t have tracked her so quickly to this part of the woods. If she was successful, he wouldn’t arrive at her destination until it was already too late.
It was well past time she should have had this conversation, and secrecy was of the utmost importance. This situation wasn’t something she could talk to her sisters about. They’d be hurt, because she’d never divulged the truth in all their long acquaintance, despite their shared travails. This secret burned a hole in her belly and made her lose sleep. Worse, it kept her from Sigurd. She could never agree to be his mate—and she knew he wanted that—not until her problem was resolved. Inside her pocket, she crossed her fingers and hoped she’d found the right tree.
The golden light beckoned, growing stronger the deeper into the woods she went, until she entered a clearing. Light from a golden gibbous moon gleamed through the branches of the canopy above. Fireflies, out of season, hovered around the trunk, blinking out and on. Something about the air had changed. It smelled sweeter, and felt…thinner…warmer.
This was the place. It had to be. She’d felt this same trembling excitement the one time her mother led her into the woods to greet an ancient oak and attempted what Aoife had to accomplish tonight.
Closing her eyes, she reached out and laid a hand against the rugged trunk.
“Come fae and fair,
No need beware,
A daughter comes to greet you.
One knock you hear,
Two draws you near,
The third opens the door to meet you.”
Taking a deep breath, she rapped three times. Then she waited.
The wind picked up, dragging back her hood. Light gleamed between the edges of the bark, up and down the tree.
She stepped backward. Her breaths came faster, and then the glowing edges formed a rectangle, wider than an arm span. The dark bark at its center melted away.
Revealed inside the doorway was a tunnel formed by intertwining gold and green vines. She swept up the edges of her cloak and bent to step inside the door. As soon as her feet touched soft moss on the other side, she heard a crackling sound from behind and a long, lonely howl.
Sigurd ran like the wind toward the disappearing opening but drew up short when the light extinguished. The clearing around the oak was empty. Darkness sank like a heavy veil. He shook off his wolfskin and stood where he’d last seen Aoife. Reaching out to the rough surface, he felt only hard, cold bark.
Chest heaving, he circled the tree. She was gone. Vanished. On his watch. Again, he flung back his head and howled.
What has she done? That was the first question that sprang to mind, because he knew she’d caused this. He’d heard her whispers. Knew she’d performed an incantation. Was she simply escaping her guard to roam free? Or was she meeting a lover?
He shook his head. That he couldn’t believe. Everything inside him said she was pure. Untouched. The few times his hands had grazed her skin, her wide-eyed response told him the truth of her virginity. The night the witches drew down the moon to smooth its magic over their warrior-guards’ bodies, she’d been shy, her gaze never meeting his. Gods, all these months he’d left her alone, never initiating so much as a kiss, because he hadn’t wanted her eyes to lose the innocence they held. Always direct and sensual toward potential lovers, he’d been as circumspect as a fucking eunuch toward her.
Sigurd dropped to his knees. Fear made his mind race. Should he return to Bonne Nuit and seek the help of Aoife’s sister witches? He was torn, not wanting to leave the place she’d disappeared in case she returned. So, he sat. He’d give her an hour…maybe two.
If she returned, he was done playing the patient suitor. He’d be her constant shadow. Under foot. In her face. She wouldn’t even be allowed to close the door on the damn bathroom. And she wouldn’t deny him her bed, because she’d sleep inside his protective embrace.
If she didn’t come back…