Page 29 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
I smiled, not at him but the berry. “No, I haven’t. What is it?”
“It’s called a moonberry—sweeter than honey. They make the Beltane cider out of them.”
I glanced toward the cauldron, where Aunt Aylie stirred said cider—dressed in something I’d never wanted to see my aunt in. My eyes were burning when Briar’s breath misted my cheek. I turned, facing him nose to nose.
“They’re tiny but potent,” he murmured. “One berry’s like drinking a bottle of wine by yourself.”
“Really?” I eyed the berry again. Intoxicant or not, it looked scrumptious.
He grinned. “Want to share it with me?”
The hairs at my nape prickled. “Y-yes,” I stuttered, my pulse surging.
Briar pressed the berry between my lips, and my heart took wing as he leaned in and kissed me, delicate as someone handling vintage lace. We tasted the berry, the most ambrosial morsel I’d ever eaten, on each other’s tongues.
Giddy after our kiss, I didn’t expect the pit that formed in my stomach when I locked eyes with someone across the green. Laurel Woodrush stood alone amongst other youngbloods, half-clothed and painted with runes, tears forging mascara rivulets down her globed cheeks. No, I didn’t like Laurel; she’d tormented me. Yet, I’d never wanted to torment her back. So, I’d refrain from kissing Briar for the rest of the night. At least when I knew Laurel could see.
Then the moonberry kicked in, and the deep need to feel Briar against me eclipsed all discretion.
When the Beltane ritual commenced, I knelt by the maypole, Uncle Neel funneling an entire jug of moonberry cider down my throat. Briar remained my tether to reality as the night exploded around me in a hazy, scary mess of color, laughter, and fire. Compelled by invisible forces, I danced in tangling ribbons, sung songs I’d never heard, and watched people I’d known my whole life debauch themselves upon the altar of Cernunnos—the horned god of wild things.
By midnight, the bacchanalia raged in flashes of starlight and jewel tones, and I was on hands and knees, gripping the sod to regain control. I tried escaping the gyrating, the cackling, but closing my eyes only awakened nightmares.
Now, I faced a towering phantom. Folds of darkness cloaked his face, though his gaze burned through the purest parts of my soul.He’s coming for you, Amaranthine, a woman’s voice echoed just before the man’s shadows slithered out to consume me.
I shrieked when arms swept me off the ground.
“You’re okay,” Briar slurred after I opened my eyes upon his lazy smile. “I’ve got you, Amy.”
Moonberry essence still pumping through me, I clutched him—his firm, sweaty skin. “Where are we going?” The forest bordering the green seemed to march toward us.
“Somewhere more peaceful.” His chuckle soothed me, and I melted into him.
Our fellow Dananns’ ebullience had faded into the forest’s woodnotes by the time I saw where Briar was taking me.
A ramshackle cabin stood between two rowan trees in the woods. As moss blanketed its roof, and ivy strangled its walls, I thought the place abandoned to nature, who seemed content to claim it as her own. Then I saw its chimney smoking and noted its windowpanes, orange and aglow.
“Why are we here?” I asked.
“I could tell you were done with the party, but I figured you’d struggle to sleep with the racket outside your tent.”
Uh—yeah.
“So, I rented this place for you.” Briar climbed the rickety stairs to the cabin door and kneed it open.
Inside was cozier than the outside made it seem. Fire crackled in the wood burner, and a fruit basket sat on a café table, as did a full Brita pitcher and two glasses. To my right, a door led to a bathroom with a shower, fluffy towels hanging on the wall above the toilet. And right before us—a full-size bed clad in fresh white cotton. Candles flared on its flanking nightstands.
My toes touched the floor, my breath shallowing. Briar’s fingers stroked my nude back as I met his gaze. “You rented this just for me to sleep in?”
“If that’s what you want.” He caressed the nape of my neck. “Then yes.”
My body tautened, liquified, my breath shaking as I asked, “What doyouwant?”
His fingers tugged at my flimsy pearled sleeves. “You.”
Soon after, my Beltane dress was a puddle of silk on the floor, and I was being carried to the bed.
“Thesecondtimewillbe better,” Briar murmured against my collarbone, reminding me of the 10-year-old who’d donkey-kicked me. I lay quiet in the spoon of his warm body, still rattled by what had happened.
