Murdoch could not sleep. The forest was alive with Fae and he did not trust them a whit. The gnarled trunks of the trees around him shifted to become faces with gaping mouths, laughing at him. He heard the scamper of small feet under the dried leaves that covered the forest floor and he knew these were not small creatures of the woods. It was Fae, dancing, laughing, dueling with pine needles, swinging from cobwebs.
And he was so cold. He was chilled to his marrow, colder than he might have believed it possible for a man to be. The tips of his fingers were blue and he could scarce feel his toes. But the worst of it was in his chest. It seemed that there was a lump of ice within him, one that was slowly and steadily freezing his entire body.
He did not have to look to know that the blue te
