Mists of Velvet

by Sophie Renwick

  He tried to talk, but his mouth was too dry, and his throat felt as though it might seize up. He could only just crack open his eyes, which was a real bitch, because the brief glimpse he had of the woman as he kneeled over her was stunning. Her hair seemed to glow, and her eyes were a pale blue, a color that reminded him of the icy waters of the Arctic Ocean.

  She was an efficient little thing, because he quickly found his body being placed on top of a pile of blankets—no, furs, he realized as he sank into the soft luxuriousness. The woman didn’t speak a word, but Rhys heard her walking about the room; then he heard a scratching sound, immediately followed by the acrid scent of smoke. Beside him a roar went up, and the crackle of a log snapped. The flames of a hearth washed over his body, absorbing some of the chills that raked him.

  In a way, he was damned glad for the drug he’d been given. It was playing with his mind and giving him a reprieve from the pain in his body. His chest hurt like hell, and he was losing too much blood.

  Blackness beckoned, and he fought it, trying anything to stay awake. He thought of Keir, and he tried to reach him, to find a connection, but he was too weak, and his mind too drugged out to do anything effectively.

  Lifting his arm, he searched with his hand for the woman. Immediately she was there, grasping his arm. The darkness eased away, and slowly he lifted his head and tried to open his eyes. She was kneeling before him, her body glowing a pale alabaster in the firelight. She looked like a damned angel, but angels, he knew, didn’t live in Annwyn.

  “Aingeal?”

  She shook her head, confirming his suspicions. She was not an angel.

  “Mo bandia?”

  He frowned. That wasn’t what he meant. Mo was Gaelic for my. But Rhys saw her nod, even through the blurriness of his vision.

  “My goddess.”

  She was a goddess, he realized. His, if her nod meant what he thought it did. And she was naked. Oh, shit, she was naked and stunning, and everything he could have dreamed of.

  Mo bandia . . . The phrase ran through his mind. She had answered his question with a nod. He had dreamed of a woman. He had felt a deep connection to the one in his dream . . .

  As he bolted upright, his head swam, but he reached for her anyway, anchoring her with his hand through her hair as he watched the silvery white strands slide through his fingers. Oh shit, his dreams. This woman . . .

  Had she dreamed of him, too? Did they have a bond that linked them across their opposing worlds and his mortality? Had he been shown his fate when he began to dream of this woman?

  Stunned, he allowed her to ease him back down onto the pallet of furs. She was leaning over him, her silky waist-length hair sliding over her shoulders to conceal her breasts. There was no denying who this woman was—what she was. His dream lover . . . and a goddess of the Sacred Order of Annwyn.

  Memories of those dreams came rushing back, and he couldn’t stop the way his body responded to her. In his dreams, his body had been hard and aching, but in reality, it was infinitely more acute. He was aware of more than just her physical presence hovering over him. He felt her in his blood, in his soul.

  Most mortals would scoff, but Rhys knew differently. He had been raised in both mortal and Otherworld traditions, and he knew in his heart, and believed in his soul, that destinies were preordained, and when the time was right, those destinies revealed themselves.

  Like now, this very moment with his bandia sianaitheoir—goddess savior—breathing softly above him. This was his fate; this woman. He had been shown her in his dreams, and now he was here with her. Her path was to save him, but what was he to do for her? He was a mortal. She was immortal; a powerful goddess. He could have nothing she wanted or needed; yet he knew that despite his failings, he would not give her up.

  The fluttering of her fingertips against his unshaven jaw jolted him. Her touch went deep into his flesh, where he felt it stir inside him. Already, he felt a measure stronger. Fingertips skated from his jaw to his lips, where she touched him tentatively, then down to his throat where the tips of her fingers lingered on his Adam’s apple. He swallowed hard, and he heard her indrawn breath.

  Rhys knew he shouldn’t be turned on. Hell, he’d almost been a sacrificial lamb. But he needed to touch her; to feel her skin, just once. What if he died? He had to touch her before he did.

  Reaching out, he placed his hands on her bare shoulders and brushed back her long hair. Her eyes fluttered closed at that innocent touch, and his cock surged at the sight. It would be so easy to span her hips and move her to him so that she straddled him. From there, he could push up into her and watch her as he finally claimed her—just as he had in his dream.

  Rhys felt nothing now but desire—not pain; not the blood that had begun to dry on his chest. His vision was crystal clear, and he saw her, a beautiful, voluptuous goddess kneeling before him. Her breasts were heavy, swaying before him, begging to be cupped in his hands.

  Slowly, he ran his fingertips along her collarbone, then over to the notch at her throat, allowing her to become accustomed to his touch. Her breathing quickened, causing her breasts to rise and fall enticingly. Slowly, he slid his hand down her breastbone, then cupped one of her breasts, filling his palm. She gasped, her eyelids flying open at the contact. Slowly, he cupped the other one, lifting it so he could see it full in his hand.

  She had beautiful big breasts, just what he liked, and he pressed them together, kneading while watching the pleasure cross her face. Then, with his hand on her back, he drew her lower until her breasts hung above him, and he trailed his tongue over her nipple. Given a slow flick, the flesh hardened, and she swayed into him, her little nails biting into his shoulders, giving him a rush of power and primal aggression.

  He surged up against her, making her feel him. The tip of his cock rubbed her thigh, and he moaned as he sucked her nipple. Hungrily, he clutched her to him, her breasts rubbing against his face as he pushed them together and used his tongue and mouth to make her writhe. He wanted his cock there, thrusting up between her breasts. He wanted to watch her take him.

  He was getting more than a little excited as he thought of it. Tugging her nipple, he soothed the pinch with the brush of his thumb. She shivered, and he could almost feel the wetness between her thighs trickle against him.

  Tugging again, he flicked her nipple, and her lips parted on a silent moan. His touch became more intense as he worked both her breasts. Suddenly, her hand slipped from his shoulder, and she brushed his chest, making him hiss. Instantly, she pushed away from him.

  “No,” he growled, reaching for her. The pain had been fleeting. The discomfort he felt from his injuries wasn’t half as bad as the unfilled ache in his cock.

  But she evaded him by jumping up and escaping his hand. Rhys lifted his shoulders, turning onto his side to reach for her, but he pitched forward when the dizziness took hold of him.

  Damn it! Now was not the time for his body’s strength to evaporate. With a groan, he realized his moment of lucidity and power was gone, leaving him a weakling mortal on the floor.

  Darkness beckoned, and he begged God to give him the strength to resist. But his prayers were not heard, and he slipped deeply into unconsciousness.

  Weightless and floating, Keir hovered in the air, staring at the wooden door before him. He felt a strange sensation, a rippling of fear and malevolence, slither over his nerves. Evil—he felt it. He had a connection to it. Rhys?

  Closing his eyes, he searched for his mortal’s thoughts, but he found nothing. Strange. When Keir had left Velvet Haven, Rhys had been in his office. Perhaps he had fallen asleep.

  Trailing down to the floor, his form became solid, and he stood before Rowan’s door, torn between the desire to see her and the need to ensure Rhys was safe.

  When the door to Rowan’s chamber opened, and Suriel exited, Keir’s decision was made for him.

  This was the evil he had sensed. He knew it. He was always aware of the malicious vibe that seemed to shimmer around Su
riel. But the connection Keir had felt? His gaze darted to where Rowan was lying on the bed. Was the connection Rowan? Had Suriel touched her? Hurt her?

  “Relax, wraith. I didn’t lay a hand on her. Nice robe,” he smirked as he breezed by. “Come to do a little magick?”

  “Fuck you,” Keir snarled.

  “Sorry, not into that kinky shit. You’ll have to find your mortal for that.”

  Keir slammed Suriel up against the wall. He didn’t take any bullshit innuendos about his relationship with Rhys from Bran, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it from a fallen angel who understood nothing about the ancient bond between a protector wraith and his mortal.

  Keir was about to rearrange Suriel’s handsome fallen-angel features when Rowan appeared at the door.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Keir growled, sending Suriel a silent warning. Releasing him, Keir wondered just what the hell the bastard had been doing in Rowan’s room. She was living in Annwyn, under the Sidhe king’s protection. Suriel had no authority here, nor was he welcome.

  “I was invited,” Suriel snapped. “Your own king asked me to be one of his nine warriors.”

  “He told me.” Keir still thought it was a mistake to allow Suriel in Annwyn and in their business. Suriel had his own mysterious powers; he didn’t need to be learning anything from the magick they possessed. Everything inside him screamed that Suriel had a connection to the psychopath they were hunting.

  “You trusted me to convince your little mortal friend to stay away from the portal.”

  He hadn’t wanted to, that was certain. “Rhys is a mortal. That’s your domain. I had to abide by it, and your God’s message.”

  “I want the same thing you do, wraith. The sooner you believe that, the better off we’ll be. The time has come to put our considerable differences behind us. We must all work together.”

  Keir knew it was the truth, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully believe in the angel. “Your business is as a warrior. Leave Rowan alone. She has no part in this.”

  Suriel laughed. “She’s part of this. Accept it.”

  “I will not allow you here with her.”

  Suriel’s eyes blackened. “You will accept me, wraith, because when it comes time, I will make it painless for her. And I know you understand my meaning.”

  He did understand. Suriel would make the end bearable for Rowan. Fire and ash . . .

  “And if you treat me with some measure of respect,” Suriel murmured, “I will make it bearable for you, too.”

  Suriel left then, leaving Keir to face a bewildered Rowan. She didn’t approve of violence. He knew that. He also knew she had no idea what bad news Suriel was. She trusted everyone. That was her one failing. She was too damned trusting.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” She stepped aside, allowing him inside her room. It smelled of her—of lilies and the faintest hint of woman. It never failed to arouse him, or fill his mind with images of them together in bed. But that would never be. Rowan was ill—dying. And she had been brutally raped. A guy as big as he was, covered with tattoos, would not make her feel comfortable and relaxed. His was a body designed to overpower, not soothe.

  “What’s up with the robe?” she asked, closing the door behind him.

  “I thought we might take a journey.”

  Her gorgeous jade-colored eyes lit up. “A mystical journey?”

  He nodded, swallowed hard, and gazed at a spot on the wall above her head. What he needed to do wasn’t going to be easy. But it had to be done.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He didn’t blink. He tried to hide the spike of arousal—and nervousness—that speared him. He didn’t know what would happen—for either of them—when she saw what he looked like. The part that feared her reaction made him rethink what he was doing. The other part, the dominant male side, wanted her gaze on him. He wanted to show her his body, like a damned male peacock preening before his female.

  All of him wanted her to want what would soon be bared to her.

  “Keir?”

  His gaze lowered, capturing hers. Mentally steeling himself against her fear and repulsion, he pulled the cloak off, allowing the purple satin to fall to the floor. He had always taken care to hide himself from Rowan. She had seen the tattoos on his hand and forearm, but nothing else. But now he was naked to the waist, his chest completely bared to her.

  “Oh my God, they’re beautiful,” she whispered as she came to him. She touched him with the softest of grazes, and his skin flickered, his muscles jumping as she skimmed her fingers along his chest. “The colors are so vibrant.”

  He was the only Shadow Wraith in existence who had been born with such markings. They were a cross between Sidhe-type sigils and mortal tattoos. His mother had thought the markings a sign of divinity. Others had seen them as an omen.

  “The artwork is incredible. You must have had it done here in Annwyn.”

  He closed his eyes as her hand wrapped around his upper arm, her fingertip tracing the scrollwork around his bicep. “I was born with them. I recognize certain ancient forms of Celtic knotwork and some of the symbols, but I do not fully understand what they represent, or what my having them means. But they do aid in my ability to divine things.”

  “I think they’re fabulous.”

  He startled, his gaze searching her face. “You’re not afraid?”

  “Why would I be?”

  A feeling of excitement snaked through his body. “I’ve purposely hid them from you, thinking they would scare you. They’re strange, and not at all comforting to look at.”

  Her gaze lifted from his chest, to look up into his face. The directness of her stare, the way her eyes glistened, made him want to cup her face in his palms and kiss her hard, taking her and making her his. She wasn’t afraid of him. His body lit up with the knowledge.

  “Why?”

  “I did not want to frighten you with the sight of me.”

  She softened, and he saw the look in her eyes turn from surprise to something far more alluring. “You don’t frighten me. Why would you?”

  “A man hurt you. I didn’t want to bring up bad memories.”

  “He didn’t look like you, Keir.”

  The way she said his name made him feel weak. He wanted nothing more than to gather her up and fall onto the soft bed with her. He wanted to show her the beauty they could share as he made love to her. He wanted to hold her and love her and shut out the world—and the future.

  “He wasn’t anything like you. Nothing at all.”

  “I wanted you to feel you were safe with me. And like this . . . I look . . . savage.”

  “Beautiful,” she whispered at the same time. She touched him then, his jaw, and smiled. “Why are you showing me now?”

  “Because my magick is most potent when I have no barriers.”

  “And your clothes are barriers?”

  “Yes. Among other things.”

  “And what would those be?”

  “Hiding myself from you. Worrying about what you might think of me beneath my clothing. There can be no more barriers between us, Rowan. No more hiding.”

  “All right,” she whispered softly. “Shall I get Sayer, then, if we’re performing magick?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  He took a step closer to her, and he was thrilled when she didn’t back up in fear. “No Sayer this time.”

  “But I thought we were taking a mystical journey.”

  “We are. Just the two of us.”

  “Oh,” she murmured breathlessly.

  He touched her, for the first time ever. Keir allowed himself to savor the moment, the contact of his body against hers. His fingertips were on her shoulder, and slowly, he grazed the back of his fingers along her smooth arm. She trembled, and his gaze flicked up from his hand to her face, studying her response to his touch.

  “Where are we going on this journey?” she asked hoarsely. He watched as s
he licked her lips nervously. “Are we trying to find Carden?”

  “Yes,” he murmured, stepping closer to her, so close that he was forced to lower his head and whisper in her ear. But this journey was something much deeper and more binding than their combined efforts to find Carden had ever been.

  With this magick, he was starting a bond that would never sever. It was a form of magic he had never, ever sought.

  “Will you be with me?” she asked.

  “Yes. Just you and I. Do you want that, Rowan? To be with me?”

  He met her gaze, waiting for what seemed like forever for her to answer. “Yes.”

  He smiled and reached for her, bringing their entwined hands to his chest until she clasped the quartz amulet he wore around his neck. “Then come with me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Assembling the appropriate herbs, Bronwnn placed them in the wooden bowl and kneeled beside the sleeping man. The minute her gaze fell upon his mouth, she recalled the way he had kissed her with those lips. She touched them, marveling at their velvety smoothness. It had been the most incredible experience to feel her breasts touched and licked. Even now, they ached for more. Just staring at him was reawakening the hunger that had ruled her. She wanted him like a woman wanted a man. She ached to feel him moving deeply inside her, but now was not the time to think of such things.

  Taking the pestle, she pressed the hawthorn, rosemary, and elder together to form a paste. The pungent aroma of the rosemary filled the room, soothing her frazzled nerves. She needed to focus on her task of healing rather than on the sexual need she felt running hot through her blood.

  Adding mud and a few drops of water from the reflecting pool, she stirred up the ointment and carefully pressed the green paste onto his chest, whispering softly the words of a healing spell. The man, she noticed, did not flinch or grimace. He was unconscious, completely unaware of her. She pressed closer to inspect his wounds. She had cleansed them with water, then washed the dried blood from his chest. The bowl she used was now red with his blood. But the bleeding had stopped, and the wound appeared clean and not overly deep. Now all there was left to do was to apply the salve and offer up an invocation that he would heal. She knew nothing of wraiths, having never even seen one before. Her knowledge of healing extended to her own kind, of course, and to the Sidhe and the other species of Annwyn under Cailleach’s power. She hoped what she was painting over his chest was not going to kill him.