Mists of Velvet

by Sophie Renwick

  The remnants of the ceremonial incense and the thorn-apple were washed away as well, leaving another scent that Bronwnn could not identify. It was completely foreign to her, resembling nothing she had ever come across before.

  Bending over him, she pressed her nose to his neck and inhaled. The smell was strongest over his pulse; unable to resist, she licked him with the tip of her tongue. He tasted of salt, and virility. Yet that elusive scent continued to confound her. She had never smelled anything like it, but it aroused her, drew her in, and made her long to be covered in his scent.

  Drawing away from him, Bronwnn noticed his torc. It was not surprising to see a warrior such as he wearing one. But what was fascinating—and thrilling—was that his torc and his wrist cuffs were decorated with images of wolves.

  He was, indeed, her mate. If she had had any doubts, they were gone. He carried the image of her shifter self on his cuffs and the torc. She knew now that their fates were intertwined. She was his, and he was hers.

  Continuing with her exploration of his body, Bronwnn carefully tended each wound with the herbs and an incantation. He slept deeply and peacefully. Depending upon how much thorn-apple he had been given, it could be hours or even a day before he awakened, free of the effects.

  Settling down beside him, she watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. The firelight flickered along his body, and she studied the shadows, the way they played over his ridged abdomen, and below, his sex, which was large and thick, even in his current state.

  Bringing her legs to her chest, she rested her head against her knees, watching him and wondering about him. She thought of when he awoke, and what he would say to her. What would he think of her? Bronwnn had a moment of flickering insecurity. What if she wasn’t what he desired in a female?

  As soon as the feeling came, it left. They were fated to be lovers, she reminded herself. They had been physically intimate in her dreams, and he always came to her, eager to touch her. Their union was written in the stars. He would want her. Just as much as she desired him.

  The crackling of the fire, the warmth, the excitement of what had happened and what was yet to come, took their toll on her, and she drifted to sleep, heedless of the dangers of what might very well come to find them.

  Rhys awoke, his throat excruciatingly dry, his eyes gritty and sandy, and his body stiff and sore. It was dark in the cottage. The fire had died, and the room had begun to cool.

  He was naked, he realized, and his chest had been covered in something green and pasty. Trying to get his bearings, he raised his head from the pallet and squinted. Through the grimy window, he saw the faint glow of the sun rising in the distance. He had no idea what time it was, or even what season it was in Annwyn, but with the sun so low over the horizon, he figured it was early morning.

  He’d survived the night, thanks to his little goddess.

  Carefully he sat up, eager for a glimpse of the woman. A powerful rush of protectiveness and curiosity ran through him when he thought of her. He couldn’t believe that his dreams had been entwined with a goddess and his fate tied to hers.

  He tried to speak, but his voice didn’t want to work, so he sat up. At first, his head spun, but then it cleared. He half expected to find her lying beside him, and he looked to his right and saw that something was there. But it wasn’t his goddess. It was the white wolf he had seen peeking out at him from the trees when he’d first fallen by the reflecting pool.

  A moment of fear impaled him, but then rational thought prevailed. If the wolf wanted his throat, it would have had it by now. Obviously, this animal was a guide.

  Rhys smirked as he ran his hands through his hair. This was the second time he’d seen the wolf. One more time, and it would be his ally, just like the adder. It was damned strange how these animals all of a sudden came to him. He was no shaman—he wasn’t even a Sidhe—but there must be something about him that attracted these animals. Perhaps he really did have a purpose in Annwyn.

  Rhys ran his hand through the wolf’s thick, luxurious fur. Slowly, its eyes opened, revealing the most astonishing pale blue eyes he had ever seen.

  They stared at each other carefully. Taking care not to make any rash movements, Rhys gently raised his hand to the wolf’s muzzle. He knew enough about canines to understand this was the best way to befriend them; to let them sniff. But the wolf cocked its head and looked at him as if he were mad. Just as he was about to pull his fingers out of reach, the wolf surprised him by sniffing his fingertips, then licking him.

  He smiled and petted the animal behind its ears. This was no savage beast. It was tame. Rhys wondered if the wolf belonged to his goddess. It seemed the right kind of animal for her to have. There was an ethereal majesty to the wolf, the same sort of angelic beauty his goddess bore.

  Lying back down upon the pallet, Rhys turned on his side and studied the wolf. Swallowing hard, he tried to talk once more. “Where is your mistress this morning?” he asked, his voice deep and gravelly.

  The wolf blinked, its eyes widening as it turned its head to look out the window. In a flash, the animal leaped up and ran to the door, which was slightly ajar.

  “Don’t leave!” he called hoarsely. The last thing he wanted was to be left alone in this cottage—in Annwyn—without any sort of ally. The wolf was the closest thing he had to a friend and guide.

  The wolf turned and gave him a last look, its blue gaze unblinking. Either Rhys was insane or he heard the beast say “Stay” before it lunged out the door.

  Fuck! Collapsing back onto the warm pallet of furs, Rhys groaned. He didn’t like being weak and not fully able to defend himself. He was also exhausted, just from that small amount of movement, which told him he’d be easy prey if anyone found him here.

  What he needed was to regain his strength and get the fuck out of here. And for that, he needed to find Keir.

  Closing his eyes, Rhys tried to focus on the wraith, but he kept seeing a pale-haired goddess leaning over him, her face awash in pleasure. She was an alluring woman, so damned tempting that he abandoned trying to locate his wraith and instead allowed himself to indulge in a few private and sexy thoughts about his goddess.

  He was safe enough for now. And his dream goddess beckoned, so he followed her like a damned disciple.

  Bronwnn crept quietly into Cailleach’s solarium. The Supreme Goddess was awake and dressed, and she was dining on bread and cheese. When Cailleach saw her, she motioned her over to the table and pointed to the empty chair beside her.

  “Be seated.”

  Bronwnn obeyed silently. She had no idea if Cailleach knew about her walk in the woods last night. She prayed she did not.

  “You appear tired. Have you not been able to sleep?”

  Bronwnn shook her head in denial, but Cailleach glanced at her skeptically.

  “Your time is close upon you. It can cause disturbing dreams and disrupt sleep. It is normal.”

  Nervously, Bronwnn clasped her hands together. With a nod, she acknowledged that her sexual maturity was not simply coming, but had, indeed, arrived.

  “You have no mother to guide you through this change, or tell you of the Shrouding. I will guide you when the time is right.”

  Bronwnn raised her gaze to the goddess. She had never before acted as anything other than her superior. Bronwnn had never known the love of a mother. She actually knew very little about the woman who bore her; all she had were her mother’s books.

  “I wish for you to take a mate. I have decided upon an appropriate male. One who is strong and worthy. One who will empower you. He is a strong male. Highly magical.”

  Bronwnn thought about the man she had left in her cottage. She could still feel his magick running along her body. Her nipples still tingled where his mouth had suckled her. She wanted him. She could hardly wait for nightfall so that she could return to him.

  “You will obey me in this.”

  She nodded, eager to obey this edict. She wanted this mate more than anything.

 
; “He is a Shadow Wraith. A most powerful one. An alliance between the goddesses and the wraiths will protect Annwyn.”

  Again she nodded and attempted to look passive and accepting. It was difficult, since everything inside her wanted to jump for joy. Not only was she going to sleep beside the man for the rest of her existence, but she was going to leave the temple, and Cailleach’s grasp.

  The goddess sat back in her chair and whistled. The white oidhche flew from its perch and landed on the sleeve of Cailleach’s gown. “There is a disturbance within Annwyn. I felt it last night. It is not the Dark Mage, but something else. Have you seen anything?”

  Bronwnn swiftly shook her head. Cailleach frowned and turned her attention to the owl. “I sent him out, but he came back empty-handed. He saw nothing. Yet even this morning, I still feel it. Something—or someone—is here.” When Bronwnn raised her head, she met Cailleach’s pointed gaze. “I would like you to look for me.”

  With a nod, Bronwnn rose from the chair to return to her chamber.

  “In here,” Cailleach demanded. “Before me.”

  Bronwnn stumbled but swiftly regained control. She didn’t want to perform a divination here, in front of Cailleach. She didn’t want the goddess to hear or see anything that Bronwnn had taken such great pains to hide. But there was no remedy. Cailleach would not bend, and she would only grow suspicious if Bronwnn kicked up a fuss.

  With a nod, she reached for the book that contained her visions and her images of the prophecy. What she had never put in writing was that she had a way to connect with the Dark Mage.

  Opening the book to a blank page, she reached for the quill and allowed her fingertips to rub against the soft feathers. She needed to ground herself in order to see. It was a little more difficult with Cailleach seated on her throne, watching every move she made. But after a few seconds, Bronwnn successfully put Cailleach out of her mind and began to focus on the dark clouds. Through the solarium’s window, she focused on the gathering storm. It would rain soon, and the scent of her lover would be washed away. Perhaps she might even persuade Cailleach that her instincts had been wrong and that it had, in fact, been the Dark Arts she had sensed last night.

  Thunder rumbled across the sky as she thought of a way to dissuade Cailleach from searching Annwyn for the “disturbance.” Even though Cailleach wanted this union between her and the wraith, Bronwnn could not help but feel she needed to protect the man in her cottage from the goddess and her far-reaching power. There was some hidden motive to this alliance that Bronwnn sensed but did not understand. Her instincts were always correct. She had learned to survive on her instincts, and they were telling her now that her lover needed her protection.

  The gathering storm soothed her, and as she watched the swirling clouds thicken and darken, her lashes lowered, her trance beginning. She had a fleeting image of her lover, but she forced it aside, fearing she might say something while under the spell. He must be protected at all costs.

  “Well, get on with it,” Cailleach muttered irritably. It was not like the Supreme Goddess to show any emotion other than perfect composure. Something was most definitely wrong.

  Closing her eyes, Bronwnn focused on the gathering winds. She could hear the sounds of Annwyn, the leaves and the trees, and every living thing that moved and crawled. At last, she was one with the elements, and as her breathing slowed and her mind stilled, the vision came upon her.

  The number three appeared. Mindlessly, she picked up the quill and wrote what she saw. The next images were of three women, their faces heavily veiled and their bodies shrouded in white gossamer gowns. Bronwnn had seen their image before—the Sacred Trine. Now she heard the words, “Oracle, Healer, Nephillim.” They kept repeating the words, over and over.

  Just when she thought there would be no more to her vision, a new image appeared—one of a man, tall and majestic. His hair was dark and his skin pale. She had never seen him before, but she felt an instant connection. On the left side of his neck was a mark—a brand of sorts—and she drew it in her book, trying to sear the image in her mind.

  “Camael,” her mind whispered as she wrote the symbol, running over it with the tip of the quill several times to darken it.

  That was all. The spell broke.

  Cailleach came behind her. “The Sacred Trine,” she murmured. “Yes, we must find it and protect it at all costs.”

  The goddess’ finger scrolled down the page until she reached the symbol. With a shaking hand, she touched the Φ that Bronwnn had drawn.

  Cailleach visibly trembled, then whispered, “He’s returned.”

  Bronwnn turned in time to see Cailleach hurrying from the solarium. “Send a missive to the raven,” she called. “I must meet with him and his warriors. There is no time to lose.”

  Rowan stared at the man who stood before her. Never in a million years had she expected to see Keir half naked—and in leather pants of all things. Despite the cancer eating away at her, her ovaries still seemed to be in perfect working order, because they shot a surge of estrogen that flooded her blood and made her want to fan herself. Lord, she was hot just looking at him.

  Keir was beautiful. She’d always known he was. But this—the bulk and hardness, the tats—defied anything she had cooked up in her nightly dreams. He was too perfect for words. And if she didn’t stop staring at him like a fool, he was going to know how she really felt about him.

  Friends. She cleared her throat and found the courage to gaze up into his mysterious gray eyes. She loved how they were rimmed in violet. She once thought they were contacts. Now she knew they were the real deal.

  He reached for her, and she shivered, anticipating his touch. The touch she had wanted for a long while now—well before she knew what he was.

  “Are you afraid?”

  Only of you not wanting me. But she shook her head. She could hardly say that. She was dying. It was unfair of her to tell him such a thing. It would put him in an awkward position. Besides, he was gorgeous and had women hanging all over him whenever she had seen him in Velvet Haven. The chances of his liking a plump chick like her were zero. Even worse, he was so nice that he’d take pity on her and kiss her just because she wanted him to. She didn’t want to be a pity fuck.

  “If you’re not frightened, then why do you shiver?”

  No way was she going to answer that. Even if she did admit to him what she wanted, she doubted she could let herself go enough to allow him to make love to her.

  “It’s cold,” she answered instead.

  He stepped closer and slowly wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her up against the hot, solid wall of his chest. She gasped at the contact, at the feel of him surrounding her.

  “I’ll warm you up.”

  She was burning. It was a little scary at first, feeling all that muscle surrounding her. It instantly made her feel vulnerable, until he lowered his head to her ear and said, “Take a deep breath.”

  She did. And then she took another until the alarm receded and she felt nothing but Keir around her. Closing her eyes, she pressed the side of her face against his naked chest. She listened to his breathing, smelled his skin, and allowed herself to savor this moment she thought she would never experience with him.

  He held her still and tight, letting her get used to his height and size. But then he moved his hand up her back, a slow, gentle glide along her spine. His touch was so incredible. She felt it all the way through her shirt as if she were naked. Then she realized Keir was naked. Where his leather pants had gone, she had no idea, but she knew—she felt his nakedness against her. One shift of her thighs, and his cock would be nudging between them. At the thought of that, her legs threatened to give out on her, and he caught her more firmly around her waist.

  “Step onto the robe.”

  She followed his command and allowed him to help her to stand on the satin. She absolutely refused to look down, although she wanted to—badly. She wanted to see if the rest of his body was as amazing as the top part.


  “This is the best way I can do this. My magick is always strongest when I’m naked.” It kind of sounded like an apology, and Rowan bit her lip. He didn’t want to be naked with her. He had to, for magick’s sake.

  “We both need to stand on the robe. It’s the grounding force for my divination magick.”

  “Okay,” she said around a hard swallow. He was pressing closer to her, so close she felt his heat and smelled his skin. Her mouth watered as she wondered what he would taste like.

  “Touch me,” he whispered against her. “Ground yourself to me.”

  His voice was deep and dark, like black velvet; his suggestion heady. She didn’t know where—how to touch him, but he took the guesswork from her. He placed her hands on his chest, then took her fingers and made her hold on to the quartz necklace once again.

  “Is this going to work?” she asked skeptically.

  “Yes, and even better if you would shed your clothes and stand naked against me.”

  She almost choked. Naked in front of Keir? She wasn’t ready for that. Hell, she might never be ready for that.

  “Magick must flow between us. Skin to skin. My energy mixing with yours.”

  “I can’t,” she said, her voice rising in panic she couldn’t hide.

  “Shh,” he soothed, pulling her close. He held her still and allowed the panic to subside. “It’s okay; we’ll do it like this. It’ll work. I’ll find a way to make it work.”

  Suddenly she felt let down. Part of her wanted him to insist she let go of her fears and strip for him. She wanted him to fight for her, to make her do as he asked. She wanted to be wanted by Keir, even if it meant he wasn’t gentle but downright demanding. Perhaps she wanted to throw caution to the wind and have Keir take her, because she was too damned scared to take him.