Mists of Velvet

by Sophie Renwick

  He would never share this one. The thought slammed into his head as he deepened his thrusts—claiming her. Keir would have no part of her, no energy from their union. He couldn’t allow it—wouldn’t. They’d have to find other ways for Keir to feed, because what was happening between them right now was for them alone.

  “Mo bandia,” he whispered as he thrust harder. “Come with me.”

  Her eyes closed, and she shivered beneath him as he played with her clitoris, still wet from his mouth.

  “Come,” he whispered again, afraid he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. And then she did, shivering in his arms, holding him close and clamping around his cock.

  “You’re mine now.”

  She smiled a womanly smile—one that said she didn’t take any offense to his mortal possessiveness.

  Keir shut the door to Rowan’s chambers and leaned against the wall. He still couldn’t believe it had worked. She had taken him with her on her journey. But through the euphoria of knowing there was another way to connect with her, his conscience poked at him. He’d lied to her, not because he deliberately wanted to hurt or deceive her, but because he knew she wouldn’t understand what he wanted to do.

  Rowan was new to magick and Annwyn. She saw things as only black and white, good and evil. What she couldn’t comprehend yet was that magick had many faces. Some might condemn him for what he was thinking of doing, but he was doing it with an honest heart, and a love that wouldn’t die.

  In his soul, he knew who he was—Rowan’s Anam Cara—Soul Friend. They could be together, if he used the right magick, and if Rowan allowed him to break through the barriers of her past. There was a future there. He had seen it; he had seen her.

  There was so much more that he could do, now that he had confirmed that Rowan was indeed not fully mortal. But one thing did weigh on him—the angel in the vision. Keir wasn’t certain what his presence in Rowan’s future meant. But he would find out. Rowan held a key to the prophecy. That had been an unexpected finding. He was happy to have something new to report to Bran, but that hadn’t been the reason for his visit. He’d wanted to know if Rowan could trust him; if he had the power to make her forget and experience something new. And she had. And that knowledge sent him reeling.

  He would go back to Velvet Haven and use a divination to see what he should do next. There was a way to keep her alive through magick, and Keir would do it. But first, he needed to find Bran, and maybe even that pain-in-the-ass fallen angel.

  Looking down at his palm, he studied the symbol he had drawn, the Φ etched on the angel’s neck. It was a strange symbol, one that looked both divine and demonic. It was different from the symbol the Dark Mage had used when he had murdered the mortal outside Velvet Haven. That symbol denoted the angel Uriel, as well as Gwyn, the god of the dead in Annwyn, and the ruler of the underworld.

  So, who was this angel, and what was his role? Keir wondered. “Destroyer . . .” whispered the word in his mind. Was this angel the ninth warrior? Would he deceive them all?

  Closing his fingers over his palm, Keir decided it was time to learn of the Sacred Trine. They had been so focused on the Dark Mage, and on finding Carden, Bran’s half brother, that they’d ignored that part of the prophecy. And that was a mistake. Now more than ever, they needed to understand it and how it brought both the mortal and immortal realms together. Only then, once the prophecy was fully understood, could they defeat the faceless Dark Mage and put an end to the Dark Times in Annwyn.

  Stepping into the shadowed hall, Keir froze. A black adder with a white zigzag stripe was curled up, hissing at him. As a shaman, he knew that seeing the reptile was not mere coincidence. The snake was here for a specific purpose.

  The nathair was long associated with wisdom, reincarnation, and cunning. The appearance of a snake on a mystic journey was a sign of something great to come. But one had to be prepared to shed something to obtain something greater.

  Why was this snake before him? What must he shed?

  The adder lunged at him, mouth open and fangs prepared to strike. Keir instantly dissolved into shadow, and the snake plunged through. Keir thought he had evaded the snake, but the stinging on his calf told him otherwise. He’d been bitten. Adder venom was not lethal to wraiths, but it was useful in divination.

  Hovering as a shadow up by the ceiling, Keir watched as the adder slithered along the hall. Below him, Keir saw a card, facedown, directly in the spot where the adder had been curled up.

  Forming into his body, he dropped down and winced as his calf burned. Ignoring the pain, he bent to pick up the card. It was from the tarot, and when he turned it over, the image of Gwyn riding his white horse during the Wild Hunt greeted him. It was the Death card.

  Glancing up, he gazed down the long corridor, now empty of the snake.

  The Death card meant more than Death. It meant rebirth and transformation. It was a card that implied the separating of one’s self from the past to start a new future. Since it had been combined with the presence of the adder, Keir was certain the divination he had just been given was a good omen. He was on the right path. He had deceived Rowan, true. But it was in order to save her.

  Clutching the card, he made his way from the Sidhe king’s castle back to the veil. He needed to get back to Velvet Haven. He had left Rhys alone for too long.

  Rhys pointed to the word Bronwnn had written on a sheaf of parchment.

  “Your name is Bronwnn?” Her face lit up as he pronounced it perfectly. Thankfully, his study of Gaelic was paying off. “It’s a beautiful name.”

  She kissed him, then reached for the quill and paper. Yours?

  “Rhys.”

  I like it. She looked at him shyly. He reached for her, bringing her onto his lap, but she scooted off and was back to writing something.

  Are you in pain?

  “No.” At least not that kind. Shit, he wanted her again. His body and cock ached for her. It couldn’t still be the effects of the drug. Could it? Maybe it was just a case of lust. What did it matter? he wondered as his gaze raked over her luscious body. He wanted her and would likely never tire of having her.

  Hungry?

  Just for her. He shook his head and reached for her, but she tapped his hand with the quill and wrote something else.

  How did you know what I am?

  He shrugged, then grinned at her. “With a body like yours, there’s no doubt you’re a goddess.”

  She blushed and looked away. She wasn’t ashamed of her body, or the way she sat naked beside him. It was the compliment that flustered her. Lowering his head, he captured her gaze.

  “You’re beautiful, smart, courageous, and you perform the healing arts, and it’s made me wonder what goddess you are.”

  She looked at him, her pale blue eyes wide. Yeah, he’d been preoccupied with sex and having her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t notice things.

  The quill scratched against the parchment, and he couldn’t hide his huge grin as he read what she had written.

  I am the goddess of sexuality and fertility.

  Well, wasn’t he a lucky bastard. The goddess of sexuality. He’d certainly won the mother lode when she picked his sorry ass up from the ground.

  Say something.

  He could almost hear the anxious sound of her voice translated into those two frantically scribbled words. With a smile, and a gentle caress against her cheek, he leaned forward and kissed her.

  “Thank you, Goddess of sexuality and fertility, for saving my life, and gifting me with your body.”

  Her smile undid him, and he touched her again, enjoying this conversation and this closeness taking root between them.

  You’re welcome. And I think you’re beautiful, too.

  He laughed and brushed her hair over her shoulder. He wasn’t beautiful, but the woman sitting beside him—his future mate—was stunning. All the other women he had known were obliterated from his memory with just one glance at this woman, as beautiful on the inside as she was
outside.

  He watched as his fingertips slid down the perfect alabaster skin of her shoulder. She was smooth, soft, so warm against his calloused fingers. “I really need to find the king.”

  Too dangerous.

  “It’s important, and I’ll come back to you. I promise.”

  There was no way in hell he was leaving and not coming back to her. Already he could feel her creeping into his heart. This wasn’t just a case of mind-blowing sex mixing up his brain. This was Annwyn and fate, and the idea of a lifelong mate, a person one could feel in one’s soul—a mate who not only made a person feel loved and desired, but also complete.

  Beware Cailleach.

  He laughed. “You don’t have to tell me. I know she’s been after me ever since she learned of my birth.”

  Bronwnn cocked her head and stared at him. She was obviously puzzled. But then she shrugged and looked away.

  “When is it safe to leave? I have to get to the Sidhe king. There are things he needs to know—important things.”

  It’s never safe. The Dark Times have come, and Annwyn is under their pall.

  “Mo bandia,” he whispered, “I have to find Bran. It’s the mage I must speak to him about. It’s important, or I wouldn’t ask it of you. I wouldn’t risk you at all if I could find him myself.”

  Tonight I will take you.

  Nodding, he reached for her and brought her down beside him. She was naked still, and he couldn’t help but admire the view or the fact that she seemed right at home in her own skin. “Thank you.”

  She nodded and wrapped her arms around him. She brought her face to the crook of his neck, and he swore he heard her sniffing his skin. He wondered if he smelled bad. He hadn’t showered, and he’d been in that crypt . . . but then she sighed and let her nose trail across him, and he figured he smelled all right to her.

  “You’re beautiful, you know.”

  She pressed into him, and he kissed her temple. “I love the color of your hair, your skin, the feel of you in my arms.”

  Curling into him, Rhys held her close while his hand began to wander. “Your skin is soft, smooth. Like rose petals.”

  She stretched on his lap as his palm skimmed over her breasts and down her belly. “But you’re softest here,” he murmured as he parted her folds and rubbed her with his fingers. “And you get so wet for me.”

  She squirmed on his lap, awakening his cock. He wanted her again, but it was probably too soon. She had been a virgin, and it was little more than an hour since he’d claimed her. He should probably just hold her and talk with her some more. They had much to learn about each other, and he wanted to know everything, but he couldn’t seem to resist her.

  She didn’t seem to mind, though, and when he raked his finger up the seam of her sex, she moaned and sighed. Slowly he circled her, thumbing her clit as he dragged his tongue up her neck. “Spread your legs; let me see you.”

  Her head tipped back as his thumb circled her and his fingers slipped inside her. She moaned, making a deep, husky sound that echoed in the quiet. He glanced down her body and saw his dark hand between her pale thighs. “You’re perfect, Bronwnn, perfect.”

  He watched as he rubbed her, her golden curls shimmering in the firelight. It was growing dark, the moonlight filtering in through the grime-covered window.

  Slowly he pleasured her, watching every nuance of her face, the way her body moved and her breasts tightened. Her nipples were still reddened from his mouth, and he used his tongue to taste her, to flick. She moaned against his throat and cupped her breasts in her hands, offering them up to him. Damn, she was perfect.

  He suckled her deep into his mouth, the rhythm matching the movement of his fingers. She was wet, his fingers glistening with her desire. Spreading her legs wider, she told him without words what she wanted.

  “Deeper?” he whispered. “Harder?”

  She nodded, then gasped as he filled her deep. Her thighs opened wider, and a shaft of moonlight splayed on her. It was then that he saw the blue tattoo that ran the length of her inner left thigh.

  Leaving her pussy, he brushed his wet fingers against the intriguing design. To his shock, she screamed, and her body went rigid in his arms as if she were having a seizure.

  “What’s wrong?” he shouted, though she couldn’t answer. He tried to let go of her and lay her down on the floor, but she held on to him like a dying man hanging on to a rope.

  Her eyes rolled back, and then her body went slack in his arms. Panic seized him. He was out of his element here in Annwyn. He didn’t know a damned thing about medical shit. Helplessly he realized he could do nothing until she came out of it. Until then, he would hold her and keep her safe.

  The vision was upon her now. She had been foolish to expose herself in such a way, but she had been too wrapped up in the pleasure that Rhys was giving her to remember to hide the script that ran up her thigh. Never had she been so careless.

  He had nearly touched it when she had been in her wolf form, she reminded herself. Rhys was devastating, not only to her body but to her mind. She would need to find a way to guard herself. But she was here now, in the midst of a vision she did not want, and could not stop.

  It was black as pitch, and quiet. She could hear breathing close to her, but she could not see. Even with her keen wolf vision, she was blind in this obsidian darkness.

  She was in a cavern of sorts; she could sense that much. The rhythmic tapping of water hitting rock sounded in the distance. The scurrying of a rodent across the stone floor made her shudder. Where was he? she wondered as she rubbed her hands along her arms. He was always in these visions. The tattoo on her leg was her cursed link to him.

  Her heart was racing as she took a cautious step forward.

  “Go no farther.”

  She froze as the disembodied voice reached her. By the goddess, she wished she could see. Bronwnn possessed a fair amount of steel will and courage, but this was unnerving. The darkness, the uncertainty, and the evil she felt in this cavern were beyond what her courage could withstand.

  “He will find you, and when he does, he will sacrifice you.”

  Bronwnn turned in a slow circle, her hands outstretched in an attempt to connect with anything. Suddenly her wrists were seized, and she was pulled forward. A light flared, and she found herself looking into the face of a nightmare.

  She nearly screamed, but the creature’s filthy blackened hand covered her mouth. His eyes . . . By the goddess, they had been removed, leaving only black sockets. His face . . . One half was tattooed with angelic script. And on his neck, he bore the mark revealed in the divination she had done for Cailleach.

  Camael . . .

  “No noise. He waits for you beyond the darkness. You are what he needs.”

  She tried to talk, but no words would form. She was terrified, trembling. But he pulled her closer so that he could whisper in her ear.

  “Protect the Sacred Trine. Protect it at all costs, for it is what he wants most. The trine has more power than even the flame and the amulet. The Oracle, the Healer, and the Nephillim—protect them all, and you will have what you need to defeat the mage.”

  He brought her closer, and the sound of chains clinking together made her realize how heavily bound he was. Softly, she traced the contours of his face, and he held her hands, his fingers shaking. What was he?

  “Bring back the nine warriors to release me, and I vow to you I will aid your cause.”

  The door opened, and a shaft of flickering candlelight shone upon them. A hooded figure stepped forward. Bronwnn could feel his eyes upon her, his laughter slithering over her as he approached.

  “Ah, my little voyeur. Always hovering just out of my reach.”

  His steps were slow, purposeful, allowing her fear to rise.

  “How long I have waited to meet you.”

  Standing, Bronwnn steadied herself. The creature who held her pulled her closer and whispered into her ear. “An angel with no flame is no longer immortal.”

>   The Dark Mage pulled on a chain that circled the man’s neck, choking him. He released her as the mage dragged him down to the stone floor where he landed by his boots.

  “My little abomination has no need of your stories, Camael.”

  The mage stepped closer, and Bronwnn felt her body begin to tense. He knew it, because he laughed, sensing her fear. What did he know of her? Nothing—he couldn’t.

  “I can taste it,” he murmured, “your fear. You smell like your mother.”

  That caught her attention.

  “Oh yes, I knew her. She taught me the ways of your Black Arts. I pleasured her for a time, in exchange for her knowledge. Foolish bitch.”

  Camael groaned behind the mage, which seemed to amuse him. “My brother believed he was in love with your mother, but love is such a fleeting feeling, isn’t it? She gave him up for me. Of course, he’s spent the last millennium planning his escape and his subsequent return to her. But there is nothing to return to. I sacrificed her. Her knowledge made me very powerful.”

  Bronwnn seethed with hatred. The mage was no more than two feet away from her now. She still could not see his face, but she could smell him, a putrid, rotting stench that made her want to vomit.

  “Indole,” he murmured. “An element present in all the delicate white moth-pollinated blossoms. It is the only common element in perfumes created to arouse the senses. Although it has the distinct aroma of putrefaction, it’s an aphrodisiac. Sexually stimulating while giving a taste of the sweet elixir of sin. My sacrifices are bathed in it, a radiance born of darkness and death. Wait till you have sex magick, my lovely. You’ll die of the pleasure it can bring.”

  She shook her head, unable to fathom what he was saying.

  “So lovely and innocent. You look just like her, you know.” A pale hand reached out, and she jumped back, avoiding his touch. He laughed and called over his shoulder. “If only you could see her, Camael! She is the spitting image of Covetina. All innocence and etherealness just waiting to be corrupted.” He leaned in, his voice dropping. “Do you know why you are here?”