Velvet Haven

by Sophie Renwick

  “What do you do for a living, Mairi?”

  “I’m a nurse at St. Michael’s.”

  “You’re a healer.”

  She glanced up at him and was once again struck mute by his eyes. And that voice. It was so deep and velvety. Like a fine cognac, it was warm and smooth. “Uh—uh,” she stuttered. Good lord, one look into his eyes and then down to those big hard shoulders and she had completely lost the thread of the conversation.

  Brushing her long hair back from her cheek, he slid his fingertips down over her shoulders and along her arm. He tracked the progression of his hand as it got lost in her thick hair. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think of anything other than having that big hand caressing her back in slow, sweeping motions.

  “I can feel it in you, you know, the power to heal.”

  Her traitorous libido went into overdrive. God, he had the sexiest voice she’d ever heard. When he ran his fingertips along her arm, raising goose bumps, Mairi gathered her scattered thoughts. “I’m just a nurse,” she muttered, inching away from him.

  It was not good to be this affected by him. He was a stranger, she reminded herself. He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds and more than a foot of muscle and bulk. She would not be able to fight a man like this off. Better to steer clear of any possible entanglements.

  He moved in, following her when she tried to create space between them. “I bet you care for the terminally ill,” he murmured next to her ear.

  “No, Emergency Room.”

  His head cocked to the side as his gaze raked over her. “Are you sure you don’t help those who are in a hopeless situation?”

  She shuddered. What could he know about her? Did abused women and girls count as hopeless situations? There were days when she believed so.

  “I just thought . . .” He trailed off and glanced away, watching the crowd.

  “You thought what?”

  He swung his attention back to her, making her whole body liquefy. “Because of your aura I thought that you were the type to help people through dark times.”

  “My aura?” she choked. Whoa! Weird.

  His gaze turned molten and his face tightened up as if he heard her thoughts and was now offended by them.

  “Never mind, Mairi,” Rowan said, leaning across the table. “You’ll never get her to believe in auras or the supernatural. She’s a logical, hard-science girl.”

  “But you believe?”

  Rowan shrugged and smiled mischievously. “Maybe.”

  “Back at last,” Sayer said as he placed a couple of beers in front of Rowan and Mairi. He passed a tall glass of something red to Bran.

  “What are you drinking?” Mairi asked, eyeing the glass.

  “Something called a Trance. Do you want to taste it?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He took a long drink and held it out to her. “Nothing in it. Honest.”

  Yeah, right. He was so huge, a little bit of GHB or ketamine wouldn’t affect him, but her . . . she’d likely fall flat on her back and then . . . She found herself looking at his mouth, and then at his hands. And then . . . she imagined what he’d do with that mouth and those strong fingers.

  “Hello, Rowan.”

  They both glanced up to see the DJ, or Tarot Guy as he was known between them, pull up a chair. He turned it around and straddled it. Mairi couldn’t help but admire his thighs in his jeans. And his eyes . . . they looked silver, but were outlined in violet, just like Bran’s. Man, did everyone here wear contacts?

  “Hi,” Rowan murmured with a shy smile before taking a dainty sip of her beer.

  “I’m Keir, my apologies for not introducing myself before.” He extended his hand, which was covered in unusual tattoos. Not necessarily run-of-the-mill tribal tats, but something similar. The pattern snaked its way up the length of his arm, over his huge muscles, and disappeared beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt.

  Rowan, Mairi noticed, did a full-body blush when Keir gripped her hand, then pulled back only to fiddle with the cap of her beer bottle. Mairi saw him frown, then glare at his friend.

  “So, Sayer treating you right? Because if he’s not, I’ll kill him.”

  Although the tone was civil, Mairi sensed some menace behind it. Even Bran sensed it, because she felt that great big body of his stiffen alongside hers, and she wondered whether the threat really wasn’t an idle one.

  “Yes, everything’s great.”

  Keir nodded, and Mairi couldn’t help but notice how the blue streaks in his hair glowed in the neon lights. “Just checking. Well, I gotta bounce. See ya.”

  When he stood and swung his chair around, Rowan looked disappointed. She sent Mairi an it’s- no-biggie shrug. But Mairi saw the hurt and the disappointment in her eyes.

  Sayer, who had been watching Keir blend into the crowd, turned his attention back to Rowan. “Wanna dance?”

  Rowan practically leaped up from the table. “I’d love to.”

  Great, now she had to be alone with Mr. Built and Sexy. Ordinarily she could hold her own with guys, but this one—he wasn’t ordinary. He did something to her body that no one else had ever done. It was as if Bran knew how to order her body to ignore her commands. Even as she tried to remind herself he was a stranger, her thighs got hot and her underwear dampened.

  She had had a few boyfriends, and she’d always liked sex, but ever since she’d laid eyes on him, all she could think about was getting naked and feeling him hot and hard between her thighs. It was so disturbing. These thoughts, these feelings, they weren’t normal for her. Especially with a guy she had just met.

  He seemed to be aware that she was nervous, sitting all alone next to him, and mercifully he broke the silence.

  “There’s a show starting in a few minutes. Would you like to see it?”

  Mairi thought of the show she’d witnessed in the mirrors when she first arrived. “Depends what it is.”

  “Magic. Do you like magic, Mairi?”

  “Not really. It’s just illusions.”

  He chuckled, a deep baritone rumble from his chest. The sound aroused her, but she hid it. “What’s wrong with illusions?” he asked, and Mairi felt his fingers touch an errant strand of hair that had fallen against her cheek.

  “You can’t trust them,” she snapped, thinking of Aaron, and how he was nothing at all what he appeared to be. Ever since, Mairi had been skittish around men, fearing that the kind of games Aaron had played with Rowan could happen to her.

  “Do you trust me, Mairi?”

  The question was asked so softly that Mairi felt her stomach lurch. He was looking at her, she could tell, but she refused to meet his gaze. “No.”

  He leaned in, angled his head so he lips were pressed close to her. “Why not?”

  His breath tickled her ear and she suppressed a shiver. “Because I know your kind.”

  He chuckled, deep and seductive. “I don’t think so.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Some things aren’t what they seem, Mairi. Even me.”

  “Which makes me trust you even less.”

  “I know your kind, too.” She gave him an arch look, and he had the nerve to grin. His gaze lowered to her lips, where her tongue was swiping away a drop of beer. “Should I tell you what I know of you?”

  She shouldn’t play this game. In all honesty it would probably wind up hurting her self-esteem, but she was helpless to refuse him when he looked at her with that deep, storm cloud gaze of his.

  “Well?” he whispered, allowing his fingers to caress her arm. “Do you want to know what I know? What I feel coming off your skin?”

  A long, breathy pause weighed heavily between them before it was broken.

  “For the lady.” A waitress dressed in fishnets and shiny PVC sauntered up to the table with a martini glass. “From the guy at the corner table.”

  Finally breaking Bran’s gaze, Mairi tried to collect herself. “What is it?” Mairi asked, looking at the brown liquid.

 
“An angel’s kiss.”

  Mairi glanced toward the corner. In the dark, illuminated only by a candle on the table, sat a guy who was the definition of gorgeous. He was beautiful, with shoulder- length brown hair. His eyes appeared dark, and when he smiled, Mairi felt compelled to smile back.

  Raising his glass, the man saluted her.

  “Don’t drink it.”

  “Hey,” Mairi cried as Bran reached for the glass and dumped the contents into a plant that was beside him.

  “Suriel is bad news.”

  “And you’re not?” she shot back.

  “Compared to him, I’m the least of your worries. Trust me.”

  Strangely, she did. Even as she glanced once more at the man named Suriel. A little frisson swept up her back. She felt as if she had seen the man before, but could not place him. There was something there in his eyes, a shared familiarity.

  “Do not invite him in, Mairi,” Bran warned.

  “In where?” she asked, suddenly growing languid.

  “Inside you.”

  The words were soft, deep, like a velvet caress. Swallowing hard, Mairi tried to fight the way her body seemed to grow hot and achy. Damn Bran. Every word was an invitation to sex. What the hell was wrong with her?

  “What do you mean?” she asked, glancing furtively between the man and Bran. “Inside me?”

  “Do not . . . invoke him.”

  Invoke him? What a thing to say. Demons and evil spirits were invoked, but this guy . . . he had the face of an angel. A dark angel, she thought, suddenly bemused. His beauty was not effeminate, but masculine and virile. Fallen . . . the word suddenly tripped through her mind and she snapped her head to the left only to come face-to-face with Bran. His fingers trailed down her cheek, his gaze holding hers steadily as he pressed in closer to whisper against her ear.

  “Do not allow him inside you.”

  “I . . . I wasn’t planning on it,” she gulped. “I’m not that kind of girl.” Liar.

  She met Bran’s gaze, saw it glimmer in the candlelight. “There are more ways than sex to allow a man in.”

  Oh, God. She would let him in any way he wanted.

  She should have been scared of the intense vibes he was putting out. But the truth was she was immensely, recklessly, attracted to Bran.

  Standing up, she nearly knocked over the little table holding their drinks. “I’ll be right back,” she said, struggling to get away from Bran and the crazy thoughts she was having.

  She didn’t even know this guy, for crying out loud! How could she be entertaining the idea of sleeping with him? He could rape her. Kill her. Or worse, he could do the same sort of things that Lauren’s killer had done to her.

  “You will not go alone. I will escort you.”

  “No, really, I’m good—”

  “I am taking you to wherever it is you want to go. You will not wander the club alone.”

  His fingers wrapped around her elbow and tugged her gently forward. Then his palm slid down her arm till it reached her wrist. It was like an electric shock, that touch. Her wrist felt as though it were on fire, and she was certain her entire body jolted.

  “Mairi?” Bran’s voice sounded so distant, like it was part of a dream, even as his face appeared to be coming closer to her.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the man named Suriel. He watched her, his eyes dark and mesmerizing. Unreadable.

  Suddenly, she felt very weak, as if Suriel’s gaze had somehow stolen all her strength from her. She wavered and reached for Bran’s arm for support.

  Shaking her head, which was now foggy and muddled, a horrible feeling of consuming emptiness engulfed her. Suddenly, she was feeling desperate—terrified—a helplessness was pulling her down. She looked down at her exposed wrist, at the white scars that ran horizontally across her skin. She had felt like this once before. This frightening emptiness. Loss. And still Suriel watched her, his gaze penetrating.

  “Do not fear me.”

  Mairi heard the voice whisper through her mind, the same voice that had occasionally spoken to her in dreams as a young child. Instead of soothing her, the voice frightened her, made her want to run.

  “I would never harm you, Mairi. You know that. You know me.”

  She shook her head, as much to clear her thoughts as to deny the truth of the words. Yes. She had heard that voice before.

  “I know your secret. I was there; remember?”

  Mairi staggered back, still clutching on to Bran’s thick forearm. “I need the bathroom,” she said in a rush, stumbling away, needing to get away from everyone and everything.

  “Have you drunk too much?” he asked, concern flashing in his eyes. His gaze, she noticed, slipped to her drink, then back to Sayer, who was dancing with Rowan. Fear spiked in her heart. Was it possible she had been drugged? If so, she needed to get away from him before she couldn’t move. Before she could no longer protect herself. And yet she knew that she had not been drugged.

  “I just need . . .” She paused, shook her head, trying to clear it of the heavy fog that seemed to be encroaching. She gazed once more at Suriel, who was sipping his drink and looking out over the dance floor. She was no longer the fixture of his attention, yet something warned her that she was still the focus of his interest.

  “I just need a minute,” she mumbled, stumbling away toward the bathroom. She felt Bran’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look back. She headed for the washroom, threw open the door, and entered the first unoccupied stall. Sitting down on the toilet, she closed her eyes and put her head to her knees. The room was spinning and she felt sleepy, languid. As if she were going to black out. Behind her closed lids she saw red pulsations, like beating blood vessels. Then she heard the thumping of a heart, the rhythm slowing . . . slowing, until she held her breath, waiting to hear the next beat, fearing she wouldn’t.

  Oh, God, was it her heart she was hearing?

  Opening her eyes, she looked down at her trembling hands, saw the scars staring back up at her, mocking her; then the oppressive feeling of hurt and anger pulled at her, sucking her into a black yawning void that she feared, but could not step away from.

  No, not again. What happened last time would not happen again. She would not allow it.

  Jumping up, she lost her balance, forgetting she was wearing stilettos, and banged into the wall of the stall. Righting herself, she managed to unlock the door, despite her blurring vision.

  “Hey, watch it!” a woman snapped as Mairi lost her balance and fell into her. Red lipstick was smeared from the corner of the woman’s lip to her cheek. Mairi met the woman’s gaze in the mirror and was startled by her own reflection. She did not recognize the person staring back at her, even though it was her face. Her eyes were wild and glassy, her cheeks deathly pale.

  “Sorry ’bout that,” Mairi slurred, trying to focus. “I’m not feeling well.”

  “Obviously,” the woman sniffed.

  Feeling along the wall, Mairi finally found the door and let herself out. The hallway was dark. The music was loud, pumping, banging around her head. The air was stale with the smell of spilled alcohol and cigarettes. The combination only made her head feel worse, and still the black yawning emptiness washed over her.

  “Come to me, Mairi. Come . . .”

  Oh, shit, those were the same words she heard the last time. And they beckoned her, just as much as they had when she’d first heard them.

  “Step over and come to me.”

  No, she wouldn’t do that. She knew what it was to step over. She knew where that led, and she wasn’t going there. Not again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Suriel pretended interest in his drink as he watched Mairi disappear around the corner with Bran. He had not meant to frighten her. He sought only to remind her of his presence. It had been a long time since he had made his presence known to her; perhaps that was why she had run away.

  Sipping at the drink, his gaze skipped from immortal to immortal, taking in their actions and wondering
what purpose drove them to Velvet Haven tonight. He knew why the Raven was here. Sex. It was the only thing that compelled him to mix with mortals. The Sidhe preferred his own world, and Suriel liked him better when he was there.

  After nearly a century, Suriel knew enough about the king of Annwyn to distrust him—especially with Mairi.

  Mairi was special. Mairi was his. They had a bond closer than lovers. Within her small, human body, Mairi MacAuley carried a part of him.

  It was that part that had called to him tonight, whispering to him that he needed to follow her. Theirs was a connection that could not be severed. He would not allow it. Not when he knew her power. Not when she could help him.

  He needed to find her. To steady her. To keep her safe from Annwyn, and the purpose the goddess intended for her.

  Cailleach had robbed him once before. She wouldn’t again.

  Suriel rose from his chair with one intention. To take Mairi away from the raven.

  “Mairi, talk to me.”

  Her eyes were open, but Bran knew she didn’t see him standing before her. Her stare was vacant, her brown eyes clouded. Pressing against her, Bran steadied her with his thighs as he cupped her chin, tilting her head up so he could see more of her in the dim light.

  What had happened? One minute he’d sensed her arousal and her softening to him, and the next she was gone, looking as though she were possessed. Something still held her hostage. He saw it in her eyes, felt it in the fine trembles that shivered through her curvaceous body. Fucking Suriel. She’d been fine, even turned on, until the angel had somehow forced her attention away from him.

  Fallen angel, Bran mentally corrected, and a son of a bitch pain in the ass. Bran didn’t understand how, or why, but he felt it in his gut; Suriel had done something, had planted a seed in her mind that was suddenly taking over.

  “Mairi, it’s all right. I’m here. You’re safe.”

  She looked at him, her eyes now misty, her lips quivering. He wanted to take away her fear with his arms, his mouth.

  Damn it, he shouldn’t even be thinking this, but he gave words to the thoughts anyway. She was lovely, gazing at him like this. Perfect.