Mists of Velvet (16 page)

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 she 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.”

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.

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.