Mists of Velvet (35 page)

My God
, he thought. He was back. After a thousand years, he was back in Annwyn.

“It has been a long time, Angel of War.”

Every nerve he possessed jumped. Slowly he turned in the direction of the voice.

Despite his blindness, he saw red. How dare she? How dare this cold, heartless bitch come to him now? He’d kill her, just as soon as he could wrap his hands around her throat.

“You do not want to kill me,” she said, her voice soft and gentle. The sound only fueled his anger more until it coated everything he sensed with rage.

“The hell I don’t want to kill you,” he muttered. “I’d love nothing more than to snuff the life out of you with my bare hands.”

A twig snapped, the sound followed by the soft pad of her feet on the forest floor. In his mind, he saw her—blond and ethereal; cold and untouchable. She had destroyed him. She had taken everything he’d ever wanted from him.

“I can feel your anger, Camael. There is a darkness in you that will soon rule everything you are.”

“And do I not have a right to my anger? Have I not suffered enough, Cailleach? Look into my eyes! What do you see?”

She gasped as he stepped closer. He could only assume that he had been shrouded in shadow, and now, whatever light bathed him revealed what he truly was.

“What do you think, Goddess? Do I not deserve my wrath?”

“You deserve vengeance,” came the quiet voice. “I have wronged you, as well as my most treasured friend. I humble myself before you.”

The swishing of her gown reached his ears, and he raised his hands, searching for her, but his fingers met only air.

“You took her from me.”

“It has taken me a thousand years to come to terms with what I did. I was wrong. But I was young, then. No more than a child who was impetuous and proud. I am a woman now, with a woman’s regret. And a heart that has been heavy for a thousand years.”

“And what do you want from me?” he growled. “Surely you do not bow before me to ask only my forgiveness.”

“I ask you to join us. To seek your vengeance against your rightful enemy.”

“Did you not make an enemy of me, Cailleach, when you banished Covetina from your world? You turned her away, allowing Uriel to seduce her.”

Suddenly there was a cool hand pressed to his cheek. He shook it off, but it returned, and with that touch, so did his sight. His vision was blurry, but clear enough for him to see Cailleach.

“Listen to me, Camael. I speak the truth. I made a mistake. I sent her away because I was envious of her. I . . . desired you.”

Camael watched the way her body moved, the way her hips rolled beneath the material that hugged her curves. His body slowly came alive, and the feel of that awakening sickened him. He had only ever had one lover; he had only ever wanted the one. Their union had been beautiful, powerful. And to feel his body harden for this—this creature who had taken everything he’d ever loved, made his blood fill with rage and hatred.

“I followed my heart, not my head. I will atone for that sin. Just tell me how.”

His hand shot out, capturing her around her white throat. “I need what you and my brothers took from me.”

There was no fear in her eyes as he tightened his hold, and it angered him. He
wanted
her afraid; he wanted her to hurt just as he was hurting. She had freed a beast—an animal—not the angel she thought she knew.

“What you seek has long since died.”

“Liar!”
He lifted her up, her weight a pittance when compared to his immense strength. Her chin came up, and her hand clamped down over his, but she did not struggle, and he fought the urge to shake her, to kill her right then and there.

“They are dead, Camael. Covetina by Uriel’s deceit, and his own hand.”

“And my daughter?”

“I—I do not know her fate.” He felt her hesitation, and he knew she lied.

“You lie! I would know it if she no longer lived. I would have felt her leave me. I know you lie,” he sneered, shaking her.

“The pain you feel so deep inside? That is the loss. They are gone.”

He refused to believe that his lover was gone. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—believe that his daughter was dead also. When Covetina had been taken from his bed, he’d made provisions for his child. She’d been hidden from Cailleach’s wrath.

In her physical form she was easy to hold. Taking advantage of that, he pressed her back against a tree, pinning her with his chest and heavy thighs. “I want my daughter back. I gave her to Suriel so he could watch over her.”

Beneath him, she stilled. “He spoke the truth,” she whispered in surprise. He felt her warm skin beneath his palm. She locked her gaze on his, her eyes a mirror to her soul. She drew him in, and he felt his mouth lowering—lowering until he swore he could feel her breath caress his lips. For a second, he forgot where he was, who she was, and remembered another time when a woman’s mouth had beckoned him with temptation, with forbidden pleasure.

But that had been another time; another woman; a woman he had loved. And this creature was the object of his hate; the cause of his despair.

Her palm came up to rest against his cheek. “The child you seek is called Rowan. My
oidhche
will lead you to her. I ask only that you join our fight against the mage.”

She started to evaporate, and so, too, did his vision, but he clutched on to what he could, and she reappeared, her form solid and womanly against him.

“Why have the bird lead me, Cailleach, when you’ll do so much more nicely?”

Resting on the bed, Rhys turned Bronwnn over and gathered her to his chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“What?” she whispered as she raised her head from his chest. “Claim your mate?”

“Come to you when I was feeling so out of control.”

“I understand the rage that ruled you.”

“I was rough.”

“Primal.”

“Angry.”

She smiled. “Yes. And it’s all right. I have never felt more womanly and . . . fought over in my existence.”

“All the same, I’m sorry if I hurt you. I just wanted to . . .”

“Claim me. I understand. The claiming of a mate is a powerful thing. To find a mate, then be denied him is even more powerful.”

“You are my mate.”

“I know, but Cailleach—”

“Let’s not talk about Cailleach.”

Her fingers stroked his chest, and he closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of Bronwnn nestled beside him. They hadn’t spoken of the future, but he knew damned well he wasn’t letting the wraith touch her. Despite his love and caring for the wraith, Bronwnn was all his.

“My leg,” she murmured as she moved his fingers away from her thigh.

He looked down between their bodies and saw the blue ink on her thigh. It was glowing. “Why does it do that?” he asked, pointing to the script that seemed to be getting brighter.

“He’s close by.”

Rhys sat up and looked down into her face. “What is it? How does this connect you to the mage?”

She swallowed hard and held his gaze. “He’s my father.”

Rhys sat up and pulled her against him. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I was conceived in a union between a goddess and an angel named Uriel. This is my link to him. When I touch it, it brings me to him.”

“Jesus Christ!”

She rolled away from him and reached for her gray gown. “I should have told you earlier. At least I should have told you by the pool, when we were talking, and you believed I was worthy to be fought for. I will leave.”

“The hell you will!” he shot back, tearing the gown from her hands. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he forced her back down. “Who else knows this?”

“No one. I’m ashamed of it. He is evil, and his black blood flows in my veins.”

“There is nothing of him in you. Do you understand? No evil. No darkness.”

“He is my father.”

“I don’t give a damn.” The way she looked at him melted his insides. “We have to tell Bran, at least.”

“Does it disgust you to know that I was spawned by such evil?”

His grin was slow, and he reached for her shoulders. “No. Does it disgust you that I’m just a mere mortal?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why would it bother me to know who your father is? You’re not like him. You’ve proven that.”

“I didn’t know until that night in the cottage, when I had the vision. It was then, when he and I were face-to-face, that he told me.”

Rhys hugged her to him. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

She nodded and held on. “What will the others think?”

“They’ll keep their thoughts to themselves, if they know what’s good for them. And Bran . . . Well, I know for a fact he’ll find a way to exploit your connection with the mage for his benefit.”

“I will freely offer my knowledge.”

“Not if it risks your life.”

“Rhys, be sensible. I hold the greatest key to beating him. I can find him whenever I want. I have only to touch that mark.”

“And the same goes for him. The minute you search him out, he can find you. No, I won’t put you at risk.”

“MacDonald,” called the gruff voice from the other side of the door, “are you in there?”

Shit, how had Bran found him?

“I’m prepared to overlook you’re someplace you shouldn’t be, if you get your ass moving. We’re preparing to leave.”

“For where?” he and Bronwnn called at the same time.

“Rowan believes she knows where Carden is.”

“I’ll be there. Just give me a minute.”

“Hurry it up. Cailleach will no doubt be coming over to retrieve her handmaiden.”

“I’m going with you,” she whispered to him, clutching him tight. “I might be able to help.”

“No.”

“Rhys, be sensible.”

“I’ve never been more sensible than I’m being right now.”

“No, you’re not. You’re being bossy, irrational.”

Rhys looked down at her. “We’re staying together, so you’d better get used to being bossed around by a temperamental mortal.”

“How can you help?” she asked. She didn’t need to add,
When you’re a mortal?
He saw that reminder in her eyes.

“Thanks for the confidence. But I told you I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

She smiled and watched as he reached beneath the bed. Drawing out a bow and some arrows, Rhys flung them on the mattress. “I might not be magically inclined, but I can hit a bull’s-eye every time.”

“You made these?” she asked.

“Yeah. Keir brought them for me from the club.” Whistling softly, he signaled his new pet. The adder emerged from the darkened corner and slithered across the floor, then up his arm.

It opened its mouth, and its fangs dripped venom, which Rhys poured onto the arrow tips.

“Not magical,” he said to her as she watched him, “but we mortals can be resourceful.”

In his study, Bran trained his gaze upon Bronwnn as she came out of her trance. “Did you see anything?”

“No, Your Highness. It is the same as always. A darkened cave with water, with symbols on the walls. Crosses, like Rhys’ necklace.”

“Christian.” Bran clasped his hands behind his back. “I know little of the mortal religion. Rhys, what of you?”

“I know some, but I wasn’t a regular churchgoer.”

“Wraith, where is Rowan?” Bran asked impatiently. “She might know and understand these symbols.”

“Give her a minute,” Keir growled. “She has a headache and has been feeling tired. She said she’d be right down.”

Bran rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to sound inconsiderate.”

“I will go to her.”

Rhys didn’t need to enter Keir’s thoughts to know the wraith was coming unglued. There was more than tension in his big shoulders. There was fear. Something was wrong with Keir, a worry that showed in his face.

Watching the wraith leave the room, Rhys wrapped his arm around Bronwnn’s shoulders.