And for the first time since his little wren had chosen him, Cliodna’s song was that of silence.
In the darkened hall of the temple, Bronwnn stood in awe of the great king. His magical powers were palpable, and the fear he lit within her was very real.
“You are the seer Cailleach speaks of?” he asked.
She nodded, and started at the sound of a bird approaching. Cailleach’s oidhche, no doubt. The owl was not just Cailleach’s pet, but a spy she enjoyed sending out into Annwyn.
“There is nothing to fear,” the king murmured as he cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his mysterious, mismatched eyes. “’Tis only a wren.”
The little bird flew out of an alcove and then out through the arched window that led to the inner courtyard. She had seen that particular dreathan-donn on her travels through the woods. The bird’s hauntingly lovely song was embedded in her mind, because seeing the wren always preceded a vision of her lover—a dream lover she now realized was going to be her mate.
“You have taken a vow of silence, I am told.”
Refusing the urge to look away from the king, she nodded. He looked down upon her, watching and studying her as if she were some strange new creature he had never before seen.
“You have a look about you, little one. Something familiar,” he murmured. “The memory is so close; yet whenever I try to reach out and claim it, it floats away like mist.”
Bronwnn allowed him to tilt her chin as he looked at her from all angles. “Have you ever been to Velvet Haven?”
She shook her head. She had heard of it, of course, but had never gone farther from the temple than her walks in the woods and the little cottage that was her secret from Cailleach.
Releasing her chin, he allowed her to take a step away from him. Her hands no longer shook, she realized, as she smoothed them along the front of her white gown.
“Cailleach informs me you are the order’s scribe. Your visions are prophecies.”
She inclined her head, hoping he would not ask how she came by her visions. That secret she could not give up.
“I sense something in you. A great power. I wonder if Cailleach senses it. Is that why she wishes to gift you to the wraith?”
He was thinking out loud. He did not need an answer from her. And thank the goddess, for she would not know how to reply.
“You heard me name my warriors. What do you think of my choices?”
A shrug was her answer. She knew little outside her world. She knew only what her visions had foretold—that there would be nine warriors, and one of them would be a Destroyer; a powerful, powerful apprentice to the Dark Mage, who would either destroy Annwyn and the mortal realm, or the very master he served.
The king seemed to understand her, despite her silence. “Tell me, do you know which of the nine will betray Annwyn?”
She shook her head vigorously, hoping he could see her seriousness.
He sighed, but he looked kindly at her. “We are allies, are we not?” he asked as he held out his palm to her. “I will protect you. Even from Cailleach. All I ask is that you come to me with any new visions that may aid us. You can trust me, Bronwnn. My word is my bond—and my honor. I do not give it lightly. But you can believe me in this. I will not let you suffer, not under the wraith, nor under Cailleach.”
She smiled, feeling light with joy. She had an ally in the king. As he started to move away, she reached for his hand and clutched it in her own. Turning his palm up, she traced the lines with her fingertips and closed her eyes.
He was searching for his brother, and Bronwnn vowed to gift him with anything she might see. If the king had vowed to protect her from Cailleach, it was the very least she could do.
Images of water came to her—a long snaking river that traveled through darkness. A tunnel? A cavern? A pathway? It was a cavern of sorts, with strange symbols not of her world; yet the river was in Annwyn.
Opening her eyes, she met his gaze, then reached into the little satchel she wore at her side and pulled out the notebook she carried in order to communicate with Cailleach. Begin at the reflection pool, she wrote quickly, and follow the river, until it leads to a cavern, where you will see mortal cipher. Your brother waits at the end.
Tearing the page free, she pressed it into his palm, then slipped away, knowing she had stayed too long in the hall. Cailleach would have need of her soon, and Bronwnn did not wish to arouse her suspicions. But before she could leave, the king clasped his fingers around her wrist and stopped her. The wren was back, she noticed, perched on the thick stone sill.
“I am in your debt. You have only to ask, and whatever you desire is yours.”
She turned and looked at him. I want what you have, she thought silently. A love so powerful and beautiful. I want to belong to someone, and have him belong to me.
Despite the darkness, he saw his reflection. His were eyes designed to see through anything—light or dark; good and evil. He loathed what he saw—a human known as Aaron.
It was not his real name or appearance, of course. He reviled fleshlings for their frailty, their mortality, their place in heaven. It went against his nature to hide his splendor beneath such a disguise. But the time was not yet right to reveal himself, or his intentions. “Soon,” he whispered to himself. Soon, he would shed his chameleon ways. Then he would possess the powers of heaven and hell in the mortal realm, as well as those of the Summerlands and the Shadowlands in Annwyn.
The Dark Arts, he thought with amusement, were not so difficult to master. Not for one such as he. The witch Morgan had been a most agreeable tutor. But he was done with her. Her death had been necessary and enjoyable. She had taught him all she knew. Once he had exhausted the witch’s talents, he had turned elsewhere, to another who had been exceedingly adept at sex and death magick. But like Morgan, she, too, had worn out her usefulness. What he needed now were more victims—sacrifices; offerings to the Dark Arts so that his magick could grow. There was so much that could be learned in Annwyn—much more than in the mortal realm.
And he was learning, growing, and becoming the most powerful creature to walk in either world.
Chains clanked together, and a groan rumbled above the metallic scrape of metal against stone. His captive was rousing yet again, despite the fevered beating he had dealt.
Strolling over to the naked, dirty form, the mage bent and reached for a handful of black hair and used it to pull his captive’s head back.
“Why won’t you die?” he snarled.
“Because I have something to do first,” came the weak reply.
“After a thousand years?” he asked in disgust. “There is nothing left of the world you once knew, Brother.”
His prisoner, weak of body and spirit, still had enough strength to mock him. “I have something you don’t, and that is my faith.”
“Faith is for mortals,” he spat. “Not your kind.”
“Are you not one of my kind?”
“Shut up!” he snapped, shoving his captive’s head against the cave wall. “You know nothing of me.”
“You have blinded me, Brother, but I still know your voice. Even after all this time, I know.”
“You were always such a stupid, blind fool, Camael. Blind to everything but your desires.”
“My desires are not so different from yours. I hungered for the flesh of a goddess. You hunger for power. You seek a kingdom to rule, Uriel, because you’ve been banished from God’s.”
He had not heard his name in so long, he had nearly forgotten it. He had become someone other than what he had been. The Dark Mage he was now, but hearing his rightful name once more forced him to recall what he was.
“And the angels who did not keep their own position,” Camael whispered, his voice broken and hoarse, “but left their proper dwelling, He has kept in eternal chains in deepest darkness for the judgment of the great day.”
Uriel did not need any biblical quotes or reminders. Camael was a fool. It was so much more than hatred for the humans.
It went even beyond Uriel’s desire to triumph in his banishment.
“Your chains are metaphorical, Uriel. You did not keep your position, so He banished you. You have imprisoned yourself with darkness, and chained yourself to its seductive call.”
“And why shouldn’t I?” he snarled. “When He banished me, He left me to rot among His filthy creations. Keep my place? No,” he growled. “My place is not with the fleshings. My position is my own. My kingdom is to come. And then we will see what He has to say on His great day of judgment.”
“Angel of prophecy,” Camael said mockingly, “what will you do when you discover you have fallen victim to your divination?”
“I will cause pain and destruction. I will turn the righteous into sinners. I will turn the Destroyer into a creature of darkness and despair. I will take, and take, without thought or reason. I will take to hurt, to fulfill my greed, just as I did when I took your goddess lover.”
Camael gifted him with his struggle against the chains, the pain etched on his face. He could almost see the hatred that would have been in his old adversary’s eyes, but the orbs had long been plucked out.
“Your precious Covetina.” The whimper of pain that whispered past Camael’s lips was like the stroke of a lover to Uriel. His cock was hard. He was aroused by the pain he felt shuddering through his brother. “What was she . . . Oh yes, the goddess of the well and the womb. A healer, a protector of childbirth . . . and as lusty as any common whore. But as pleasurable as it was to bed her, it was far more delightful to watch her blood spill onto my hand.”
“No,” Camael cried, struggling to be free of the chains.
“Did you think her still alive? Oh no, Brother. It was from her grimoire that I first learned of death and sex magick. Its power to control others—to aid me in my cause. Her body was my first sacrifice. I drank her blood and infused all her powers. And do you know what?” he whispered menacingly. “I can still taste her.”
Camael went limp, and Uriel watched as the angel before him crumpled. Pulling the hood over his head, Uriel walked around the still form of his brother. “There will be an offering tonight. You will listen to it. Just as you have all the others. But this time, in your mind you will hear your beloved’s scream.”
Uriel’s boots scraped against the stone. He reached for the heavy door, but Camael’s voice made him pause.
“Do you know why I won’t die, Uriel? Because I’m not the one without a flame.”
“Fuck you, Camael.”
The door slammed tightly, and Uriel bolted it. It unnerved him to know that Camael had discovered his secret. An angel without a flame was vulnerable to death. Anyone could kill him, even a lowly mortal. How had the blind and imprisoned Camael discovered his innermost secret?
“Well?” spoke a deep voice. “Do you have what I asked for?”
Uriel turned to see Gabriel move out of the shadows.
“You promised me Suriel!” Gabriel snapped. “I want him now. And I want him with his powers intact. Do you understand?”
“You will have Suriel.” And I will have the Sacred Trine, the flame and the amulet, he silently added—and all the power to rule the mortal realm and Annwyn.
Gabriel’s eyes blackened, but Uriel felt no fear. His brother might be one of God’s favorites, but he was as corrupt as Uriel. Both were ruled by greed and lust for power. “Patience, Brother. My apprentice is not yet ready to embrace his preordained fate. There is still considerable resistance to the dark path.”
“Then find a way to illuminate the path.”
“It isn’t that easy.”
“Do you even know who this Destroyer is?” Gabriel sneered. “I’m beginning to think you’re full of lies. And this Sacred Trine you speak of. Have you found it?”
The Oracle, the Healer, and the Nephillim. The trine was the most important part of the prophecy. He needed all three to control both realms. But something told him that Gabriel wanted the trine for his own purposes. For what, he would have to discover. Until then, he must distract Gabriel by giving him Suriel. That was Gabriel’s most pressing concern.
“My investigations have led me closer to them,” he lied.
Gabriel towered above him, glaring down into his face. He was searching for the lie in his eyes, but Uriel had been blanketed in sin for so long that his conscience no longer shone in his eyes. There was only blackness there—a deep well of unrelenting hatred against everyone in the mortal realm, and the goddesses in Annwyn. He was so close. He could smell it; taste it. Soon he would have the trine, and his apprentice.
Gabe was a tricky bastard, but Uriel was smarter, more devious. He would have what he wanted, despite what Gabriel decreed. Suriel would not be handed over to Gabriel. No, he had something else in mind for Suriel and his gifts.
CHAPTER FOUR
Scanning the crowd, Rhys let his gaze slip to a silver-haired woman. The color wasn’t real—most likely it was a wig—but it would make the fantasy that much better. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of the woman in his dream, and suddenly he was consumed with the thought of taking a woman who looked just like her to bed, to finish what the dream had so teasingly started.
Normally, he didn’t treat the women he took to bed like sex objects. He pleasured them and enjoyed them while they were together. The women he knew sexually were after the same thing he was—sex with no strings, one night of pleasure. There was no drama, no desire to keep seeing each other.
Tonight, though, he felt like a user, because of that damned dream that wouldn’t leave him alone and because he was still taut with sexual need. He needed to get off, and why bother with his hand when the woman was staring at him that way?
“She’ll do.”
Rhys glanced over his shoulder to where Keir was standing behind him. He was used to the way Keir could appear and disappear in a shadow or a shaft of moonlight. He wasn’t surprised to see him come out of the darkness of the corner. “You need to feed?”
“Yes.”
Rhys sensed the desperation within the wraith. He needed energy, not only to survive, but to perform magick. But something was holding him back. Keir was normally eager to climb into bed with any woman. He enjoyed sex, but tonight it looked like a necessary evil—a sacrifice, if Rhys was interpreting Keir’s clenched jaw correctly.
“I was wondering about her friend. The blonde. She’s pretty.”
“No blondes,” Keir snapped, “and no one too . . . full.”
Now Rhys understood. Keir didn’t want any reminders of Rowan—a full-figured, stunning blonde he couldn’t have.
“It’s too much,” Keir murmured. Even though the techno goth music was pulsing loudly through the club, Rhys heard Keir’s anguished voice in his thoughts. “I can’t be with someone who looks like her. It’s wrong. I . . .”
“It’s okay. I understand.” Rhys felt the wraith’s instant relief. “Let’s get back to the one in the silvery blond wig,” he suggested.
“Nice,” Keir replied, trying to sound as if he were into this whole threesome thing tonight, although Rhys knew he wasn’t. “You think she’ll take us both?”
“Well, her eyes seemed to light up even more when you appeared. One can hope.”
“If not, there’s always Abby.”
Rhys searched through the flashing strobe lights and colored laser beams for the red-haired waitress. She’d been trying to get into bed with them ever since she’d started at the club a year ago. Trouble was, doing this kind of thing with the staff was risky. He didn’t like it. It made the night after sex awkward, and she was a good waitress. His customers liked her, and he’d hate to lose her if she wanted more than just a night of hot and sweaty sex. He’d have to let her go if she got all clingy—especially if she got suspicious about Keir. Normally, the whole magical, immortal thing wasn’t a problem. Humans saw what they saw, and to them, most of the patrons were just like them—human. But if Abby took it into her head to get close with them, things might change.
On the ot
her hand, Abby was the farthest thing from Rowan. And she was the complete opposite of his dream lady. Maybe that was what they both needed—to lose themselves in a woman who reminded them of no one.
“Hey,” Abby said as she sashayed past them. She was wearing her customary black leather dress that looked to be at least one size too small, and black fishnets with thigh-high black boots. Her hair was dyed a burgundy red and worn in a bob. Her look was dominatrix, and Rhys wasn’t sure if what he wanted tonight was something rough or . . . simpler. Straight pleasure.
“If you’re wondering about Silver Bunny,” she said, pressing forward so they could get a view of her cleavage, “she’s good to go. She was asking me about you.” Then she smiled and pressed closer. “But if you want someone who can handle both of you, there’s me.”
With a smile and a laugh, she sauntered away.
“Silver Bunny,” Keir said as he nodded in her direction. “Pick her. You want her more than Abby. I’ll meet you upstairs.”
Then he was gone, evaporating into fog, which mixed in with the vapor of the dry ice. Rhys followed the writhing form as it made its way to the stairs to their rooms in the part of the club that remained the mansion.
Picking his way through the crowd, he pressed against the woman, preparing to ask her to dance, when she pressed back against him and kissed him.
Obviously, small talk wasn’t required. From the feel of her breasts pressing against his T-shirt, her nipples were already hard, and her tongue . . . It was definitely searching for more.
“You sure?” he whispered in her ear as he kissed his way down her jaw. She moaned and pressed against him, her hand sliding down his abs to his crotch. She cupped him and said breathlessly, “I’m sure.”
“What about my friend?” he asked as he pulled them deeper into the shadows and toward the stairs. Her body vibrated against him with the suggestion of the threesome. He could smell her excitement, could feel it as she wrapped herself around him.
“What about him? Is he willing?”
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