Something brushed by her, skating down her arm. It was a black feather from the raven, which had just flown off the branch. Goose bumps sprang up and she shivered. Her body tingled where it had touched her. She felt warm—aroused.
“Hey, look, the line’s moving,” Rowan announced.
Within five minutes they were standing before a brute of a bouncer who scowled and looked them up and down as he took their tickets. “You’re VIP,” the bouncer muttered as he unhooked the velvet rope and waved them through. “Sign in, name and phone number. Then take the stairs and turn right. Mr. Macdonald will show you where to go from there.”
“Cool!” Rowan squealed as they entered the club and scribbled their name on a clipboard. “It’s even better than I thought.”
The doors suddenly shut behind them, creaking on the old rusted hinges. Inside, neon blue and pink beams of light flickered over the dance floor, illuminating the gyrating dancers. The music was loud . . . pulsing . . . the techno beat hard and heavy. In the shadowed corners were shimmery fabrics in fuchsia and black. The furniture had a Victorian Gothic vibe that reminded Mairi of an old burlesque club. Only it wasn’t occupied by men in tuxes and ladies wearing feather boas. The clientele at Velvet Haven were in leather and PVC. Mohawks and piercings and long Matrix-like coats replaced the tuxes. There were cyber Goths wearing their silver wigs and metallic costumes, as well as those creepy Babydolls who dressed like little girls and walked around sucking their thumbs. Some Metal Heads were holed up in a corner, their leather jackets covered in spikes, their necks adorned with dog collars. A group of women dressed in long black gowns that looked like something out of the Victorian age floated past them. One of them had two little puncture holes on her throat with two drops of blood dripping from the openings.
Talk about taking things seriously.
Against a wall filled with gilt mirrors, the DJ was spinning records, his shoulder-length black hair streaked with electric blue dye, his arms bulging with muscles and tats. He was at least six feet five and the expression on his face was beyond intense.
“Oh my God,” Rowan gasped, looking at the DJ. “That’s him! The Tarot Guy.”
Mairi swung her gaze to the wall to check out the man who came into Rowan’s New Age boutique on a weekly basis. She got an eyeful, all right. In the reflection of one of the mirrors behind the DJ was a couple making out, the guy’s hand steadily moving down the woman’s belly, only to escape beneath the waist of his date’s black leather skirt. Beside them, another couple watched eagerly as they fondled themselves.
Holy shit! Just what the hell had they walked into? What was this place, some sort of fetish club?
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Mairi yelled over the loud music. Rowan nodded, swallowing hard as she watched the couple in the mirror. The man was now sinking to his knees.
“Rowan, who exactly is this guy who gave you the tickets?” Mairi’s eyes widened to three times their normal size as she watched the guy shoulder his way between the woman’s thighs, his palms sliding up her fishnet stockings, lifting her skirt. Nervously, Mairi glanced around and noticed that no one else was watching the show in the mirror. Everyone else was so blasé.
“I know I have a terrible history of picking up the wrong sort of man,” Rowan said uneasily. “But I swear, Sayer is . . .” She trailed off as another guy came into the reflection of the mirror to join the busy couple. “That is . . .”
“C’mon, we’re leaving. This Sayer is obviously a twisted pervert, just like that other asshole you’ve finally gotten away from.”
“I’m not twisted. Nor am I pervert.”
Jumping, the two of them whirled around, only to find themselves looking up at a giant. A beautiful, golden giant with eyes that shimmered in the strobe lights. His beauty was beyond anything Mairi had ever seen. And his body . . . Her gaze slid over the tight black T-shirt that showcased his pecs and arms.
Obviously hard-core in the workout department.
There was something inhuman about him, he was that drop-dead gorgeous.
He smiled, a slow sensual grin that was almost hypnotic. “Welcome to Velvet Haven. We’ve been expecting you.”
“We?” Mairi glanced back at the DJ, who was still playing music.
The man grinned and moved to the left, revealing the most dangerous, sexiest man Mairi had ever laid eyes on. When he looked at her from across the room, her entire body jolted and images flooded her brain. He was dark, brooding, intense, reminding Mairi of a black thundercloud. Menacing yet strangely fascinating.
There was a fierce storm brewing inside him. Mairi could feel it, a strange energy radiating off of him. Her body lit up like a nuclear power plant and her breasts suddenly grew heavy. She was aroused, and her arm tingled where the feather had landed on her.
Their gazes locked as he began to walk—no, stalk—slowly toward her through the crowd. An instant connection was made, one Mairi felt deep into her core. The way he looked at her, the way he made her insides tighten with longing was the same as her dream lover.
But this man wasn’t a fantasy; this man was flesh and blood and warmth. This was for real, and so was the desire she felt suddenly taking over.
The scent of the woman clung to his fingers. Bran hadn’t been able to resist flying past her, allowing the tip of his wing to graze her soft skin. The zap of sensation had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t expected to feel so much with only the barest of contact. In fact, his fingertips still tingled from the brief brush of her arm.
He could still smell her, despite the scent of cigarettes, booze, and sweating bodies. As overpowering as those scents were to him, the woman’s was still more powerful. As sweet as the apple blossoms, but spiced with something more exotic. She smelled of woman, and sex, and the unmistakable pungent odor of unease.
She was perceptive, this female, her instincts keen and clear. Yet she buried them, hiding them beneath a suffocating layer of disbelief and rationalization. Mortal thinking, he thought with disgust. It had been many centuries since humans believed in the Otherworld. As much as he despised their narrowed vision, Bran counted himself fortunate that the humans didn’t see past their own kind. If they did, he’d have more to worry about than keeping Annwyn safe from within. He’d have humans to keep out.
He did not need mortals creeping about his world, causing havoc and mayhem. They would not understand magick, or Annwyn. And when humans didn’t understand, when they feared something they could not explain, their natural inclination was to destroy.
As king of the Sidhe it was his duty to protect Annwyn and its secrets. And to do that he needed to lie with a human female to sustain his magic. A bitch of an irony, but there was nothing to be done about the Legacy Curse now. He needed this woman.
“The two of you better be keeping your noses clean tonight.”
The gruff voice of Rhys MacDonald stopped Bran and he turned and faced his cousin. That this human was part-Sidhe burned him every time he thought it. His uncle had been a fool to give up his throne and his powers for a mere human. To know his uncle’s essence swam in the veins of this mortal made Bran feel savage.
“What are you up to, Raven? And it’s not your usual sex fest.”
“Nothing you need concern yourself over.”
“Don’t bother to hide it. I already know about the bodies that have shown up in Annwyn.”
“The Shadow Wraith, no doubt. He needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”
Rhys shrugged. “He doesn’t need to tell me things. We’re connected. I already knew of the killings before he told me.”
“You’re an abomination,” Bran spat with disgust. “Your bond with your wraith is unnatural.”
“Screw you, Raven.” Rhys took a step closer to him. “If you’ve come here looking for revenge, you can sheath your talons. The murders didn’t happen in my club.”
“No, just beneath it.”
Rhys’ gaze narrowed. “That’s your domain, King. I haven’t gone near tha
t door since you put the spell on it. You can look to your own kind for the murders.”
“Why do you think I’m here?” Bran growled impatiently.
“And I thought you came to get your rocks off.”
Bran felt his lips curl with rage. “Stay out of my business, MacDonald, or you’ll wish you had.”
“Is that right?” Rhys snorted, straightening his stance as if he were getting ready for a fight. “While you’re here, in my club, you’ll watch yourself. I’m not going to allow you two to interfere with my livelihood. No cops, no magick, and no trouble, you got that? You might be king back there,” he gritted out as he pointed to the wooden door that led to the Cave of Cruachan, “but in my club, I’m the boss.”
“I’m only here thanks to your great-great-grandfather. If he hadn’t left our world to fuck a human, believe me, neither would I.”
MacDonald stiffened at the affront, his violet eyes narrowing dangerously. He was mostly mortal, true, but Bran knew he could fight like the devil, and just as dirty, too.
“As I wasn’t around a hundred and seventy years ago, I’m not taking responsibility for your curse. It’s not my problem Daegan found the women of my species more pleasing than the Sidhe. I know what brings you here, Raven. Now get your fix and do your investigating, but keep a low profile. There’re a couple of undercovers here tonight, so watch what you’re doing and who you’re screwing.”
There had never been anything but bad blood between Bran and his mortal relations, but this little prick was the one who had gotten under his skin the most. Probably because Bran saw so much of himself in the immovable, arrogant man’s face.
“Oh, yeah,” Rhys drawled, stepping closer so that they were nearly nose to nose. “I have a message for you from Keir.”
Bran glanced at the DJ, who was still playing music. “What does he want?”
“Stay the fuck away from the one named Rowan.”
“And which one is she?”
“The blonde.”
Bran was instantly relieved. “Tell your friend that the one named Rowan holds no interest for me. It is the other I want.”
Rhys slowly backed away. “I’ll be watching you, Raven. One wrong move and you’ll be back in Annwyn without your energy fix. You got that?”
Bran watched the mortal leave, hating him, loathing his own miserable circumstances. He despised being weak, hated being without the powers of Annwyn.
With a snarl, he headed for the women.
“Put on your happy face,” Sayer ordered him, using telepathy so the women wouldn’t hear them. “You’re going to scare them off. And try to talk like you belong in the twenty-first century, for God’s sake. Fit in, for once.”
Bran lifted his lips in a smile, hoping it was the sort that would make the woman’s panties wet. He never had been very good at foreplay. He was more a take- what-he-wanted guy, but he knew that just taking this woman wasn’t going to get him what he needed: his cock buried deep inside her, all night long.
The guy looked as if he had a case of severe gastrointestinal upset. Never had Mairi seen a more pitiful excuse for a smile than this one.
“Hey,” he said, extending his hand to her. Obviously he wasn’t one of those smooth talker types. Taking his hand in hers, she smiled.
“This is my friend, Bran,” the golden god murmured. “And I’m Sayer.”
“Mairi,” she replied, pulling her hand free. “And you already know Rowan.”
Sayer’s eyes seemed to glow as he looked over her friend. “Not nearly enough, I think.”
Mairi heard her friend’s breath catch. She was going to have to watch this Sayer character. He was just the sort of smooth operator that got women to do whatever he wished. And she’d seen many of those women rolled into the ER raped and bloodied after a night out dancing and drinking.
Rowan was easy pickings. She was still reeling from the tumor diagnosis and the fiasco with Aaron. Rowan had never had it easy with guys, and Mairi knew without a doubt that Sayer could make her friend forget all about being cautious, even though the frightening events with Aaron were never far from Rowan’s—and Mairi’s—thoughts. Now she, Mairi thought with pride, wasn’t so easily taken in by a handsome face and buff bod. Unlike Rowan, her inability to trust made it easy for her to avoid becoming a victim.
Looking around the club, Mairi found herself feeling very uncomfortable and conspicuous. She didn’t know what to say, and the music was so damn loud they wouldn’t hear her if she did talk. And the big guy with the short black hair and the tight T-shirt with the fuchsia VELVET HAVEN logo on his chest kept watching them.
Mairi hadn’t missed the altercation between the guy and Bran, and she found herself wondering if Bran wasn’t a regular shit disturber at the club. If so, she wanted no part of his company. The last thing she wanted in a place like this was trouble.
“How about a drink?” Sayer asked. Laying his hand on the lower part of Rowan’s back, he ushered her along, toward the bar and another room where there were chandeliers and velvet couches.
She followed behind, but all along Mairi was conscious of the man who walked beside her. He was at least six feet six with shoulders the width of a house and legs like oak trunks. He was dressed in black leather pants, black Doc Martens, and a long black coat that was cool in a Matrix sort of way. His hair was black as well, long, silky. She couldn’t see what color his eyes were, only that his lashes were black and thick.
He walked with a pantherlike grace, his stride long and lazy, belying the power she sensed in him. He was scary in a way, yet sexy, too. She’d never been attracted to the long- hair type before, but suddenly she had visions of running her hands through that mane.
The guys she’d dated had always been safe, even boring. But this guy—he had danger tattooed all over him. A total bad boy that Mairi couldn’t deny turned her on.
She sensed he possessed the same sexual prowess her dream lover did. And how stupid was that? Her dream babe wasn’t real. And this guy . . . well, what the heck would a guy like him be looking at her for? And why did she care, because she was never going to see him again, and she didn’t do one-night stands with complete strangers.
Jumping, she squeaked in surprise as she felt a big, warm hand clamp around her elbow. The minute she felt his touch a warm hum infused her blood. Glancing up at him, she saw that he was watching the crowd as though he were looking for someone. Suddenly his grip hardened.
“Ow,” she cried, pulling back. He looked down at her and Mairi got lost in his eyes. They were the strangest eyes she’d ever seen. One was gold and the other pewter, and both were thinly rimmed with a violet edge. Contacts. Had to be.
“I did not mean to hurt you,” he said, his fingers soothing the sting on her flesh. “My apologies.”
He had a faint Scottish accent. His voice was deep and smooth, and she liked the way it seemed to wash over her. He was watching her, expecting her to say something. She could only nod, bereft of speech as she gazed into his eyes. Completely mute. A rare condition for her.
“Shall we?”
He waved her ahead, and Mairi was struck by the gentlemanly veneer beneath the leather and long hair. She would never have pegged him as having manners, but he did. Good ones, in fact.
They followed Sayer and Rowan to the back of the room, where it was darker and fewer people congregated. Most people were at the bar; a few were at booths sipping champagne and martinis. Sayer sat them at a high-backed booth upholstered in fuchsia velvet.
“What are you ladies drinking tonight?”
“Water,” they said together.
“C’mon. Just one.” He winked and smiled, his magnetic personality drawing them in. “Have one on me. I’ll bet you’ve never had a caramel apple martini, have you?”
Rowan’s eyes went wide. “No, but you’re speaking to my heart.”
“I knew I would,” he murmured as he gazed at Rowan. Mairi saw his eyes darken and flicker; then something weird happened to his pupil—it
flipped and became long, slitlike. But when he turned his attention to her, the pupil was normal. “What about you?”
“I’ll have a beer. With the cap left on, please.” There was no way in hell she was taking any chances that she’d be slipped some drug. She glanced at Rowan, shooting her a look that told her to do the same.
“On second thought, I’ll have a beer, too. Cap on.”
Sayer exchanged a glance with his friend, then strolled over to the bartender. He ordered, then leaned up against the bar, watching them.
“So, Mairi,” Bran murmured, his voice deep and gravelly. “This is your first time here.”
It was not a question, but a statement. “How do you know?”
He shrugged, then stretched back, resting his arm on the back of the booth. “If I had seen you here before, I definitely would have noted that.”
Smooth. Her stomach did a little flop, but she ignored it. “You a regular, then?”
His brows arched as he scanned the group of people who were headed to the empty booth beside them. “I come here when I feel . . . a certain call.”
Uh-huh. “You mean a booty call?”
His gaze slid to hers and she fought the urge to squirm beneath his intense stare. “I’m not familiar with that phrase, but the way your voice changed when you said it makes me believe it is something derogatory to your sex.”
Is this guy for real?
“You have a lovely voice, you know. Very soft and soothing.”
“Are you changing the subject?” she asked.
“No, we’re still talking about you.”
She laughed and suddenly felt a ton of pressure evaporate. He smiled and brushed a few strands of her hair away from her eyelashes. “You have a lovely smile, too.”
Mairi looked away. This guy was definitely smooth. Top notch in the seduction department. She was definitely feeling tempted just by having him sit next to her, not to mention the way his attention was completely focused on her.
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