Velvet Haven

by Sophie Renwick

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a black cloud hung heavy over the roof of Mairi’s building, making the apartment dark. Steam from the hot water spilled into the living room from the open door, carrying with it Mairi’s scent.

  Knowing he was a fool, Bran slipped between the wires of the cage. Cursing himself, he hobbled over to the bathroom. With some maneuvering, and a good deal of pain, he managed to get himself up on the bathroom counter, where he could see into the shower.

  His breath caught. Mairi was a dream, standing beneath the spray, her long hair hanging in clumps, the water sluicing and running down her curves. She was soaping her body, and he felt his blood heat as her hands roamed over her breasts, then down between her thighs.

  He had no idea what she would think once she opened the shower door to see a big black bird standing there watching her, but he didn’t care. He wanted every second he had left to be with her. Near her. Beside her. But most of all, in her.

  Deviant that he was, he managed to get himself to the windowsill. To his delight he could look down upon Mairi and all her naked glory.

  Mairi never took baths. Not since the age of sixteen. It would have been lovely to have one now. To soak in hot water with scented bubbles. She would have liked to have lit some candles, poured herself a glass of wine, and lounged in the water and thought of her time with Bran. Perhaps she’d even bring in her vibrator and live out the fantasy that still burned in her mind.

  She would have loved that. But she couldn’t do it.

  Against her hip, her wrist burned. When she looked down she saw it was red, chafed, the scars scratched raw.

  The last time she’d taken a bath she had awakened to a steady stream of blood flowing from her wrist. The voice she had heard the other night at the club was the same voice she had heard when she was sixteen. The same voice she heard as a child.

  She had felt so much pain, so much emptiness as she sank deeper into the water, trying to shut out the voice. But she had not picked up that razor. She had not slit her own wrist.

  One of the nuns had found her. Thankfully there had been a doctor there, working the infirmary. He’d stitched her wrist hastily while the ambulance was en route. Almost unconscious from the blood loss, Mairi hadn’t felt a single thing.

  The next day, Sister Catherine had come to visit her and told her that Rowan had been raped by the creepy caretaker of Our Lady. It had happened at the exact same time Mairi was in the tub. From that moment on, Mairi had been sure that it was Rowan’s pain, her emptiness, that she had felt. But how? Why? There was no plausible explanation, so she kept her thoughts to herself and told no one. Not even Rowan.

  Neither of them talked about it. Not Mairi, and not Rowan. Rowan hadn’t asked about the injury and Mairi had not dared to ask Rowan about the rape. They were both good pretenders, but now it was hard to pretend, what with her scars reddened and itching. Even the skin around the scars was a dark shade of pink that looked irritated. Since Lauren’s gruesome death, nothing had been the same, most especially her scars.

  And now Suriel. He had come to Rowan, thinking it was her. His appearance paralleled the resurfacing of memories of the voice that guided her, soothed her when she was frightened.

  Was it coincidence? No, Mairi knew it wasn’t. She had seen things that science couldn’t explain. Miracles that happened, but in theory shouldn’t have. Suriel’s appearance had a purpose. Rowan’s dreams had a purpose. These scars . . . Mairi feared what meaning they might hold.

  Shoving aside the old memories that still haunted her, Mairi reached for the soap and sponge and poured some vanilla-and honey-scented bubbles on the pink gauze.

  Think of something else. Something happy. Something . . . Bran. The name slipped into her thoughts and she smiled. For someone who didn’t trust easily, she had certainly trusted him.

  As she soaped her body, her hands cupping her breasts, she felt her nipples, which were still tender from Bran’s mouth. But along with the tenderness, she felt the lingering sensation of need.

  As her fingertip slipped over her nipple, it tightened, making her belly clench in the same needy response. She was wet and horny. She thought of Bran and slipped a hand between her thighs as she rested her foot on the edge of the tub, stroking herself.

  She had never touched herself as much before as she had in the two days since she had met Bran. But damn it, she needed this release! She’d dreamed of Bran last night, confusing him with her dream lover. He’d asked her to fuck him, and like a madwoman she had said no. She had awakened this morning hornier than she had ever been, dying to know what it would be like with him.

  Slipping her fingers deep inside, she moaned at the instant relief. She closed her eyes and imagined Bran there with her. She thought about what it would have been like to take his cock in her mouth, to feel the satiny smoothness of him on her tongue, his hands in her hair as he angled her head the way he wanted her.

  Fingers frantic now, she moved from her pussy to her clitoris, stroking as the visions fueled her rhythm. Bran on top of her, Bran behind her, taking her hard, whispering dirty thoughts into her ear.

  Lightning flashed, illuminating the bathroom. She looked up over the top of the shower toward the window and saw the raven perched on the sill. Forked lightning once more lit the sky, silhouetting the bird; then suddenly it was Bran who stood before her, reaching out his hand. She heard his thoughts in her mind.

  I like your fantasy. Let me show you mine.

  Suddenly she was transported to a wood. It was night and rain fell steadily from the sky. She was lying on a stone slab like a sacrifice on an altar. Spread wide, her sex aching, her body hungry.

  And then Bran appeared, crawling atop the stone, then over her.

  “Let me finish it, mo muirnin,” he whispered.

  Mairi’s own fingers seemed to be replaced by Bran’s hot palms. His gentle fingertips traced her body, touching her breasts, her belly, then down her hip. He teased her with his touch, with the brush of his lips against her body. As he moved lower, his hair trailed over her shoulders, down her arms, heightening the arousal, making her sensitized skin even more so.

  Open for me, Mairi.

  She cried out, clutching at his hair as she drew up her knees. The rain continued to pour down on them and lightning flashed. Mairi looked down to see the forked line of pure energy hit Bran’s skin. The tattoos on his neck, chest, and arm glimmered as the lightning ran down the ink like an electrical current. He grabbed her bottom, pulling her up for his mouth. When his tongue swiped against her, she arched, crying out, begging for more.

  And he gave more. His fingers deep inside her as his tongue played with her clitoris. She was greedy, taking everything and asking for more. He brought her to the brink of orgasm, then stopped, pulling away from her.

  “No!” she cried, clawing at his massive shoulders. “Don’t leave me like this again.”

  He smiled a smile of pure male arrogance. “Leave you hungering?” he whispered. “Leave you empty?”

  “Yes,” she said, somewhere between a scream and a sob.

  His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Do you want me to fill you up?”

  Not waiting for her reply, he plunged his thick cock into her, making her sex stretch to accommodate him. Mairi felt that current, that electricity invade her body, and when Bran made her come it was euphoric. Mairi felt as though a piece of her had died and she was lifted, floating toward heaven. It was beautiful and peaceful. Magical. That was the only word to describe it.

  There was an exchange, a connection she had never felt before. It was as if their essences flowed into each other, mingling, becoming indistinguishable from each other.

  She felt lighter, almost weak, but he turned her over, onto her knees. “Did you think I was done with you?” he asked, as he slid his cock into her.

  He felt huge still and Mairi moaned at the invasion. God, he felt good. The slow, lazy rhythm left her panting. The warm rain hitting her skin made his body slide eas
ily against hers.

  She was fully covered by him, his chest on her back, his hands filled with her breasts, and his cock gliding in and out of her.

  “You like that, Mairi?”

  She couldn’t speak, but nodded and moaned as his thrusts became harder, more intent. His fingers left her breasts to skim her hip. They kneaded her bottom before he parted her. His fingers traced her opening and she squirmed away from him, shocked by the sensation that she wanted him in there.

  Mairi accepted his touch, allowed herself to feel the building passion once more. The pleasure rose and she heard Bran growl, felt his strength grow as his arms suddenly caged her.

  Now he was fucking her hard and it felt so good, so powerful to take him like this. The pleasure was rising and rising, but he kept her completion just out of reach.

  “Please,” she begged. His finger found her clitoris and he stroked her in time to his thrusts, finishing her in short, penetrating stabs.

  When he came it was explosive. She was filled not only with his essence, but a strange vibration that radiated from her core to her fingertips.

  When she opened her eyes, the grove was gone. She was surrounded by white tile.

  Collapsing against the wall, Mairi stilled, trying to recover from her orgasms. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this good. For a few seconds she believed that she had actually been in that enchanted wood, spread out for Bran’s pleasure.

  When she had recovered enough, she shoved opened the shower door, only to see the bird standing on the sill, watching her. Lightning flashed once more, a brilliant, blinding flash, and in that instant Mairi swore she saw the image of Bran. Behind him were black wings, and on his hand were those strange marks glowing gold and pewter.

  “How?” she asked, amazed the bird had gotten this far from his cage, let alone up on the sill.

  The bird didn’t answer, and Mairi was left feeling oddly disappointed. She needed to hear Bran’s voice. If only one last time.

  She looked back after she covered her body with a thick towel. The bird was watching her with his rapacious gaze.

  Thank you for feeding me, Mairi, she heard Bran say.

  Then, to her amazement, the bandage fell away from its wing and the bird flew from the room.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Bran knew he had to leave. Staying in Mairi’s home was too dangerous. She was dangerous. Yet he felt his newly shored magic weaken at the thought of never seeing her again.

  He had stayed in bird form for the rest of the day, content to stay in his cage watching Mairi and allowing his hunger to grow. She tried to feed him again, more bread, but this time from her palm. He didn’t have the heart to refuse her, so he had lowered his head and gently fed from her hand, the act as pleasurable as sex. The bond even stronger.

  He had not needed food. But how could she know that what he had witnessed in the shower, combined with the lightning he had harnessed, had given him the fuel he needed?

  That incredible shower scene. Bran closed his eyes, willing the memory to life. In his mind, he’d taken her to Annwyn, to his Sacred Space, and placed her on his altar. She was spread, ready for him, gentle raindrops pebbling on her skin. It was no surprise that in his fantasy it had been raining; water was his favorite element. What he hadn’t known was how damn perfect Mairi would look in his grove, splayed on his altar. She’d been regal as a queen—his queen. The feelings the thought evoked frightened him, still frightened him, he reminded himself. There was no place for Mairi in Annwyn, and no place for him in her world.

  Still, considering they were two souls destined to live apart, she was incredibly bewitching and powerful. Watching her bring herself to orgasm in the shower had provided enough energy to fuel his magic. It had never been that way before. Watching had never been enough. It had taken hours and hours of sexual intercourse to gain what he needed. But with Mairi, it was different. His curse was not acting as it usually did.

  More reason to fear, to escape.

  Nothing was clear. Everything about her was shrouded in mystery. His thoughts were no longer focused. She was dangerous to him, held an unnatural hold over him. A hold he must sever if he was to go forward and find Carden and put an end to the dark magick before it overtook Annwyn. A hold that could very well be his undoing.

  His brother and the Dark Mage. That had been his purpose for coming to Velvet Haven and lurking amongst the mortals. It had not been to forge a relationship with a human. A beautiful, lovely human he could no longer deny he wanted to bring back with him to Annwyn.

  Sitting on the end of her bed, he watched her sleep, memorizing the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way the air passed through her lips that he wanted to kiss. Just thinking about what he’d seen in the shower made him hot. Christ, he wanted her. Even more than last night in Velvet Haven when he had yearned to penetrate her, to feel her body hungrily grasp him. He had wanted more than a magical connection with her. Still wanted it.

  Their shared fantasy had been enough to fill him magically, but physically it had been a tease. His mind was satiated, while his body still hungered.

  The connection they shared was unique. To be able to enter her dreams was a new experience for him. To know that they had been dreaming about each other for weeks now was at once arousing yet unnerving. Because even though he wanted her, he knew what she was. His murderer.

  Reaching out, he trailed his fingers along her silken cheek. She’d brought him home, protected him, healed him, and in the process she had softened a place inside him, making it her own.

  She’s a mortal, he reminded himself. Not to be trusted. She was, most likely, the human who was prophesized would kill him. He should be slaying her now, in her bed, letting her blood spill out onto the sheets, never to awaken again—never able to destroy him.

  In his heart he knew she was the woman in the death prophecy. His nemesis. His murderer. Yet as he looked at her he could not fathom Mairi taking a blade to him. She was too kind, too sweet to take a life, whether mortal or immortal.

  As he watched her sleep, he knew he should be deciding on a plan to thwart her attempt. An attempt that would soon come. Why? How? The questions burned in his mind. But when he touched her cheek, they dissolved like mist. He knew then he didn’t want the answers. He was bigger and stronger than she was. When—if—she came to him, he could fight off an attack. There was no reason to end her life now. She had saved his life.

  And how would he repay her? Slay her while she was asleep to prevent a future event that might never take place? He couldn’t. It went against everything he was. He was honorable. He did not kill his enemies in their sleep like a coward. He did not kill women.

  He closed his eyes and prayed to the gods of his world to please not let it be Mairi who had been created to fulfill the spell that Morgan had cast against him.

  Beside her, Clancy slept, and he rubbed the dog behind his ears.

  “Take care of her,” he ordered.

  He hated leaving her, especially this way, but he knew if he stayed, he’d risk his very life for a chance to feel her body against his. His body inside hers. She was too much temptation, a weakness in his armor. He had much to think of, and he couldn’t do that when she was close to him.

  Sighing, she curled into him, snuggling up against his hand. She looked soft and vulnerable. It would be so easy to roll her onto her back and lie down on her, kissing her awake. But Bran knew that it was time for him to leave.

  His wounded arm felt heavy at his side as he released Mairi’s cheek. The few exchanges he had shared with Mairi had given him enough power to shift into his male form. Tonight he would walk the streets of this realm as a man, not fly as a bird.

  And it was all thanks to this one small human he was still alive. Alive and rejuvenated in his magical powers. Bran would forever remember those moments, of tasting her skin and feeling her pleasure pulled into his body. When his Legacy Curse once more beckoned him, he would recall that feeling of desire and he would pretend tha
t the mortal beneath him was Mairi. Everything, he feared, would always come back to her.

  Despite knowing her for so short a time, Bran could honestly say that she was like no woman he had ever met—Sidhe or mortal. His life had been lonely, a solitary existence. These past days with Mairi had made him realize that. What a fucking irony, he thought, to realize something so painful, to ache to change it and find companionship, to yearn not only for a physical connection, but a spiritual bond as well. And with the one human who could kill him.

  Mairi shifted, her hips sliding against the cool sheets as she stretched. Her foot came to rest against his thigh and he touched it, allowing his fingertips to graze her skin. Every little contact was like a lightning bolt to his body. She had so much power to give, and he wanted it for his own.

  Why must he endure this? Was it not enough to have Morgan curse his beloved brother? Why did she have to design a curse that would destroy him?

  It was not dying he feared. It was dying at the hands of a woman he wanted. A woman he . . . he could have loved.

  Love. Bran closed his eyes. It would never be his. As king of the Sidhe and coruler of Annwyn, his duty was to his people, to their safety. Love did not factor into his life. Yet when he opened his eyes his gaze fell once more on Mairi, and his heart felt as though it had been sliced through with a sword.

  She had looked so right on his altar. It had been a fantasy, but he wanted so much to make it a reality.

  He must go—now. He was falling into a dark pit with no means of escape. She had merely been an amusement, he reminded himself, a means to an end.

  No. He did not care if he ever saw her again. He would not think of her. Would not recall her expression of ecstasy. His dreams would not be filled with her.

  Standing up, he moved quietly from the bed, never turning back to look at her. Not giving voice to the desire that suddenly welled within him.