She shook her head, unable to believe. “Why are you telling me this now when I’m dead?”
“You have a great power, Mairi; you’ve only to understand how to use it.”
“I won’t have a chance for that, will I?”
Suriel bent over and Mairi found herself being pulled into his dark, bottomless gaze. “You will use this power. When the time comes you will know what to do. You will realize how you can use it to your advantage. Remember that, Mairi. It is within you to save those you love.”
She felt the warmth of tears spill from her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. “What are you doing now?”
“Saving you.”
He leaned over and captured her mouth with his. In a foreign tongue he murmured something over her, then breathed deeply into her mouth. When he pulled away, Mairi felt a strange shuddering flicker along her nerves. Her heart began to pound, slowly, erratically, then quicker, gaining strength.
“Do not forget what you saw in your dream last night. The time is close for your vision to come to fruition. Remember, not everything is as it seems. Think, Mairi, of our powers. Trust. Believe. Have faith.”
He turned to leave, and Mairi reached for him, feeling a strange connection to him. Someplace deep inside her, she felt his aura protecting her.
She clutched him. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “I’m scared.”
He peered down at her, and Mairi noticed that his eyes had changed. They were no longer black, but white. The iris opened up, like some kind of portal, drawing her in to the bright light. When he spoke, it wasn’t with his usual voice. “You don’t know what I am.”
“Suriel, I don’t fear you.”
“To touch me, to care about me, is the path to destruction. You wouldn’t want to follow me, Mairi. You wouldn’t want me to let you inside. What is inside me is beyond your imagining, beyond what you could endure.”
Jesus, she couldn’t stop looking at those eyes, at the seductive light where his pupil had been. She felt her body being pulled, slowly, as if she had a rope wrapped around her, and he was pulling her in, inch by inch. “You saved me at the moment of my birth. You’ve saved me now. Stay with me. I . . . I want to know you. To have you as my guide.”
Her gaze darted to the left side of his neck. Below his ear, branded into his flesh, was his angelic symbol, Ψ: the symbol for the Angel of Death. She stared at it, and shivered.
“My path is not your path, Mairi.” He pressed her fist to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. He closed his eyes and just held her hand to his mouth. His lashes, long and thick, grazed the high bones of his cheeks. “Don’t follow me. Please . . .”
“What is your path, Suriel? Why do you walk the Earth alone?”
“My destiny is to live with my memories, my sins. My purpose on this earth is redemption.”
Mairi felt her body being lifted, felt her breasts press against his hard chest and that strange tingling tickled her wherever her skin touched his body.
“I will give you now to the one whose path you will follow,” he whispered against her ear.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thrusting the curtain back so hard the cloth tore from the metal rings, Bran stepped into the cubicle, his Doc Martens clanging on the terrazzo floor. Female gasps registered in his brain, but he spared them no notice. Every sense he possessed was focused on the limp body of Mairi lying on the stretcher before him. Her jeans and T-shirt had been replaced with a sheet. Her black hair was fanned out on the white pillow. Sooty lashes lay still against her cheek, shielding her incredible dark eyes.
“What the bloody hell is the meaning of this?” snapped the short, balding man holding a clipboard in his meaty fists.
Bran looked in the corner, saw Suriel leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Suriel was invisible to all except Bran. With a nod, he indicated Mairi.
She was alive. His to take.
“Don’t forget our deal,” Suriel murmured as he passed him on the way out of the cubicle.
Like a robot set on a mission, Bran ignored the demands of the doctor and quelled the nurses with a glare as they reached for the red call light button.
Don’t even think about it.
Mentally, he forced the wiring to short-circuit, rendering it useless. Shutting off the power to the cardiac monitor, Bran watched as the line tracing her heart rhythm suddenly went flat. With a whine of an alarm the machine shut down, the screen growing blank.
“Security,” the physician shouted, thrusting his round body between the stretcher and Bran. Shouldering the man aside, Bran systematically pulled off the cardiac leads. Next came the probe on her finger that was monitoring the oxygen in her blood. After that, he moved on to the IVs. With one steady tug, he had the tape and plastic tube pulled free and the bleeding staunched with the pressure of his thumb.
In a moment of undeniable need, he bent forward, broadening his already massive back as he loomed over Mairi’s delicate hand. Shielding his actions from everyone in the cubicle, he removed his thumb from the bleeding wound and set his lips to her skin, dragging his tongue across her flesh, tasting her, drawing her into his body. Inside, his body hummed with pleasure, energy, and gratitude that she was alive.
Next, he carefully pulled at the tapes that anchored the white plastic tube in her mouth. He pulled it slowly, freeing her from the device. A machine alarmed, but he ignored it, watching instead the sudden expansion of Mairi’s chest, followed by the slow exhalation of air.
She stirred and moaned, and he closed his eyes in relief. She was alive.
“You can’t just take her,” the doctor yelled as Bran straightened and lifted her limp body from the gurney. “For the love of God, we’ve just resuscitated her. She’ll die.”
Waving his palm over the doctor, he placed the room under a spell. They were frozen, no longer able to interfere. Without a word, Bran turned around in the small space and shifted her weight in his arms, heading for the exit of the emergency room, where he stopped and once more raised his palm, releasing the humans from his magical bond.
“You will remember none of this. Nor will any of you remember Mairi.”
Then he left with Mairi in his arms. She was his now. For better or worse, as the humans liked to say.
Bran placed Mairi on his bed and ran his hand through her silky hair so that it lay fanned out on his pillow. He had lit the candles in the room and closed the velvet draperies on the windows. Pulling up a chair, he rested his booted foot on the frame of the mattress, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest beneath the black sheets.
He had brought her back to Velvet Haven. He couldn’t leave her alone in her apartment and he was not strong enough to fight in the mortal realm, if the Soul Stealer were to come after her again. If he couldn’t be in Annwyn, then Velvet Haven was the next best thing.
He palmed his pec, rubbing his hand back and forth over his heart. There was a god-awful pain there. One he had never felt before. Sighing, he closed his eyes and saw her as he had that first time standing outside the club, her white aura luring him. He remembered how it was between them in the hall. She’d been afraid of him—his size, his eyes. He’d tasted her fear and he’d felt as though his heart had been carved out of his chest. He didn’t want her fear. He wanted her warmth. He wanted her body. He wanted her. Not just her sex.
He barely knew her, but somehow he felt that he had to have her in his life.
Disrobing, he studied her face in the candlelight, the way her chest rose and fell softly, making certain that every breath she took was easy and painless. She was alive. He still couldn’t believe it. Suriel had resurrected her tonight.
Slipping beneath the sheets, Bran pulled her to him, curving her body into his. He played with her hair, grazed his fingertips along her cheek, and hoped like he had never hoped before that she would come to understand him and accept him in her life.
Maybe Sanchez really was more than a hot bod and a dose of male arrogance. The scent of the bacon and
eggs he was cooking for her certainly made Mairi think otherwise.
“She’s waking.”
That was not Sanchez’ voice. Bran. She stirred, trying to open her lids, which felt swollen and heavy. No one else had such a dark, velvety voice.
“About time,” said another. This voice was deep as well, but not nearly as sensual to her ears as Bran’s was.
“You do recall what your end of this bargain is, don’t you?”
There was a masculine growl and movement on the mattress beside her. “The damn book is there on the nightstand. Take it.”
“It means nothing to me until it’s been deciphered. The Scribe has written it as a fable of what may come to pass. It’s riddled with clues that I don’t understand. But Mairi has the ability to understand it.”
“I don’t care about the book,” Bran growled.
“You should. The Soul Stealer is morphing, Raven. Changing into something more dangerous than he was before. The fact that he is also looking for the book is warning enough. We must find that flame and amulet.”
“What the hell are you after, Suriel?”
Suriel. His image swam before her and Mairi felt his presence—and a host of conflicts swirling in him.
“The book decoded,” she heard him reply. “And I will have it.”
The door slammed shut, jarring against the wood frame. Mairi jumped, struggled to sit up, but her body was weak.
“Here, let me help you.” Mairi felt big hands on her arms as they tenderly pulled her up. Behind her, she heard pillows being plumped before she was carefully laid back. A warm cloth scented with lavender was placed over her eyes. “This will help with the swelling.”
She heard numerous doors opening and closing. Music from the floor below, and the occasional male voice. She was not in her apartment. And this was not Sanchez sitting beside her, holding a cloth to her face.
Grabbing the thick wrist, she forced his hand away and looked up into Bran’s mismatched eyes.
“So, Sleeping Beauty awakens,” he said with a smile. “And about time, too.”
“What day is it?”
“Tuesday. You have lost two days.”
“Where am I?”
“Velvet Haven. And you’re safe.”
His gaze darkened as he looked at the side of her face. Gently, he ran his fingertips along her swollen cheek. The throbbing she had felt suddenly left, leaving nothing but warmth and that familiar hum she always got when he touched her. “I should have killed him for this,” he whispered. “I will kill this bastard,” he vowed fiercely.
“That’s very kind of you,” she said with a smile, “but I don’t think you need to commit a mortal sin on my behalf.”
“Nothing is too much for you, Mairi.”
Warm fuzzies unfurled in her belly. “You would kill for me?” she asked, not knowing whether she should be scared shitless or extremely flattered.
“I would do anything you asked, except . . .” He looked away, then swung his gaze to hers. “Anything but leave you,” he murmured. “I could not do that.”
His expression was serious. She eyed him cautiously. What had happened? How had he come to be here—with her? And why was he so possessive? The last time they were together, he’d left her without even a memory of what had happened to him.
Not that she should be complaining, but still, everything was a confusing puzzle.
“Do not trouble yourself trying to fit all the pieces together. We’ll talk in a while, when you’re healed.”
Mairi fought through the fog, trying to make sense of what had happened. “I . . . I think it was you all along in my dreams. I’ve dreamed of you—for weeks now.”
She felt the tension in him coil. “They are not dreams,” he said, “but premonitions.”
“If you say so.” She licked her dry lips, and a cool glass was pressed up against her mouth.
“Drink.”
She took a little sip, wincing as she swallowed.
“Rhys says that your throat may hurt because of the tube they shoved down your airway to make you breathe. I hope I did not hurt you when I removed it.”
Tube? Airway? Suddenly she remembered what had happened. Aaron, that sick bastard, had somehow hidden himself inside Sanchez. He’d beaten her, demanded to know where the Oracle was. And then Bran had come crashing through her door. He’d picked up ordinary objects and turned them into weapons—swords, arrows. Even electricity.
She moaned, her head hurting as she tried to make sense out of something that defied all possibilities. Magic, and madmen . . . and her death. She specifically recalled dying. Yet here she was, alive and—her stomach rumbled loudly—apparently hungry.
“You’re thinking too hard, muirnin. Just rest and the events of the past days will come when you are ready.”
“I died,” she rasped, her voice hoarse. “I felt a shroud cover my face and body, and then I felt my soul lift as it left me.”
“You did not pass through the veil. You are alive,” he said against her mouth; then he kissed her, making her body heat, showing her that indeed, she was very much alive, with all senses intact, too.
“Rhys has brought you something to eat. Start slow, and if you’re hungry you can eat something else.”
“Aaron,” she whispered. “I have to warn Rowan.”
“I am sorry that Aaron escaped when I turned my attention to you. But do not worry. Your friend is protected.” She struggled against his hold, but he held her tight. “She’s here,” he whispered, gently shoving her back. “Just down the hall. When you are well you can see her.”
A whimper from the end of the bed was followed by a rhythmic thump that stopped Mairi cold. Clancy? The dog’s head popped up, its muzzle resting on the black coverlet.
“You saved him!”
Clancy came bounding onto the bed, despite Bran’s cursing and commands for Clancy to get down. But the great big lummox came forward, licking every inch of her face.
“Disgusting. You would not allow him to do that if you knew what he had just been licking.”
Mairi laughed and rubbed Clancy behind his ears. “How can I ever repay you?”
His eyes darkened. “It was I who owed you. We are even now.”
Mairi looked at him. His expression had changed, had grown blacker—angry.
“Thank you,” she whispered. As she said it, she allowed her fingertips to graze his tattooed arm. He closed his eyes in response.
“Eat now, Mairi.”
Bran left the bed and went to the window seat, where a large tray of several covered dishes waited. With a flourish, Bran lifted the lids.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at a golden-brown triangle next to the bacon and eggs.
He smiled. “It’s Scottish, a potato scone. It’s fried in bacon fat and you put jam on it. It’s delicious.”
“And artery clogging, no doubt.”
Bran shrugged and placed the tray on her lap. As he did so, he shoved Clancy aside with a brisk command and sat down beside her.
“I do not worry about arteries,” he mumbled as he took a knife out of a napkin and dipped it in homemade strawberry jam, “and neither should you.” He lifted the scone to her lips. “Eat.”
She took a bite and moaned. So good. She tried to take it from him, but he insisted that she eat from his hand. It was the left hand, the one with the tats, and every time their skin connected he shuddered and closed his eyes. It was absurd to be thinking this at such a time, but Mairi silently hoped he was as turned on by the act of feeding her as she was.
“When you can, tell me what you remember.”
She swallowed and he passed her a teacup and saucer. It was dainty and fragile. An antique. She glanced around the room, noted the expensive antique furniture and huge fireplace. It was like something you’d see in an English manor home. It might have made sense if this was still the MacDonald mansion, but it was Velvet Haven, a Gothic fetish nightclub. Antiques seemed so out of place.
But th
en she remembered that Bran had mentioned that family lived there. Maybe this was Bran’s room in the club.
The tea tasted good and Mairi took another sip, trying to find the fortification to tell Bran everything.
“Start at the beginning. Leave nothing out.”
With a nod, she plunged in, telling him about the book she had stolen, Lauren’s death, and the strange dreams she’d been having of a man—of him. She left out the sexual details, and the part about her picking up a dagger. She hadn’t made sense of that yet, and she didn’t want him to think she’d actually follow through with anything in her dream—well, except the vivid sex parts.
She even told him about Suriel, the part he had played in her life. She talked of Rowan, what had happened and what Mairi had done in return. As she spoke, Bran brushed his fingertips along her scarred wrist. When she was done, he bent and kissed it.
“You have seen much in your life,” he whispered. “Much pain.”
Mairi felt the sensation of his lips on her wrist and instantly the discomfort in her body eased.
Silence hovered between them till he asked, “Where did you come by your hobby of translating illuminated manuscripts?”
She was relieved to be talking about something other than her scars. “I first discovered illuminated manuscripts in the library of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. I used to go there after school to wait for my mom to get done work.”
“Why did you not go directly home?” he asked as his fingers idly brushed her wrist.
She didn’t want to talk about this. She’d buried her past.
“Mairi?”
She shrugged. “We preferred to go home together, once my mom was done doing dishes and cleaning up. She worked in the kitchen, making meals for the school and the nuns.”
“And why could you not go home, Mairi?”
It was times like this that she hated that soft, deep voice of his. The one that could lure and entice. The one that felt like a tender caress.
“My mother didn’t want me alone with my father.”
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