Velvet Haven (19 page)

The bird watched Clancy, its head high, its gaze fixed on her dog as if it were trying to teach it some manners. Whatever was going on, Clancy was suddenly as submissive as a lamb.

The bird cawed quietly and Clancy dropped his paw before slinking out of the kitchen, tail between his legs.

Picking up the crate, Mairi set it down beside the kitchen table. Then she reached for a bowl, filled it with some tepid water and an ounce of rubbing alcohol, and reached for a cloth.

As she gently wiped away the dried blood on the bird’s wing, Clancy whimpered behind her.
Nothing
cowed Clancy! The bird must have pecked at his eyes! Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as Clancy whimpered once more, then slowly lowered his big body onto the kitchen floor.

“Wow, what’s up with you tonight?” she teased. But the dog didn’t cock his head while she talked to him as he usually did, but instead stayed totally focused on the bird.

“Don’t worry, Clance, he’s not going to be a permanent fixture around the place.”

The bird was stoic as she worked. It watched quietly as she carefully cleaned the wound with the warm water and rubbing alcohol. It didn’t even try to pull away as she poured the solution over its wound, despite the fact she knew it must sting. It was as if it knew she was trying to help, not hurt.

Winding the white gauze around the mauled appendage, she suddenly noticed the glistening swirl of silver and gold on the fine feathers of its head. “What’s this?” she asked aloud, stroking her fingertip along the marks. “Did you get into some paint?”

The raven’s eyes closed as she stroked him once more. For a wild bird it certainly was calm. She half expected to have her hand pecked as she tried to bind the wing. But it had stood still and quiet, letting her work.

“There,” she said, pulling away. “Now in the crate you go.” It squawked, trying to fly away from her, but she resisted the flapping good wing and shoved him into the crate. “Sorry, but it’ll have to do for tonight.”

The door slammed shut and Mairi clicked the latch into place. She had no idea what else to do for the creature. Was it hungry? All she had was canned dog food and Milk- Bones, neither of which she thought the raven would enjoy.

“Tomorrow I’ll get you some seed. Sleep tight,” she whispered, gazing into the crate. Man, she was beat. When she bent down to look at the bird she actually thought it had Bran’s mismatched eyes.

Yep. Exhausted. It was time for bed.

She shut off the kitchen light, leaving the light on above the oven, then padded across the living room floor to the couch. She stripped out of her shirt and jeans, silently laughing at the bird, who seemed to be spying on her through the metal bars of the dog crate. As she reached for the tank top she’d laid out she had the sudden feeling someone was watching her.

Whirling in a circle, Mairi hissed, “Who’s there?”

Silence
. Even the bird stood still as a statue, its head cocked to the side as if listening with her. She was definitely spooked. Even the fine hairs on her arms were raised.

Mairi searched the apartment but found nothing other than the bedroom window she’d forgotten to close before leaving for the club. Maybe it was the brush of the curtain against the wall she’d heard? After checking on Rowan one last time, Mairi quietly tiptoed back into the living room, where she dropped onto the couch and covered herself with a light blanket.

It was hot in the apartment, despite the fact it was only May. The heat made her skin prickle against the worn fabric of the couch. It felt abrasive, like steel wool, and she flopped onto her back, trying to find relief.

Above her, the ceiling fan quietly turned, giving her momentary periods of relief from the heat. While her body was fatigued, her mind was active. She couldn’t stop thinking about

Bran, about what he had done to her in that room. Reliving that orgasm was all she wanted to do. Dreaming of what else he might have done to her quickly followed. Soon she was fidgety, her body alive and craving his touch. Damn him, she had wanted more—
needed more
.

Her last thought was of him, looming over her, his mismatched eyes glowing with excitement, his heavy cock lying against her thigh . . . when he lowered his head to her breasts she saw the side of his face, heard the deep, velvety rumble of his voice against her skin and realized, as the moment of sleep washed over her, that her dream lover had at last arrived . . .

Slipping through the holes of the crate, Bran hobbled to the edge of the counter and jumped down. He was too weak to shift into a man, his wing too damaged and his magical stores depleted. Thank the goddess Mairi hadn’t possessed an iron cage, otherwise he’d be confined for the night. Iron was deadly to the Sidhe, and he wouldn’t have been able to risk touching it.

Mairi . . . He glanced at her restless body sprawled out on the couch. How had she found him? He couldn’t fathom it, and finally didn’t try to understand. A part of him already knew why she had.

They shared something. Something he had never once before experienced, and it wasn’t only sexual attraction. He couldn’t explain it, but felt it coursing along his body. Even as she had tended his wing he’d felt her energy pulsing through his feathers, down the bone and into his blood. Her careful caresses had been the furthest thing from sexual, yet he’d felt his body come to life as though he were taking her inside him. His people had a term for that kind of magical bond:
Chosen Fate
. A lover, a
destiny
, that the universe had created solely for one person. Bran had only ever known one person lucky enough to have found his Chosen Fate, and that was Daegan.

But Mairi couldn’t be his. His curse wouldn’t allow it. Which made him wonder, if she wasn’t to be his in that way, what was she?

He decided not to think about that, and instead chose to make his own search of the apartment. Someone had been here. He smelled it, a different scent from Rowan and Mairi. Yet the dog, Clancy, had not perceived the intruder. Which made Bran wonder if he was dealing with something immortal. But who?

Suriel
. The bastard’s name was cropping up all over tonight.

With a glance, Bran summoned the dog. Clancy dragged himself up from his arthritic haunches, his nails clicking on the tiles. Lowering his head, he allowed Bran to climb on, then down his back.

“Show me around,” he ordered and Clancy obeyed. It hadn’t been easy to get the beast to come to heel. He’d been highly protective of Mairi, and while Bran respected that, even welcomed it, he could not allow the dog any sort of dominance while he was in his raven’s form. Especially a raven with a mangled wing.

In the end they had come to an understanding. Bran would not hurt Mairi and Clancy would not eat him.

Meandering around the apartment atop Clancy’s back allowed Bran to look out every window and ensure they were all locked. He could see everything, every dust mote and cobweb. Nothing had been disturbed. But the strange scent still lingered.

“Take me to the bedroom.” The clicking of nails on hardwood made Mairi stir. Clancy stilled, looking over his shoulder at his mistress. When she didn’t wake, he continued on into Mairi’s bedroom.

Hopping off Clancy’s back, Bran landed on the soft mattress. The sheets were cool and crisp and smelled of Mairi’s shampoo and her supple skin. He couldn’t resist smelling them, remembering the feel of her soft thigh grazing his chin, the scent of her deep in his nose. He had only just begun with her when Rhys had interrupted them.

Damn Morgan and her fucking hellhounds!

Bran hopped quietly forward. Rowan was sleeping heavily, dressed in a white T-shirt. Sweat stains ran down from her neck and between her breasts, plastering the cotton to her drenched skin.

Pressing forward, he ran the tip of his good wing over her brow and closed his eyes. His hand sigils, which were hidden beneath the feathers of his wing, absorbed the salt and minerals. He felt her illness penetrate through his body, and knew it was as Mairi had said. Rowan was ill. Deathly ill, and tonight she had a fever.

He came closer to her, studying her, wondering how she could know of the hellhounds. He thought of what she had said, wondering what key she could mean. Most important, he recalled Keir saying Rowan was not completely human. That more than anything had shaken him. If she was not mortal, then what was she?

As king of Annwyn he had a duty to protect its inhabitants, and if, like Rhys, Rowan was at least part immortal, then it was up to him to make certain she was safe. He needed to identify her other half; maybe then he could heal her. There were many species living in Annwyn, many healers who might be able to help.

She stirred and he smelled the scent of sandalwood and musk mingle with the air from her body. He inhaled it, recognizing Sayer’s scent. He had enchanted her. Damn the Selkie, he would cause nothing but problems claiming this one. But Sayer being Sayer, he felt he was entitled to any female, of
any
species.

Leaving Rowan to sleep, Bran climbed once more atop Clancy, who walked him to the living room and stood beside the couch. Bran perched himself on the arm and stood guard at Mairi’s head.

She was still agitated, her legs tangling in the blanket, which had fallen to her knees. She was wearing white panties and a pink tank top that had ridden up to her navel. Her skin glowed in the pale light from the window, revealing milk white skin and taut nipples.

Ordering Clancy to the foot of Rowan’s bed, Bran settled over Mairi, watching her sleep, sweeping the tip of his good wing through her hair. His sigils tingled, liking the energy he felt, craving more. Over and over, he stroked her, running his wing tip over her brow and down her nose. In a fleeting sweep, he brushed her mouth, watching her lips part beneath the black feathers.

For all of his three hundred years he had felt betrayed by his shifter half. He had wanted to be magnificent and strong—a mountain lion or a wild horse or an imposing white hart like his uncle Daegan. Instead he had been born a bird. All that seemed to fade now as he thought of Mairi naked, pressed against him, his wings beneath her, around her, their fluttering softness caressing her flesh, arousing her, protecting her. He thought of what it would be like to take her as his wings cocooned them both. She would be utterly surrounded by him, and the image made him feel possessive.

For once he gave thanks for his wings.

“Mairi,” he whispered, brushing her mouth once more, “I wish I’d had more time tonight to pleasure you.”

Those words came from a very dark place within him. He had never known this feeling with a mortal. He did wish he could have pleasured her. He wanted to know what it was like to sink deep into her, stretching her full of his cock. He wanted to learn her sounds, her movements beneath him. He wanted to know
her
, not the feel of the energy she would give or the magic she would create within him. He wanted to know her and he wanted her to know him.

“Bran?”

Her voice was husky with sleep and desire. He stilled, his wing hovering over her throat. The temptation to touch her was overwhelming. Her hand, fragile and pale, skimmed down her belly to where it slid beneath the waist of her panties. He could smell the perfume of her core. With her other hand she raised her top, revealing a perfect breast, the nipple hard. She tugged, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger in time to her hand, which was hidden beneath white cotton.

She purred—
his name
—and he stilled, wishing he could shift into a man and awaken her as he wanted, with his cock stroking in and out of her slick cunt.

Giving in to temptation, he stroked the tip of her beaded nipple with his wing. She moaned, pressed upward for more. He traced her shape, the sides of her breasts, then beneath, before circling her nipple and watching as she bit her lip and sunk her hand deeper beneath the waist of her underwear.

He teased her nipple with his wing, liking the image of his black feathers against her pure, pale flesh. He usually went for mortals who resembled Sidhe women. Tall, toned, small-breasted. But Mairi’s curves and her generous breasts captivated him. He couldn’t stop looking or touching, or envisioning those breasts cradling his cock.

Teasing her with brushing strokes of his feathers, he watched her writhe and felt her desire coalesce into energy, which his sigils absorbed. The power slowly ebbed into his veins, heating his blood. Yet he hadn’t touched her to make magic, but only for the sake of feeling her against him.

The scent of mutual desire coated the air and he inhaled it, bringing the scent deep into his lungs. Eyes shut, he concentrated on the sound of her breathing—rapid, harsh, nearing orgasm. Surrounding him was that alluring caress, the one that strengthened him, yet weakened him simultaneously.

Suddenly he was back in Nemed, his sacred grove. The image of his death vision rushed back, pulling him in. He felt his heart stop, his breath cease, and then there was complete and utter blackness . . .