Velvet Haven (17 page)

Sayer reached for Rowan, but Keir already had her. She was in his arms, her eyes closed, her body limp against his chest. “I can walk past them.”

True. The lucky son of a bitch. For some reason hellhounds were scared shitless of the bastard.

“I’ll get the women out,” Keir muttered, “but first, you gotta do your thing.”

Bran hoped he had enough magic to do it. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the thoughts he needed, trying to block out the growling that was growing louder, hungrier. He tried not to hear Mairi’s breathing, as fast and harsh as when she had come for him.

A vision of her flashed before his eyes. Thighs spread, waiting for him to taste her. He tried to concentrate on the vision he needed to summon magic, but Mairi was all he could see.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sayer cursed, “we’ll be here all night if we wait for him.” Waving his hand over the room, he wove an enchantment spell from his palm. “Neither woman will remember anything from the time they entered this room. It’s not protection magic, but it’s the best I can do.”

With a flash, Keir was gone with Rowan.

Bran looked helplessly down at Mairi. What did these strange feelings he was having mean?

Bran knew he should be thinking about how he was going to get rid of the hounds, but all he could think about was Mairi and the disappointment he felt at not having been inside her. He wanted her, energy or not. He just wanted to know what it would be like to feel all that passion in her wash over him.

Fucking Morgan. She really knew how to torture him.

“The hounds have reached the Cave of Cruachan,” Keir announced as he flashed back into the room. “There’s a pack of them guarding the entrance to Annwyn and I smelled them outside as well. I have no idea where they’re hiding. But they’re out there.”

“How did the woman know?” Bran demanded.

Keir’s hands went up in the air. “How the hell would I know? From the minute I first saw her, I knew she wasn’t completely human. That’s why I’ve been going to her shop every week, to see if I could learn more. I haven’t.”

“Well, maybe her mortal ancestor got it on with a Sidhe, too,” snapped Rhys. “And now she’s a half-breed like me.”

“Shut it, MacDonald,” Bran growled.

“I’ll take this one, now.”

Bran struggled to show no outward sign that he cared that Mairi was leaving. When the Wraith flashed with her, Bran felt his knees weaken. He needed energy, and soon, but the thought of pleasuring another woman after tasting Mairi made him feel ill.

Striding to the window, he looked out at the parking lot and the little blue car beneath the glow of a streetlight. Something moved, and Bran froze. Two red dots glowed in the dark from the roof of the car.

“On their car,” he roared, running for the door. Hell, they’d be torn to pieces by the rabid animals.

“It’s a trap,” he heard Sayer cry.

Ignoring him, Bran ran to the car, and watched the huge dog jump from the roof to land in a crouch before him. Another one came, growling, showing teeth that were dripping with saliva. Its eyes glowed red and the throaty growl warned that the hound would take great delight in ripping out Bran’s throat.

A car engine roared to life, and he watched it reverse out of the parking spot. The red taillights shone over him and he wondered if Mairi noticed him standing there, or if the remnants of Sayer’s spell made her mind cloudy.

Most of all, he wondered if he would ever see her again. The first hound lunged at him, knocking him off balance with its huge paws. Teeth tore into his forearm and the pain was excruciating.

If he had enough power, he could shift into his raven form and fly away, but his magic was too weak for that. It would take everything he had to change, and that would leave him vulnerable. He was in the mortal realm, where his magic was naturally weaker. He couldn’t afford to use it all at once. He needed a reserve in case that bitch Morgan came calling.

With a rush of adrenaline, he reached for the hound’s head, placing a palm by one of its ears. Despite the fact that its teeth were sunk deep into his arm, so deep its canines scratched against bone, he endured the agony, knowing the dog’s bite anchored it to him. With one strong shove, Bran twisted the hound’s head, breaking its neck. Its mouth went slack and it dropped to the asphalt.

Panting, he squared off with the hellhound that had been atop Mairi’s car. This one was bigger, wiser. The alpha of the pack. And Bran was wounded. Already he could feel the venom of the dog’s bite poisoning his blood.

They watched each other, two predators circling, waiting for the other to make a mistake. He was aware of the others watching him from the window of the office. They were as powerless as he in this mortal realm. Outside the walls of Velvet Haven, their magic was weak. His friends could not help him, at least not out here. If he could make his way to the office, he might be able to gather enough strength to conjure the magic he needed to fight off the remaining hounds. Then he needed to get back to Annwyn, where Cailleach could heal him of the poison that was now coursing through his bloodstream. If only he could inch back five steps. But the hellhound knew what he needed, and signaled another of his pack to guard the office door. There was now a rabid animal at his back and his front.

Morgan had trained them well. They knew his weakness and that pissed him off. He despised being weak.

Bleeding, he swiped his brow with his arm, feeling his blood trickle down his temple as he watched the alpha pace back and forth, waiting for his moment to strike. Bran pulled a wiper blade off the windshield of a nearby car. “C’mon,” he snarled at the hellhound, “you want me, come get me.”

The dog lunged. Bran held out his left hand, allowing his sigils to absorb the power of the moonlight, and the wiper blade turned into a sword. When the hound was in midair, Bran plunged the sword right through the animal’s throat. The gurgling snarl and bubbling of blood mingled with the whimper of the hound behind him.

Turning, out of breath and weak, he faced the last hellhound. If he could just take this one he could get back inside the club. Get to Cailleach, who could heal him. He could regain his strength, his magic, and then he could kill Morgan once and for all. But not before he made her tell him where she kept his brother prisoner. Even if he had to torture her.

Vision swimming, Bran took an unsteady step and raised his sword. In truth, he knew he was dying. “Fuck her,” he spat. “I won’t allow her to win without a fight.”

The hound lifted its frothing lips, baring its teeth. Its red eyes glowed as bright as blood; its teeth glinted in the moonlight. It was going to hurt like the burning fires of hell to be torn apart by this creature, but it was more palatable than the thought of being shackled to Morgan for the rest of his days.

Morgan would never be queen of Annwyn.
Never
.

It was all she’d ever wanted, which meant that this hound would not kill him, merely maim him so that he could be taken back to the Wastelands, where Morgan lived in all her misery and evil. She wanted to be queen. She wanted his powers. And it was his belief, his knowledge of Morgan’s desire, that told him this hound would not kill him.

But this was an animal, and animals turned. He was part animal himself; he knew that side of him wasn’t easy to control. This beast would be no different.

Jabbing the tip of his sword, he taunted the animal as it paced back and forth, showing him its teeth, then clamping them as the sword tip pierced fur and hide.

C’mon, just lunge at me.
But the hound knew what he wanted. It paced back and forth, snarling. Bran taunted it some more, jabbing at it, wounding it, and finally he got what he wanted. With a snarl, the hound leaped up, and Bran sliced his sword through the air, but it missed entirely. Lifting the sword again, his arm burning and bloodied, he prepared for another strike.

The beast jumped and shoved him back with all four paws on his chest. Bran fell toward the ground, knowing that in the next instant it would press on him and tear out his throat. He felt himself become weightless. The world blurred and his eyes rolled back in his head.

The next thing he knew he was facedown on asphalt, his nose in a puddle of water.

“Open your eyes, Sidhe.”

Bran glanced up at the winged figure towering above him. With a groan, he closed his eyes again. “What do you want, Suriel?”

“How about some thanks for saving your useless ass?”

Suriel never did anything for free, and Bran wasn’t willing to pay the debt. He recalled just how Suriel had looked at Mairi and felt a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. No way was he making any deals with Suriel.

“I didn’t need rescuing,” he snarled instead.

“Whatever.” Suriel knelt down beside him. Bran opened his eyes to see a pair of green combat boots and the ends of black wings, the feathers dipping into the muddy water.

“The day I need your help is the day you can strip me of my powers and cut my balls off.”

Suriel growled as he tugged on a fistful of Bran’s long hair and lifted his face from the water. “You have no dominion here, Raven. I rule this place, not you.”

True. He was in the mortal realm, and that was the aegis of God and the angels, even this fallen one.

“What do you want? You don’t do anything unless there’s something in it for you.”

Suriel smiled cruelly, his beautiful face contorted with menace. “Ah, but there’s something in it for you, too. I know the identity of the human who will kill you.”

How does the bastard know of Morgan’s curse against me?
Suriel laughed. “This is
my
world and you would do well to ally yourself with me.”

“I don’t make deals with the devil.”

“Fallen Angel,” Suriel corrected as he pressed the heel of his boot onto the gaping wound of Bran’s arm. “Lucifer was cast out for plotting against God. I didn’t plot against Him, I merely got laid.”

Grinding the heel of his boot deeper, Suriel inflicted more pain. Bran swallowed back the agony.

“I saved your ass because I want something from you, and I can’t get it when you’re dead.”

“Go to hell. I’m not making any deals with you.”

“Look around you, Sidhe—this
is
hell. I’ve been trapped in this fucking cesspool for nearly a thousand years all because I got my dick wet.” Suriel lifted his boot. “Now listen to me. I know the identity of the one prophesized to kill you. I know of a way to find your brother. All I need is your help to find one small book.”

“I wouldn’t make a deal with you if my last breath depended on it.”

Suriel laughed and stepped on his arm harder, making him scream inside. “So much pride,” he said. He clicked his tongue as if he were chiding a child. “It’ll be your downfall, you know. You’re not in Annwyn,
King
. You’re among mortals. And you know what mortals love? They love knowledge, science. They hunger for it. And wouldn’t you make a nice little science project for the doctors at the hospital.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Imagine what they would say once they started examining you, system by system.”

In the distance Bran could see the big blue square with the large white
H
. “You blackmailing son of a bitch!”

“It’s an even exchange, my friend. I need you, and you need me. So, what is your answer, Sidhe? Join me in my quest, or join the mortals at the hospital.”

“Fuck you.”

Suriel yanked on Bran’s hair, pulling his head up to face his. “That wasn’t one of the options.”

“I’d rather die than help you.”

Suriel let go, and in his weakened condition, Bran couldn’t hold up his head. His forehead smashed to the rough asphalt, making him see stars.

“Then die, King.”

Bran fought to remain conscious as he watched Suriel’s boots splash away through the puddles. The hellhound venom was poisoning him, and he was weak from blood loss. He had one of two options left. Die as a man, or die as a bird.

It wasn’t a difficult choice. There was no way in hell he was going to be dissected by mortals. Dead or not, he had his pride.

Using the very last of his strength, he reached inside the neck of his shirt and pulled out the fire opal pendant. Brushing his thumb across the smooth surface, he felt one last jolt of stored magic. With a flash, he was the raven, lying with wings spread, waiting to die in the middle of the road.

And wasn’t this a glamorous fucking death for the king of the Night Sidhe and the protector of Annwyn? He wasn’t dying as a warrior. He was roadkill.

“So, that Dr. Sanchez is a wet dream, isn’t he?”

Mairi turned the wipers on high as rain pounded the windshield. “Still trying to play matchmaker, Rowan?”

Her friend laughed, but it sounded weak and exhausted. “You know me, an eternal romantic.”

That she was. Not to mention the strongest woman Mairi knew. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw Rowan sitting in the backseat wrapped up in a blanket. Her head was pressed back and her eyes were closed. She looked pale—too pale. She probably should have stayed the night at St. Mike’s, but Rowan being Rowan, she flatly refused. Her seizure hadn’t lasted as long as some of the other ones she’d endured. That fact, coupled with Rowan’s surliness, had provoked Sanchez to discharge her into Mairi’s care.