Mists of Velvet (19 page)

He said nothing, just continued to look down into her face with those mesmerizing eyes of his. A shadow shifted against the trees, and her gaze darted to it. There were wings. The man’s shoulders shifted, and so, too, did the shadow behind him.

Rowan reached out to touch him but pulled back at the last moment. The clouds above parted, allowing the smallest bit of moonlight into the forest that surrounded them. Its glow revealed what Rowan secretly feared; the marks on the angel’s face were the same symbols as those on Keir’s body.

“My God, who are you?” she asked.

He took a step toward her, reaching for her. “You have the look of her.”

“Who?”

“Your mother.”

Rowan swallowed hard and allowed his long fingers to graze her cheek. “And wh-who are you?”

The vision began to fade, and Rowan felt her body pulled back toward the mirror. He reached for her, and their hands and fingers just missed each other. But she heard his voice, whispering all around her.

“I am your future.”

She shook her head. No, it couldn’t be. Would this be the angel to take her when she died? A butterfly, its wings a startling combination of white and electric blue, flittered between them. The angel caught it in his palm and uncurled his fingers, showing her the beautiful creature.

“You hold the key.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered, glancing at the butterfly’s flickering wings. “I have nothing. I don’t know anything about a key.”

“The key to the Sacred Trine. The Healer, the Nephillim, the Oracle,” he said to her. “Two born of the same womb, but not of the same man. Keep this knowledge safe.”

The vision ended, and Rowan was sucked backward, straight through the mirror, where her soul slammed back into her body.

“Welcome back,” Keir whispered.

“Oh my God,” Rowan gasped as she saw the blue and white butterfly seated on her shoulder. “What the hell just happened?”

“I believe we have just discovered a powerful ally in this prophecy.”

“The angel?”

“No. You.”

Rhys had no idea what time it was, because he’d slept for hours after the wolf and his goddess had left him. He was thirsty and sore, and more than a bit curious about the world he now found himself in.

He’d managed to sit up, and thankfully his head had stopped spinning and his stomach stopped lurching. He was hungry, but there was nothing in the cottage to eat or drink. Hell, he had no idea what they even ate in Annwyn. Berries and leaves? He laughed to himself. With the size of Bran and Keir, Rhys doubted there was nothing but berries on the menu.

Did he dare try to get himself outside? His gut told him no. Soon his goddess would come back to him. Then he would question her, and he would have his answers. She would not save him, only to promptly abandon him.

Propping himself up by the massive stone hearth, Rhys glanced down at his body. He was naked, his thighs streaked with dirt and dried blood. His chest, however, had been washed, and some green putty-type shit was covering his wounds. He had to admit that the stuff felt good, and, as he began peeling it off, he saw how his skin was beginning to heal beneath the paste.

Bringing a chunk of the paste to his nose, he inhaled. It was organic, the smell of pine and plant and earth. That didn’t surprise him. The inhabitants of Annwyn practiced the Druid ways, and the Druids believed that every living thing, from the smallest leaf to the largest animal, held its own living spirit. The Druids used herbs in their healing, their ceremonies, and their magic. Rhys had been told of the ancient ways but had never seen them in practice. Now he was a recipient of those ways.

Speaking of magick, Rhys wondered where the hell Keir was. Rhys had been certain the wraith would have appeared on the cottage doorstep eons ago. He had even sent out a mental search for him, but there was nothing—no connection at all; just quiet.

Sighing, Rhys rested his head and closed his eyes. He was royally fucked if the goddess had decided to abandon him. He could tell the cottage wasn’t used very often, and the likelihood that someone would stumble across him wasn’t very good—someone who would help him, at least. Cailleach, on the other hand, might very well appear before him, ready to kill him.

He was close to dozing off again when the latch on the door clicked. His skin flickered, and he prepared to fight the intruder as he watched the door slowly creak open.

In the threshold stood his goddess. Her gaze, alarmed, flew from the empty pallet to the wall, where he saw relief flash in her blue eyes.

“I’m still here,” he said quietly. “But I began to wonder if you would come back.”

She said nothing, just turned and closed the door. On her shoulder was a bag, and she walked to the worn wooden table and set it down. Opening it, she set the contents on the table.

Rhys watched her work. This was the first time he had seen her through clear eyes, without the drug clouding his mind. His erotic hallucinations were not exaggerated. She was beautiful, and her body was stunning, all fine curves and high breasts. Her hair was up today, exposing the back of her neck, which, of course, made him think of coming up behind her and running his lips over her downy skin.

“What is your name?” he asked as he moved his hand lower to cover his cock. There was no need for her to see him in this state—at least not yet.

She didn’t answer, and he asked in a louder voice, which still got no reply. But she did turn to him, her hands full of food and a flask.

Kneeling before him, she ignored his nudity and held out a loaf of bread to him. He noticed there were cheese and fruit as well.

It wasn’t a double Big Mac combo, but it would do. He was starved. “Thank you.”

She nodded and looked at him expectantly. Rhys didn’t know how he was going to eat with an erection. He was also starting to get a little uncomfortable with the one-sided conversation.

She nudged the bread at him, and Rhys accepted it, spreading the cloth it had been wrapped in on his lap to cover himself. Then he broke the bread apart and began eating. It was warm and soft, and nothing had tasted better. Grabbing a piece of cheese, he devoured it, then the berries. She passed him the flask, and he took a big drink of the cold water.

She watched him for a few seconds, then began to assemble some bottles and jars she had placed on the dirt floor behind her. She worked quietly and methodically. Chewing the bread as he silently watched her, he wondered.

Finally, he asked, “Do you not speak?”

She shook her head that she did not.

“But you hear?”

She nodded. Rhys was disappointed, because he would have liked to have heard her voice, but it didn’t lessen his desire for her or his certainty that they were meant to be together. They would just have to find other ways to communicate.

As he ate, she began tending his wounds. With a warm cloth, she washed the remainder of the paste away, leaving the reddened and raised scars on his chest. Carefully she touched one wound—an inverted pentagram—and looked up at him, questioning him with the tilt of her head.

“Artwork courtesy of the Dark Mage. I had the misfortune to run into him in the Cave of Cruachan.”

He saw in her eyes that she understood. She went back to work on his chest, cleaning and rubbing his wounds with lotions that had him smelling like a pine forest. The medicine stung for a few seconds, but the stinging was quickly replaced with a cool tingling that neutralized the burning he felt from the wounds.

“Do you know the Sidhe king?”

She paused and looked up at him. Then she nodded slowly, which led him to believe she knew
of
Bran, even if she didn’t know him.

“Can you take me to him?”

She shook her head violently, then pointed to his chest.

“I’m better. Thanks to you. But I need to get to Bran.”

Again she shook her head, and Rhys reached for her wrist. “I can’t stay here. I need to leave.”

Rising up, she twisted her wrist, freeing herself from his weakened grip.

“If you won’t take me, I’ll go searching myself.”

She shoved him back down, then promptly left him on the floor. Damn if the woman wasn’t stubborn.

“I’m healed,” he called after her as she walked out the door of the cottage. Damn it, he hoped he hadn’t offended her. It probably wasn’t the right thing to do with a goddess who had just saved your ass.

Slowly Rhys stood up and smoothed his hands over his face. The food had given him strength, and the medicine that covered his chest was tingling nicely, cooling the fire of his skin. In all, he felt pretty good for nearly being a human sacrifice. And he owed it all to the woman who had just left him—again.

Rhys made his way to the door and opened it, prepared to step out and see where she was. But the snarling sound made him freeze. Before him was the white wolf, and its teeth were not something Rhys particularly cared to experience digging into his leg.

“All right,” he muttered, stepping back. The wolf moved forward, forcing Rhys back into the cottage. Rhys didn’t know whether to put his hands in the air in surrender or to cover his genitals, which were pretty much eye level with the wolf. Damn it, he really needed some jeans.

The wolf forced him back until Rhys was standing in the spot by the fire. Their gazes were locked, and Rhys reminded himself not to make any sudden moves.

Lowering his tall body onto the fur pallets, Rhys slowly brought his arms down. “All right, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The wolf whimpered and immediately sat back on its haunches. Rhys suddenly saw the intricate blue design on its left hind leg. He went to touch it, but the wolf snapped. A warning only—its teeth weren’t anywhere near his skin, but the sound of clamping jaws had the intended effect. Rhys backed off.

“Where did she go, huh?” he asked the wolf. It cocked its head and studied him. Its eyes were gorgeous; so icy blue—a lot like the color of his goddess’ eyes, he thought.

The animal let him put his palm on its head and rub between its ears. “There, see, I’m not going to hurt you. But I do need to get to the Sidhe king.”

He heard the word, whispered in a woman’s voice. He jumped, afraid it was Cailleach, but as he looked around the cottage, he realized no one was there besides him and the wolf.

As he stared into the animal’s blue eyes, Rhys began to feel sleepy. His exertions had cost him, and now he was feeling weak and exhausted.
Pansy-ass mortal.

Even though he didn’t want to show his weakness, he couldn’t help but recline on his side. The furs felt good beneath him. The animal followed, curving its body into Rhys’ front.

“Don’t you leave me, too,” he mumbled as he let his arm drape over the wolf. “And don’t decide to rip out my throat when I fall asleep.”

The last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was the wolf’s eyes. They really did remind him of the goddess’ baby blues. Man, he thought with disgust, he was really fucking losing it.

When Rhys was asleep, Bronwnn slowly rose. His arm was still draped across her body, and she was loath to move it. It felt good. He felt good. But she knew she must.

The change into her woman’s form was swift and painless. She stood beside him now, gazing down upon him. He was so handsome, and his voice was the color of the night, black and sultry. It washed over and made her skin prickle with awareness. Perhaps she found his voice so arousing because she no longer had one of her own. He hadn’t appeared to be disappointed by her not speaking to him. She had fleetingly wondered if he would. They were to be mated, after all. They would have a lifetime spent together. And if she didn’t talk . . .

Bronwnn’s gaze roved along his hard body. There were other things to do than talk, she thought.

Turning, she went back to the table and set about her task. She had wanted to bathe him, to soothe the ache that must have settled into his body after lying on the hard floor all day, but then he had fallen asleep.