Mists of Velvet (32 page)

He pulled her up short, her body colliding with his hard chest. “We will be mates. And I will see you in the morning.”

And then he kissed her, filled his hands with her bottom, and lifted her up against him, kissing her fiercely. She returned the kiss, fearing it might very well be the last time they were alone.

But the owl hooted again, and the adder on Rhys’ arm began to hiss. They parted, and Bronwnn changed into her wolf form, silently following him back to the castle. When she was certain he was safely inside, she turned and made her way to the temple, where the goddess would be awaiting her.

“I need to talk to you.”

Rhys sat up in bed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “What time is it?”

“Dawn.”

Peeking through his lashes, he saw Keir standing in the room. Beside him, the bed was empty. How long had he slept, and where was Bronwnn?

“She’s speaking with Cailleach.”

“Now?” Rhys snarled. Jumping from the bed, he snatched his pants from the floor and pulled them up over his hips.

Keir shut the door behind him and prowled into the room. Rhys watched him, sensing his discomfort. Something was wrong.

“The Supreme Goddess has also spoken with me.”

Rhys wondered when his turn would come, although he had no desire to meet with that coldhearted bitch. “When did you see her?”

“Just now.”

Damn. He’d slept through a lot. And, of course, he’d been left out of everything—again.

Keir’s gaze dropped to Rhys’ chest. “I haven’t apologized for leaving you. I am ashamed I left you unguarded.”

“It’s not a big deal. The way I see it, it’s fate. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have found my mate.”

Keir actually winced. “About that,” he murmured.

Something about Keir’s tone put Rhys on the alert. “What is it?”

“You really need to talk to Bronwnn.”

“About what?”

“Damn it, Rhys,” Keir snapped. “Just do it.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. I’m not myself.”

“I can see that. What’s the problem?”

Keir glanced at him. “There’s more than one.”

“Rowan?”

“She’s one of them.”

“How is she?”

Keir shrugged. “Weak. The weakest I’ve ever seen her. And this morning”—he swallowed hard—“I couldn’t wake her. She was exhausted.”

“You okay?”

Keir turned away from him and looked out the bedroom window. “I have to find a way to save her.”

Rhys finally understood the consuming need that ran through Keir. He loved Bronwnn. He’d do anything, sacrifice anything, in order to keep her safe, just as Keir would for Rowan.

“I can feel her slipping away,” Keir murmured. “I can see the light fading in her eyes.” Glancing over his shoulder, Keir pinned him with his silver eyes. “Be thankful for your mortality.”

Rhys didn’t know what to say to that. He’d always believed he’d gotten the short end of the stick. But now he realized that immortality had its drawbacks—especially now. Keir was immortal. He’d live forever without the woman he loved.

“You need to feed?”

“No.”

“To talk?” he prodded. Damn it, Keir needed something. He could sense it; he just couldn’t understand what it was, or if he could even provide it.

“I came only to tell you that Cailleach wishes to see you.”

“Why? To fry my ass?”

Keir barely cracked a grin. “She would have done that already if she was going to.”

“Have you told him yet?”

Rhys whirled around to find Bronwnn standing in the doorway. He smiled and gathered her up in his arms. “Morning,” he murmured in her ear. “You look good enough to eat.”

She melted into his arms, and he held her close, savoring her. He felt like shit, considering that Keir was standing there worrying about Rowan, but Rhys couldn’t help himself. Bronwnn was his, and he had only so much time with her. He was already thirty. The MacDonald men lived long, healthy lives, but they couldn’t match immortality. One day, he would be parted from her, so he wanted to make every moment count.

“I missed you when I woke up.” She smiled up at him and traced her fingertips over his lips. “You should have woken me when you were summoned by Cailleach.”

“It was something I had to do alone.”

The edge in her voice made him suspicious.

“Rhys, shake your ass.”

It was Bran. He was standing in the hall with his arms braced over his chest.

“I guess the goddess can’t be kept waiting, huh?”

Bronwnn stood up on her tiptoes and kissed his chin. “I will be here when you return.”

“Good. And be waiting in that bed,” he whispered, “because you aren’t getting out of it for the rest of the day.”

Leaving the room, Rhys closed the door, but not before he saw the shared glance between Keir and Bronwnn.

The wind was up, and the temperature had dropped. Rhys could see his breath—gray smoke, wafting up to the slate-colored sky. It wasn’t a spring sky, but a winter sky with heavy gunmetal gray clouds that hung low on the horizon. As the darkness permeated more deeply into Annwyn, the trees had begun to drop their leaves, and as a consequence, the wind howled through the branches. It was a low, melancholy sound that wailed through the Otherworld. Even from up here, high atop Bran’s castle, the sound swirled around him.

Rhys should have been cold, standing in the ramparts hundreds of feet up where the wind blew wild through the stone turrets. He wore only a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. The cotton was thin and well worn, and his arms were bare, except for the bronze cuffs, and the tattoo on his arm. Yes, he should have been shivering. But he wasn’t. He felt nothing. He was numb.

A firebird circled overhead, and Rhys watched its graceful rises and falls, the dips and turns as it circled. He knew the Supreme Goddess had sent the phoenix Melor to watch him. He was a prisoner here. But he’d have it no other way. This was where Bronwnn was, tucked inside her chamber. There was nowhere he wanted to be except close to her.

As always, his thoughts were of Bronwnn. Last night had been incredible—the best ever. The way she whispered in his ear drove him wild. Her voice was sultry, sexy, then soft and lulling, like that of an angel.

He would never forget the sight of her beneath him, or the way she felt, slick and hot against his fingers, or the taste of her on his tongue. That had been the biggest mistake, tasting her. Those memories made him hard and achy all over. Damn, it had been good—too good. But it was about so much more than sex with Bronwnn. It was dreams of forever; of nights spent holding her and mornings of looking at her across the breakfast table. It was images of a morning kiss and spooning together at night. It was all that normal shit he craved—a companion, a friend, a confidante, a lover. He’d actually dreamed last night of their Shrouding ceremony—what she would wear, and how she would look. He imagined seeing her round with his child.

“Rhys, descendant of Daegan.”

Rhys whirled around, dagger pulled and drawn, ready to fight in an instant.

“You do not need that blade.”

Hastily Rhys slid the dagger back into the sheath at his belt. The Supreme Goddess was standing before him, glaring.

“I shall have to have a word with the raven. He did not divest you of your weapon.”

He didn’t know why he felt the need to defend Bran, but he said, “It was well concealed.”

The goddess stepped closer, her steady gaze scouring every inch of him. She was dressed in a long silver cloak edged in white fur. Her voice was soft, womanly, yet commanding.

“You look like him.” She stopped before him and gazed up into his face. “He was my favorite consort, you know.”

No, he hadn’t known. Daegan had never spoken of her, other than to remind Rhys of the curse she had cast.

“It killed a part of me to banish him from our world. It hasn’t been the same without him.”

“You could have taken him back.”

She smiled, but there was no joy in her expression. “You’ve much to learn of our ways, Rhys MacDonald. Your great-great-grandfather offered an
adbertos
. Do you know what that is?”

“A sacrifice.”

“Yes.” She walked around him, her pale green eyes watching him. “A sacrifice cannot be undone. It is to be endured. That is the meaning of the word.”

Rhys stiffened as she stroked her hand down his back. “The resemblance is uncanny,” she murmured. “I can feel his power in you.”

“Were you lovers?” he asked as he watched her circle him.

“No. I would have gladly given myself to him. And Annwyn would have been better for it if he had taken me. But he wanted the mortal.”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” he snapped.

She tipped her head and studied him. “My curse was not born of scorn, but of necessity.”

Rhys held his snort of indignation. He didn’t want to do anything that might interfere with her loose tongue. He wanted to know more; to understand who he was and what he came from. He needed to learn about Annwyn, and what his role would be while he was here.

“You have no magick,” she continued, “but there is something most powerful about you. Your destiny is in Annwyn.”

“I guess my destiny trumps your curse.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You would do well to hold your tongue, mortal.”

Biting back a reply, Rhys struggled to tether his temper. Instead of lashing out at her, he watched as a slender, pale hand emerged from the sleeve of her cloak, only to trail along the cold stone battlements.

“Your presence here is a sign. It is part of the prophecy.” She whirled on him. “Do you believe that the prophecy is changeable? That perhaps not even your God knows how it will all turn out or how it will evolve?”

“God is omniscient. All seeing. He knows what is going to happen.”

“You forget there is another side in this war. There is magick in Annwyn. Your mortal rules do not apply here. And there is a Dark Soul—the Destroyer—to be fought over. There are many variables, and not even He can foresee what this Dark Mage will do. Just as I cannot see what will happen in your world. This is the beginning of a great battle. There is much at stake,” she murmured, “and not enough time to prepare. The birth of the Destroyer is upon us. Bronwnn has sensed it.”

Rhys stiffened. “It’s treacherous to use her to find the Dark Mage. You put her very life in danger.”

“We all have a role to play in this prophecy. It has been slowly evolving for the past thousand years. We must accept our part.”

“And the Destroyer, does Bronwnn know who it will be?”

“No. But I believe the mage already knows the identity of this Dark Soul, even though we do not.”

“This soul, it is already born, then? It’s already turning?”

“Yes. But it does not yet belong to the Dark Arts. We can still prevent it.”

“And why are you telling me this? I’m cursed, aren’t I? What good am I to you?”

“Destinies change, mortal. And yours has.”

The smallest flare of hope flickered inside him. “Bronwnn?”

“Has offered an
adbertos
. In exchange for your life, she will wed the Shadow Wraith.”

“No,” he growled. Heedless of the consequences, he reached for Cailleach and wrapped his hands around her elbows. She gave a little cry as he began to shake her. “Damn you, she’s mine!”

“The sacrifice has been offered and accepted. You will live. You will aid Bran and his warriors in the hunt for Carden, and you will defeat the mage.”

“No. I’ll offer another
adbertos
. My life. I’ll forfeit it before I do anything for you or Annwyn.”

“You have Daegan’s temper, his drive. Put it to better use than hating me.”

Releasing her, he bit back an oath. He didn’t want to be in Annwyn without Bronwnn, and he didn’t want to do fuck-all to help Cailleach.