Mists of Velvet (7 page)

“I am in your debt. You have only to ask, and whatever you desire is yours.”

She turned and looked at him.
I want what you have
, she thought silently.
A love so powerful and beautiful. I want to belong to someone, and have him belong to me
.

Despite the darkness, he saw his reflection. His were eyes designed to see through anything—light or dark; good and evil. He loathed what he saw—a human known as Aaron.

It was not his real name or appearance, of course. He reviled fleshlings for their frailty, their mortality, their place in heaven. It went against his nature to hide his splendor beneath such a disguise. But the time was not yet right to reveal himself, or his intentions. “Soon,” he whispered to himself. Soon, he would shed his chameleon ways. Then he would possess the powers of heaven and hell in the mortal realm, as well as those of the Summerlands and the Shadowlands in Annwyn.

The Dark Arts, he thought with amusement, were not so difficult to master. Not for one such as he. The witch Morgan had been a most agreeable tutor. But he was done with her. Her death had been necessary and enjoyable. She had taught him all she knew. Once he had exhausted the witch’s talents, he had turned elsewhere, to another who had been exceedingly adept at sex and death magick. But like Morgan, she, too, had worn out her usefulness. What he needed now were more victims—sacrifices; offerings to the Dark Arts so that his magick could grow. There was so much that could be learned in Annwyn—much more than in the mortal realm.

And he was learning, growing, and becoming the most powerful creature to walk in either world.

Chains clanked together, and a groan rumbled above the metallic scrape of metal against stone. His captive was rousing yet again, despite the fevered beating he had dealt.

Strolling over to the naked, dirty form, the mage bent and reached for a handful of black hair and used it to pull his captive’s head back.

“Why won’t you die?” he snarled.

“Because I have something to do first,” came the weak reply.

“After a thousand years?” he asked in disgust. “There is nothing left of the world you once knew,
Brother.
”

His prisoner, weak of body and spirit, still had enough strength to mock him. “I have something you don’t, and that is my faith.”

“Faith is for mortals,” he spat. “Not your kind.”

“Are you not one of my kind?”

“Shut up!” he snapped, shoving his captive’s head against the cave wall. “You know nothing of me.”

“You have blinded me, Brother, but I still know your voice. Even after all this time, I know.”

“You were always such a stupid, blind fool, Camael. Blind to everything but your desires.”

“My desires are not so different from yours. I hungered for the flesh of a goddess. You hunger for power. You seek a kingdom to rule, Uriel, because you’ve been banished from God’s.”

He had not heard his name in so long, he had nearly forgotten it. He had become someone other than what he had been. The Dark Mage he was now, but hearing his rightful name once more forced him to recall what he was.

“And the angels who did not keep their own position,” Camael whispered, his voice broken and hoarse, “but left their proper dwelling, He has kept in eternal chains in deepest darkness for the judgment of the great day.”

Uriel did not need any biblical quotes or reminders. Camael was a fool. It was so much more than hatred for the humans. It went even beyond Uriel’s desire to triumph in his banishment.

“Your chains are metaphorical, Uriel. You did not keep your position, so He banished you. You have imprisoned yourself with darkness, and chained yourself to its seductive call.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” he snarled. “When He banished me, He left me to rot among His filthy creations. Keep my place? No,” he growled. “My place is not with the fleshings. My position is my own. My kingdom is to come. And then we will see what He has to say on His great day of judgment.”

“Angel of prophecy,” Camael said mockingly, “what will you do when you discover you have fallen victim to your divination?”

“I will cause pain and destruction. I will turn the righteous into sinners. I will turn the Destroyer into a creature of darkness and despair. I will take, and take, without thought or reason. I will take to hurt, to fulfill my greed, just as I did when I took your goddess lover.”

Camael gifted him with his struggle against the chains, the pain etched on his face. He could almost see the hatred that would have been in his old adversary’s eyes, but the orbs had long been plucked out.

“Your precious Covetina.” The whimper of pain that whispered past Camael’s lips was like the stroke of a lover to Uriel. His cock was hard. He was aroused by the pain he felt shuddering through his brother. “What was she . . . Oh yes, the goddess of the well and the womb. A healer, a protector of childbirth . . . and as lusty as any common whore. But as pleasurable as it was to bed her, it was far more delightful to watch her blood spill onto my hand.”

“No,” Camael cried, struggling to be free of the chains.

“Did you think her still alive? Oh no, Brother. It was from her grimoire that I first learned of death and sex magick. Its power to control others—to aid me in my cause. Her body was my first sacrifice. I drank her blood and infused all her powers. And do you know what?” he whispered menacingly. “I can still taste her.”

Camael went limp, and Uriel watched as the angel before him crumpled. Pulling the hood over his head, Uriel walked around the still form of his brother. “There will be an offering tonight. You will listen to it. Just as you have all the others. But this time, in your mind you will hear your beloved’s scream.”

Uriel’s boots scraped against the stone. He reached for the heavy door, but Camael’s voice made him pause.

“Do you know why I won’t die, Uriel? Because I’m not the one without a flame.”

“Fuck you, Camael.”

The door slammed tightly, and Uriel bolted it. It unnerved him to know that Camael had discovered his secret. An angel without a flame was vulnerable to death. Anyone could kill him, even a lowly mortal. How had the blind and imprisoned Camael discovered his innermost secret?

“Well?” spoke a deep voice. “Do you have what I asked for?”

Uriel turned to see Gabriel move out of the shadows.

“You promised me Suriel!” Gabriel snapped. “I want him now. And I want him with his powers intact. Do you understand?”

“You will have Suriel.”
And I will have the Sacred Trine, the flame
and
the amulet
, he silently added—
and all the power to rule the mortal realm and Annwyn.

Gabriel’s eyes blackened, but Uriel felt no fear. His brother might be one of God’s favorites, but he was as corrupt as Uriel. Both were ruled by greed and lust for power. “Patience, Brother. My apprentice is not yet ready to embrace his preordained fate. There is still considerable resistance to the dark path.”

“Then find a way to illuminate the path.”

“It isn’t that easy.”

“Do you even know who this Destroyer is?” Gabriel sneered. “I’m beginning to think you’re full of lies. And this Sacred Trine you speak of. Have you found it?”

The Oracle, the Healer, and the Nephillim. The trine was the most important part of the prophecy. He needed all three to control both realms. But something told him that Gabriel wanted the trine for his own purposes. For what, he would have to discover. Until then, he must distract Gabriel by giving him Suriel. That was Gabriel’s most pressing concern.

“My investigations have led me closer to them,” he lied.

Gabriel towered above him, glaring down into his face. He was searching for the lie in his eyes, but Uriel had been blanketed in sin for so long that his conscience no longer shone in his eyes. There was only blackness there—a deep well of unrelenting hatred against everyone in the mortal realm, and the goddesses in Annwyn. He was so close. He could smell it; taste it. Soon he would have the trine, and his apprentice.

Gabe was a tricky bastard, but Uriel was smarter, more devious. He would have what he wanted, despite what Gabriel decreed. Suriel would not be handed over to Gabriel. No, he had something else in mind for Suriel and his
gifts
.

Scanning the crowd, Rhys let his gaze slip to a silver-haired woman. The color wasn’t real—most likely it was a wig—but it would make the fantasy that much better. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of the woman in his dream, and suddenly he was consumed with the thought of taking a woman who looked just like her to bed, to finish what the dream had so teasingly started.

Normally, he didn’t treat the women he took to bed like sex objects. He pleasured them and enjoyed them while they were together. The women he knew sexually were after the same thing he was—sex with no strings, one night of pleasure. There was no drama, no desire to keep seeing each other.

Tonight, though, he felt like a user, because of that damned dream that wouldn’t leave him alone and because he was still taut with sexual need. He needed to get off, and why bother with his hand when the woman was staring at him that way?

“She’ll do.”

Rhys glanced over his shoulder to where Keir was standing behind him. He was used to the way Keir could appear and disappear in a shadow or a shaft of moonlight. He wasn’t surprised to see him come out of the darkness of the corner. “You need to feed?”

“Yes.”

Rhys sensed the desperation within the wraith. He needed energy, not only to survive, but to perform magick. But something was holding him back. Keir was normally eager to climb into bed with any woman. He enjoyed sex, but tonight it looked like a necessary evil—a sacrifice, if Rhys was interpreting Keir’s clenched jaw correctly.

“I was wondering about her friend. The blonde. She’s pretty.”

“No blondes,” Keir snapped, “and no one too . . . full.”

Now Rhys understood. Keir didn’t want any reminders of Rowan—a full-figured, stunning blonde he couldn’t have.

“It’s too much,” Keir murmured. Even though the techno goth music was pulsing loudly through the club, Rhys heard Keir’s anguished voice in his thoughts. “I can’t be with someone who looks like her. It’s wrong. I . . .”

“It’s okay. I understand.” Rhys felt the wraith’s instant relief. “Let’s get back to the one in the silvery blond wig,” he suggested.

“Nice,” Keir replied, trying to sound as if he were into this whole threesome thing tonight, although Rhys knew he wasn’t. “You think she’ll take us both?”

“Well, her eyes seemed to light up even more when you appeared. One can hope.”

“If not, there’s always Abby.”

Rhys searched through the flashing strobe lights and colored laser beams for the red-haired waitress. She’d been trying to get into bed with them ever since she’d started at the club a year ago. Trouble was, doing this kind of thing with the staff was risky. He didn’t like it. It made the night after sex awkward, and she was a good waitress. His customers liked her, and he’d hate to lose her if she wanted more than just a night of hot and sweaty sex. He’d have to let her go if she got all clingy—especially if she got suspicious about Keir. Normally, the whole magical, immortal thing wasn’t a problem. Humans saw what they saw, and to them, most of the patrons were just like them—human. But if Abby took it into her head to get close with them, things might change.

On the other hand, Abby was the farthest thing from Rowan. And she was the complete opposite of his dream lady. Maybe that was what they both needed—to lose themselves in a woman who reminded them of no one.

“Hey,” Abby said as she sashayed past them. She was wearing her customary black leather dress that looked to be at least one size too small, and black fishnets with thigh-high black boots. Her hair was dyed a burgundy red and worn in a bob. Her look was dominatrix, and Rhys wasn’t sure if what he wanted tonight was something rough or . . . simpler. Straight pleasure.