Mists of Velvet (9 page)

Pulling away, Keir bent to the woman and kissed her, his tongue tangling with hers. “I like the way you taste on him.”

She moaned, pulled Keir down on her, and spread her legs. “He tastes good on you, too.”

Keir gripped her hair and licked her neck. “Did you like it, watching me suck his cock?”

She moaned, liking the conversation. Keir used his thigh and brushed the contoured edge between her sex. She came down on him, rubbing him hard. Keir’s thigh was glistening wet.

“Take me,” she begged, arching her hips.

Rhys watched as Keir slammed into her. He was rougher, more aggressive, but the woman liked it—took it. It was always this way. Rhys was the seducer; Keir the dominant. Once Keir was fed, he was strong, his natural dominance coming to the forefront.

Rhys tore his gaze from the two bodies as the woman slid her hand along the bed, reaching for him. He moved closer, watching the way Keir worked her. His cock was thick, pounding in and out of her, and Rhys watched, mentally commanding the wraith to go harder, faster.

He obeyed and lifted the woman’s legs over his shoulders, exposing her, deepening the angle for his penetration. The side view turned Rhys on. He saw Keir’s cock filling her, thrusting deep, and saw her cunt open to him. The woman moaned, and Rhys glanced down. She was sliding her fingers around his cock, pulling him closer, to her mouth. She liked what was happening between the three of them, and she was hungering for more than one of them.

As she sucked him, Rhys allowed himself to touch Keir. There was a jolt between them, which Rhys felt infuse his body. The woman was working him faster and harder as her climax came upon her. He was close to coming, and so was the wraith. The woman’s mouth worked his cock, as her pussy worked Keir’s. Rhys and Keir had a rule—the woman’s pleasure before theirs. So Rhys leaned forward and flicked her clit, and he felt her explode, the cry wrapping his cock.

Then the wraith stiffened, and Rhys felt his orgasm, along with his own, rear up.

Keir held his gaze as he pulled out of the woman, emptying on her belly. She held Rhys close, inviting him to come in her mouth, but he pulled out and instead pressed the head of his cock against Keir’s, coming in pulsing white streams that coated the head of Keir’s cock.

The three of them were panting, and Rhys was left with the sensation that both he and Keir had needed something different tonight. It was more than their bond. They had needed to fill that empty space inside them that neither of them understood.

“Holy shit,” the woman breathed. “That was fucking hot.”

Keir pushed away and reached for his shirt. He wiped the woman’s belly clean and tossed the shirt onto the floor.

Then he leaned over and caged the woman with his arms. “Look into my eyes.”

She did, and Rhys knew the drill. Keir was going to wipe her memories clean. She wouldn’t remember much more than taking Rhys upstairs. Neither of them wanted the women to remember what they did to each other. It was personal; a private expression of their bond.

“You will remember one of us. Not both. And not us together.”

She nodded, her eyes glazed. “Yes.”

Keir’s silver eyes flashed, and he moved away. “Thank you,” he said to her, helping her sit up. “You were perfect.”

Keir sent Rhys a smile, then turned to dress. Rhys watched the tableau and felt a chill race down his spine. When he was younger, he couldn’t have imagined it any better—hot, anonymous, kinky-assed sex. He’d loved it. Now he was left feeling empty. That woman hadn’t wanted either of them—not really. She’d wanted the sex; the excitement of a threesome; the novelty of seeing two guys together. But it hadn’t been anything more than base, sexual desire. She didn’t want to know them or to connect on anything other than a physical plane.

Keir glanced at him over his shoulder, his look conveying that he felt the same thing.

“You’re alive, and I’m alive. It’s as good as it’s going to get.”

Keir left the room, and the woman, who was just finishing pulling on her skirt, gazed up at him. “Ah, I think you ripped this.”

Rhys went to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of jeans. “It’s all I’ve got.”

She grabbed them and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “So, uh, I have some friends to meet downstairs.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.”

He watched her pull on his jeans, which were, of course, too big, and followed her out the door. When she was walking down the stairs, Keir came out of the shadows.

“I’ll lock up tonight.”

Rhys glanced at the wraith. “Is it enough for you?”

“It has to be. She enjoyed it. She’s downstairs now telling her friends what a stud you are.”

Rhys reached for Keir. “You thought of Rowan. When you came.”

The wraith nodded, then looked away. “I couldn’t help it. You saw what she looked like in my thoughts.”

“I tried not to, but it was damned hard. You have a vivid imagination.”

Keir winced. “I know. It drives me fucking mad at night.”

“You should go to her.”

“No.” Keir brushed his hands through his hair. “She’s too good for me. You saw me in there. I’m a beast, and Rowan needs someone gentle. No reminders of her past. I would . . . want to claim her when I was with her. Hard, fast. I’d be possessive and dominant, and I’d only terrify her.”

Rhys knew it was a losing battle. Keir wouldn’t go to her, especially not now, when the memories of them with the woman were so fresh in his mind. If Keir hadn’t needed to feed, Rhys knew he would not have come to him and the woman tonight. Tonight had been purely about survival for Keir. And maybe it had been that for him, too.

Sunlight filtered in through the stained glass window of the breakfast room. It was nine, and Rhys was alone—again. The wraith had left before dawn, but Rhys had seen him change form, creep across the floor as a shadow, and filter beneath the door. He still hadn’t returned. Rhys wasn’t going to worry about him. The wraith had been well fed, his magical abilities replenished. He could take care of himself, just as Rhys could.

Frowning, Rhys picked up the box of cereal. It had been two days since the confrontation in Rhys’ office with Suriel and Keir, and still, the memory stung. Rhys hated being kept at arm’s length, but what he despised more was the ignored request he had sent via Keir for Bran, the Sidhe king, to come to Velvet Haven and talk with him. Rhys wanted answers about what was being done to discover this murderer and the kind of protection he was going to have for the club’s guests. As the owner of the club where inhabitants from Annwyn mixed with mortals, Rhys felt he was entitled to a little information. The psycho killer was sacrificing both mortals and immortals, so no one was safe.

Of course, Bran had ignored the request, which pissed Rhys off. Bran thought him either incompetent or insignificant. Either way, the Sidhe was wrong, because Rhys had no intention of being kept in the dark or brushed aside.

Maybe Bran had reasoned out that Rhys was going to ask to be allowed to join the group of nine who were hunting for the Dark Mage. After all, he was involved, and he owed it to his own kind—mortals—and to the patrons of his club to make it as safe as possible. But instead of telling Rhys to his face that he wasn’t wanted, his uncle chose to ignore him like a child, really ramping up his pissed-off state.

Sitting around during the day while his club was closed allowed Rhys too much damned time to stew and brood over the injustice of it all. He was an action kind of guy, and inaction made him irritable and snappy. His nerves were stretched thin, and the whole situation was beginning to wear on him. So, too, were the dreams he kept having of the sexy blonde. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing her image. Hell, he didn’t even have to close his eyes. Sometimes he caught himself daydreaming about her, and those daydreams naturally evolved into steamy vignettes of sex.

Sure, he had a healthy sex drive, but lately he was acting like a hormonal teenager. He had a perpetual hard-on, and it was making him bad-tempered. Maybe he could find a woman who looked like his dream woman. He could pretend she was that dream woman, and he could act out all the things he thought of doing. Then, he could purge her from his dreams, and his mind, and carry on with his life, living as he had before the murders started. But last night, he’d had a woman, and it hadn’t made it easier to forget his dream goddess. It had only made him want her more.

“Hey, what’s for breakfast?”

Rhys watched as a shadow crept across the carpet, only to solidify and become Keir. “I gave Maggie the morning off. It’s cereal or toast.” Rhys narrowed his gaze. “Where have you been?”

“Annwyn.”

So why did he have to change his shape and slink out of the room at the crack of dawn? Rhys wondered. No, Keir was lying. But why?

Keir poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip. “Sleep well?”

“No,” he grumbled. “I didn’t.” His dream lady kept visiting him, and his conscience was eating away at him. He hadn’t really wanted that woman last night. But he’d taken her anyway. It didn’t sit well with him.

“You?”

Keir shrugged and sat back in his chair. “Not really. I haven’t slept in weeks.”

“Rowan?”

“That’s not up for discussion.”

They sat in silence for a minute. Then Keir suddenly snapped, “Do you have to do that?”

“Do what?” he growled. Apparently, both of them were in a bitch of a mood.

“Slurp your milk. It’s damned annoying.”

Rhys scooped up a hefty spoonful of Froot Loops. “What’s your problem this morning?”

“Nothing.”

Rhys grunted as he wolfed down his breakfast. Keir and his mood swings were getting out of control. For weeks, Rhys had tried to give the wraith the space he needed to tend to Rowan and accept her fate. But it wasn’t working. Keir was becoming only more sullen and withdrawn.

“I’m fine,” Keir grumbled, obviously hearing his thoughts. “You gave me enough energy for a month.”

The mention of the woman and the night of hot sex should have brought back some satisfying memories. Instead, it reminded him of
her
—his dream goddess. Rhys felt his cock harden, and he groaned. He emptied the box of Froot Loops into his bowl and ate, trying to think of anything other than the woman—or sex.

“So, you want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked Keir, who was busy gazing into a cup of black coffee. “You left early this morning, and in shadow. Which tells me you didn’t want me to know you were leaving.”

“You know what it is.”

“I know it has something to do with Rowan, and there’s also something else you’re trying to hide.”

Keir shrugged. “Bran has named me one of his nine warriors.”

Rhys waved his spoon. “Too late. I already figured that out. I’m mortal, not stupid. So, tell me what you’re really trying to hide. And don’t bullshit me. Remember, we’re connected.”

“It would be better if you didn’t know anything—”

“If you’re going to insinuate that it would be better for me because of my mortal status, you can prepare for a pounding. I’m getting sick and tired of being treated like a goddamned kid.”

“I’ve never seen you this way,” Keir accused, “so angry to be what you are.”

“Well, I’ve never had to feel ashamed that I was a human. You know, in my world, I’m considered a hard-ass. In yours . . . you treat me like a wilting flower, and it bugs the shit out of me.”

“I’ll talk to Bran. But I think you already know his answer.”

“Just tell me this—is it revenge? You know, finally getting back at Daegan through me?”

Keir shook his head. “Bran has accepted his fate. When Daegan abdicated and left the Sidhe throne to Bran, he was enraged. But he’s had centuries to reconcile himself to being king.”

“So, what is it, then? Is it because I have no powers? Because he thinks I’m some sort of fuckup who would ruin his plans?”

“I can’t speak for the king, but I believe it’s because of the curse Cailleach has placed upon the males of Daegan’s line. Bran doesn’t want the extra worry of having to protect you from the goddess.”

“That’s what I thought. He thinks he needs to babysit me. Well, I can handle myself.”

“The Dark Times have already consumed Annwyn. There’s danger everywhere, even for those who have lived there always. Safe harbors are no longer safe. If the immortals do not know where to hide from this mage, then how can you be expected to survive while hiding from him
and
Cailleach? It’s just not safe, Rhys.”

Rhys felt his temples begin to pound. He didn’t know what it was, but he felt the overwhelming desire to prove himself, not only to Keir and Bran, but to Annwyn; to show the Otherworld that he belonged.

“No one is questioning your ability to fight, Rhys. Bran knows you can handle yourself. That’s not the issue.”