Velvet Haven (11 page)

“Mairi, talk to me.”

Her eyes were open, but Bran knew she didn’t see him standing before her. Her stare was vacant, her brown eyes clouded. Pressing against her, Bran steadied her with his thighs as he cupped her chin, tilting her head up so he could see more of her in the dim light.

What had happened? One minute he’d sensed her arousal and her softening to him, and the next she was gone, looking as though she were possessed. Something still held her hostage. He saw it in her eyes, felt it in the fine trembles that shivered through her curvaceous body.
Fucking Suriel
. She’d been fine, even turned on, until the angel had somehow forced her attention away from him.

Fallen angel
, Bran mentally corrected, and a son of a bitch pain in the ass. Bran didn’t understand how, or why, but he felt it in his gut; Suriel had done something, had planted a seed in her mind that was suddenly taking over.

“Mairi, it’s all right. I’m here. You’re safe.”

She looked at him, her eyes now misty, her lips quivering. He wanted to take away her fear with his arms, his mouth.

Damn it, he shouldn’t even be thinking this, but he gave words to the thoughts anyway. She was lovely, gazing at him like this.
Perfect.

The thought stopped him cold. He had never looked at a mortal for more than sex. He never thought of them as beautiful. Never felt any measure of warmth, or care. But he did now. All he could think about was chasing away the panic that racked her body, turning her fear into passion, making her big, wide eyes molten with desire.

“Mairi?” he repeated, unable to hide the worry in his voice. She closed her eyes, cradling her cheek in his palm.

“Thank you,” she whispered with a sad smile. “I . . . I can’t explain what happened, but having you here now it . . . feels . . . right.
Safe
.”

His heart actually lurched. Damn it, he did not want to feel this, this softness that suddenly wrapped around his chest. He was worried about her. Which was ludicrous. He should be concerned about himself. About Carden. He should be finding Morgan and disposing of her. And Annwyn? He’d been a poor king for more than a century, and as a result of his carelessness the dark arts had returned, threatening his home, his people. There was no doubt in his mind what his priority should be. The rational part of him knew this. But the irrational urge to protect this human female continued to war with the logical side, eventually winning out.

“Can you walk?” he asked, glancing at their surroundings. They were private enough, the hall dark, but he wanted her away from there. Away from Suriel.

He could feel the angel’s aura surrounding them. In the dark, the angel was watching. Even with his piercing raven eyes, Bran could not find Suriel hidden in the shadows. But he sensed him.

“Bran?” she asked, her eyes once again focusing on her surroundings. The way she looked up at him with an expression of relief and desire, it undid him.

“I’m here, Mairi. Whatever happened, whatever it was, it is done.”

She swallowed hard and he followed the fluid movement of her throat with his fingertips. She shivered, and the sigils on his fingers and hand began to glow in the darkness as they greedily absorbed her energy.

Abruptly he dropped his palm from her cheek, not wanting her to see that he was not like other men she had known in the past.

The action confused him. He’d never before cared about such things. If a mortal woman asked about his markings, he told her they were tattoos. If she pressed, he shut her mouth with his lips until she was too far gone with desire to care. But something told him Mairi would not be put off so easily. It was in her eyes. She was intelligent, but more dangerous to him than that was the fact that she was perceptive. If he were thinking with the proper head, he’d turn around now and find another mortal, a vacuous female who was looking for nothing more than a night of pleasure.

It wasn’t like he needed Mairi. Any human female would do to satisfy the Legacy Curse. There were only two requirements. First, she must be willing, and second, she must be pleasured. He could not simply take what he needed; he had to
give
. That was what he hated the most. Him, king of the Sidhe, pleasuring women in exchange for energy. It made him a whore, his curse. Magic was his right by birth, but now he had to purchase it with his body.

Humility. Need. Sacrifice. That is what Cailleach had intended to teach him when she’d cursed him. Instead, all he had learned was shame, rage, hate toward the woman who essentially held him by the balls.

And this one. This female who was looking at him, sexual hunger replacing the veil that only seconds ago clouded her eyes. It made his chest ache. He didn’t want her this way. Didn’t want to pleasure her in exchange for energy.
A fucking transaction.
He wanted it to be mutual. Pleasure for pleasure.

The thought unnerved him.

The arousal singing within him, the need he felt to slip deep inside her, was stronger than ever.

No, it was better to seek out another woman for the night. One he could easily forget.

She blinked, swallowed once more, and Bran resisted the fierce urge to place his lips to her throat.

Leave
, he commanded himself. Except he couldn’t make his feet move. Couldn’t stop his hand from tingling where he had touched her. Couldn’t prevent himself from being pulled into her gaze and imagining what it would be like to look into her eyes as she shivered beneath him, his cock deep within her.

He took a step back, intending to walk away, but he couldn’t do it. Instead, he reached for her hand and curled his fingers between hers.

“Let’s get you some air.”

Still unsteady, Mairi allowed Bran to hold her hand and guide her down the hall, then to a curved staircase with an ornately carved banister. On the newel post was the MacDonald clan emblem. Beneath it was the Celtic triscale. Seeing it made her think of Lauren and the crazy dreams she had been having since stealing the manuscript from Our Lady. A feeling of wariness stole over her.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked as she looked up and saw nothing but blackness.

“Upstairs.”

Panic set in and she tried to pull her hand away, but he tugged her along. “Trust me, Mairi.”

“It’s not something I’m good at.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Then we have something in common, for I don’t trust easily, either.”

“Yeah, well, in a fair fight I’d say you have nothing to worry about.”

The grin he gave made her light- headed, and like a fool, Mairi kept following him up the stairs, which seemed to go on forever. “This is the old mansion,” she gasped, looking at the coved ceilings with their detailed cornice work.

“The entire club was at one time the mansion. This part is used by the owner and . . . family,” he muttered, pulling her along a darkened hall.

“Family?” she asked as she stumbled over her feet, trying to keep up with his long strides. He grunted, stopped suddenly, and she ran into his back. He steadied her with an arm around her waist before he opened the door and ushered her inside.

“Daegan MacDonald’s study,” he announced. The door shut behind him, and Mairi felt her body jump. She waited to hear the click of a lock, but no sound came. Looking around the room, she studied the masculine retreat, the warm woods, the dark leather wingback by the fireplace. In the marble mantel-piece was an etching of a stag.

This was the type of place she could get lost in for hours, with a warm blanket and a good book. It felt homey and rich and very definitely masculine.

“You mentioned family,” she said as she studied the portrait of a man and woman over the fireplace. They were dressed in Victorian garb. The man in it looked eerily like Bran.

Bran nodded at the portrait. “Daegan built this place when he left home. He was my uncle.”

“Several generations removed, of course.”

“Of course,” she murmured, studying the picture once again. “You look very much like him. And the lady?”

“Isobel. The love of his life. He cherished her. You wouldn’t believe what he gave up to have her.”

“What did he give up?”

“Everything he was. His home. His identity.”

Mairi couldn’t imagine someone sacrificing like that for her. “Well, she’s very beautiful.”

“I suppose,” Bran muttered as he stood beside her, looking at the portrait. “I don’t really see it.”

Mairi wondered what sort of woman could tempt him if the gorgeous woman in the portrait wouldn’t have; then she pushed the thought away. There was no way in this world she was prettier than Isobel MacDonald, so why even hope.

“The man you were speaking to downstairs, with the short black hair?” she asked, finding a safer topic. “He resembles Daegan, too.”

“He’s my cousin. He owns the club.” Bran scowled. “Enough of the family tree.” He strode to a window where heavy drapes were pulled shut. He flung them open, revealing French doors. He opened one and motioned her through. “Step outside. The fresh air will do you good.”

Following him onto a terrace, Mairi crossed her arms over her chest. It was chilly being up this high, and with the wind blowing. A storm was moving in, and the rumble of thunder sounded much too close for comfort.

“Here,” he murmured. He shrugged out of his long trench and covered her shoulders. It was warm and inviting. Discreetly she inhaled his scent: masculine with a hint of spice. Her blood instantly heated.

“It’s going to storm.” She motioned to the sky just as it lit up with lightning.

“I won’t let you get wet.”

She laughed. “So now you’re claiming you can keep the rain away?”

He shrugged and rested his arms on the balustrade. “Perhaps.”

She noticed his left arm was covered in vinelike tattoos. In the moonlight they glowed pewter and silver, like his eyes. “Cool tats.” She motioned to his arm.

He nodded and slid his right hand over his forearm, hiding them. “Had them forever.”

“Neat work. Where did you get it done?”

He frowned as he looked over the terrace, toward the lake. “Scotland.”

“I thought I detected a faint accent.”

He didn’t reply, but continued to watch the waves pound onto the shore. “What is your favorite element, Mairi?”

That stopped her. What a bizarre question. She looked at him, but he appeared to be dead serious as he waited for her answer. He shrugged, then looked away. “Mine is water. It can be both tranquil and fierce. When it’s raging it can be the hardest element to control, but when it is calm it can soothe the soul.”

Wow.
Not only was this guy a total knockout, he was deep and philosophical. Totally not what she expected from his outward appearance.

“If you close your eyes you can hear the waves.”

“Not over the wind,” she said as she moved closer to the balustrade. “Plus with the thunder—”

“Close your eyes and I promise you you’ll hear them.”

Mairi did as he asked, and felt his arm move. She was aware of his body, warm and hard beside hers. “Listen, Mairi.”

She did, trying not to focus on him and how he made her want to rub up against him. Pressing in, she leaned against him, and he anchored her with a hand on her shoulder. The winds quieted, and she heard the rhythmic crashing of waves hitting the sand.

“It’s beautiful,” she purred, allowing the sound to wash over her. She stood quietly for a few minutes, listening, feeling herself calm, marveling at the way she could hear the waves as if she were standing right on the beach, her toes buried in the sand.

He bent down and whispered in her ear, “Feel better?”

She was surprised to realize she did. She didn’t know if it was the cool air, or the waves, or Bran’s calming presence, but there was no denying that she was feeling much better. “I’ve never thought about the water before, but I like it. The sound is soothing. Not like the wind. The wind can be so . . . haunting.”

“Yes, I find it haunting as well, the way it can whisper to you.” Suddenly he frowned, his face growing cold, as if he was mad at himself for saying such things.

“Thanks,” she said, nudging in beside him. “I feel much better.”

He nodded, but seemed uncomfortable. “Do you want to go back in?”

“No.”

“Aren’t you cold?”

His coat was huge on her, the hem dragging on the ground. She closed it and wrapped her arms around her body. “Not anymore.”

His gaze lingered over her face before he once again turned his attention back to the water. “Tell me about yourself, Mairi.”

She shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I’m pretty boring.”

He turned to her, and leaned his elbow and hip against the balustrade. He tucked her hair behind her ear and watched as the strands slipped through his fingers. “Husband? Lover?”

She shook her head and felt herself flush. “No.”