Velvet Haven (21 page)

“I can’t tonight, Sanchez. What about tomorrow night?”

The man mumbled something and she nodded, said good-bye, then hung up.

“Oh my God,” Mairi groaned into Clancy’s upturned face. “If I didn’t love Rowan so much, I’d kill her for making that deal with Dr. Sanchez. Can you believe it, Clancy? Sanchez only released Rowan from the hospital after she begged and she agreed to get him a date with me.”

The dog stared up at her blankly, but the vessels behind Bran’s eyes began to pulsate. Mairi with another man? No.
Never
. But then he stopped and realized how foolish his thinking was.

She couldn’t be his. He shouldn’t be anywhere near her. If what he’d seen in her dream last night was true, she was the mortal who would destroy him.

But she had healed him, the voice inside him whispered. For what purpose if only to destroy him later?

He watched Mairi pace the small living room, lost in thought. Finally she sat on the couch and rubbed Clancy behind his ears. “What am I gonna do?” she whispered to the dog. “I don’t want to go out with Sanchez. I don’t want . . .” She trailed off and smiled. “That’s a lie. I do want someone, but I’ll never see him again.”

Bran stilled. Was it him she wanted? Half of him longed for it to be true, the other half feared it, knowing she sought only his destruction.

“And what am I doing spilling my heart to you, huh?” With a laugh, she ruffled the dog’s ears, then jumped up from the couch and headed to the bookshelf. She picked up a small book bound in leather. On the front cover was the symbol of Annwyn.

Ah hell, he thought to himself. This was the book that Cailleach wanted. Damn it, he didn’t like the way their paths weaved. The book. This death vision. Everything led back to Mairi and he didn’t understand it. Couldn’t figure it out.

How had she gotten the book? And how the hell had she been able to pull him into her dream?

He watched her for a long time as she flipped through the pages, carefully separating the thin vellum. She sat up and reached for the notepad and pen that sat on the end table and scribbled something down, then returned to the book.

He wondered what language it was written in, the Gaelic tongue of Annwyn, or English. He wondered what secrets the book contained. Secrets Cailleach had not told him.

Did Cailleach know about Mairi?

She stood up, stretched, and he watched her walk across the apartment to the bookcase. Curiously, she hid the book behind her stereo, then disappeared inside the bathroom. Bran heard the taps turn on and the old water pipes groan, followed by the spray of water hitting tiles. From his perch he saw the silhouette of Mairi pulling off her top, then bending at the waist, tugging off her jeans.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a black cloud hung heavy over the roof of Mairi’s building, making the apartment dark. Steam from the hot water spilled into the living room from the open door, carrying with it Mairi’s scent.

Knowing he was a fool, Bran slipped between the wires of the cage. Cursing himself, he hobbled over to the bathroom. With some maneuvering, and a good deal of pain, he managed to get himself up on the bathroom counter, where he could see into the shower.

His breath caught. Mairi was a dream, standing beneath the spray, her long hair hanging in clumps, the water sluicing and running down her curves. She was soaping her body, and he felt his blood heat as her hands roamed over her breasts, then down between her thighs.

He had no idea what she would think once she opened the shower door to see a big black bird standing there watching her, but he didn’t care. He wanted every second he had left to be with her. Near her. Beside her. But most of all,
in
her.

Deviant that he was, he managed to get himself to the windowsill. To his delight he could look down upon Mairi and all her naked glory.

Mairi never took baths. Not since the age of sixteen. It would have been lovely to have one now. To soak in hot water with scented bubbles. She would have liked to have lit some candles, poured herself a glass of wine, and lounged in the water and thought of her time with Bran. Perhaps she’d even bring in her vibrator and live out the fantasy that still burned in her mind.

She would have loved that. But she couldn’t do it.

Against her hip, her wrist burned. When she looked down she saw it was red, chafed, the scars scratched raw.

The last time she’d taken a bath she had awakened to a steady stream of blood flowing from her wrist. The voice she had heard the other night at the club was the same voice she had heard when she was sixteen. The same voice she heard as a child.

She had felt so much pain, so much emptiness as she sank deeper into the water, trying to shut out the voice. But she had not picked up that razor. She had
not
slit her own wrist.

One of the nuns had found her. Thankfully there had been a doctor there, working the infirmary. He’d stitched her wrist hastily while the ambulance was en route. Almost unconscious from the blood loss, Mairi hadn’t felt a single thing.

The next day, Sister Catherine had come to visit her and told her that Rowan had been raped by the creepy caretaker of Our Lady. It had happened at the exact same time Mairi was in the tub. From that moment on, Mairi had been sure that it was Rowan’s pain, her emptiness, that she had felt. But how? Why? There was no plausible explanation, so she kept her thoughts to herself and told no one. Not even Rowan.

Neither of them talked about it. Not Mairi, and not Rowan. Rowan hadn’t asked about the injury and Mairi had not dared to ask Rowan about the rape. They were both good pretenders, but now it was hard to pretend, what with her scars reddened and itching. Even the skin around the scars was a dark shade of pink that looked irritated. Since Lauren’s gruesome death, nothing had been the same, most especially her scars.

And now Suriel. He had come to Rowan, thinking it was her. His appearance paralleled the resurfacing of memories of the voice that guided her, soothed her when she was frightened.

Was it coincidence? No, Mairi knew it wasn’t. She had seen things that science couldn’t explain. Miracles that happened, but in theory shouldn’t have. Suriel’s appearance had a purpose. Rowan’s dreams had a purpose. These scars . . . Mairi feared what meaning they might hold.

Shoving aside the old memories that still haunted her, Mairi reached for the soap and sponge and poured some vanilla-and honey-scented bubbles on the pink gauze.

Think of something else. Something happy. Something . . .
Bran
. The name slipped into her thoughts and she smiled. For someone who didn’t trust easily, she had certainly trusted him.

As she soaped her body, her hands cupping her breasts, she felt her nipples, which were still tender from Bran’s mouth. But along with the tenderness, she felt the lingering sensation of need.

As her fingertip slipped over her nipple, it tightened, making her belly clench in the same needy response. She was wet and horny. She thought of Bran and slipped a hand between her thighs as she rested her foot on the edge of the tub, stroking herself.

She had never touched herself as much before as she had in the two days since she had met Bran. But damn it, she needed this release! She’d dreamed of Bran last night, confusing him with her dream lover. He’d asked her to fuck him, and like a madwoman she had said no. She had awakened this morning hornier than she had ever been, dying to know what it would be like with him.

Slipping her fingers deep inside, she moaned at the instant relief. She closed her eyes and imagined Bran there with her. She thought about what it would have been like to take his cock in her mouth, to feel the satiny smoothness of him on her tongue, his hands in her hair as he angled her head the way he wanted her.

Fingers frantic now, she moved from her pussy to her clitoris, stroking as the visions fueled her rhythm. Bran on top of her, Bran behind her, taking her hard, whispering dirty thoughts into her ear.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the bathroom. She looked up over the top of the shower toward the window and saw the raven perched on the sill. Forked lightning once more lit the sky, silhouetting the bird; then suddenly it was Bran who stood before her, reaching out his hand. She heard his thoughts in her mind.

Suddenly she was transported to a wood. It was night and rain fell steadily from the sky. She was lying on a stone slab like a sacrifice on an altar. Spread wide, her sex aching, her body hungry.

And then Bran appeared, crawling atop the stone, then over her.

“Let me finish it,
mo muirnin
,” he whispered.

Mairi’s own fingers seemed to be replaced by Bran’s hot palms. His gentle fingertips traced her body, touching her breasts, her belly, then down her hip. He teased her with his touch, with the brush of his lips against her body. As he moved lower, his hair trailed over her shoulders, down her arms, heightening the arousal, making her sensitized skin even more so.

She cried out, clutching at his hair as she drew up her knees. The rain continued to pour down on them and lightning flashed. Mairi looked down to see the forked line of pure energy hit Bran’s skin. The tattoos on his neck, chest, and arm glimmered as the lightning ran down the ink like an electrical current. He grabbed her bottom, pulling her up for his mouth. When his tongue swiped against her, she arched, crying out, begging for more.

And he gave more. His fingers deep inside her as his tongue played with her clitoris. She was greedy, taking everything and asking for more. He brought her to the brink of orgasm, then stopped, pulling away from her.

“No!” she cried, clawing at his massive shoulders. “Don’t leave me like this again.”

He smiled a smile of pure male arrogance. “Leave you hungering?” he whispered. “Leave you empty?”

“Yes,” she said, somewhere between a scream and a sob.

His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Do you want me to fill you up?”

Not waiting for her reply, he plunged his thick cock into her, making her sex stretch to accommodate him. Mairi felt that current, that electricity invade her body, and when Bran made her come it was euphoric. Mairi felt as though a piece of her had died and she was lifted, floating toward heaven. It was beautiful and peaceful.
Magical
. That was the only word to describe it.

There was an exchange, a connection she had never felt before. It was as if their essences flowed into each other, mingling, becoming indistinguishable from each other.

She felt lighter, almost weak, but he turned her over, onto her knees. “Did you think I was done with you?” he asked, as he slid his cock into her.

He felt huge still and Mairi moaned at the invasion. God, he felt good. The slow, lazy rhythm left her panting. The warm rain hitting her skin made his body slide easily against hers.

She was fully covered by him, his chest on her back, his hands filled with her breasts, and his cock gliding in and out of her.

“You like that, Mairi?”

She couldn’t speak, but nodded and moaned as his thrusts became harder, more intent. His fingers left her breasts to skim her hip. They kneaded her bottom before he parted her. His fingers traced her opening and she squirmed away from him, shocked by the sensation that she wanted him in
there.

Mairi accepted his touch, allowed herself to feel the building passion once more. The pleasure rose and she heard Bran growl, felt his strength grow as his arms suddenly caged her.

Now he was fucking her hard and it felt so good, so powerful to take him like this. The pleasure was rising and rising, but he kept her completion just out of reach.

“Please,” she begged. His finger found her clitoris and he stroked her in time to his thrusts, finishing her in short, penetrating stabs.

When he came it was explosive. She was filled not only with his essence, but a strange vibration that radiated from her core to her fingertips.

When she opened her eyes, the grove was gone. She was surrounded by white tile.

Collapsing against the wall, Mairi stilled, trying to recover from her orgasms. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this good. For a few seconds she believed that she had actually been in that enchanted wood, spread out for Bran’s pleasure.

When she had recovered enough, she shoved opened the shower door, only to see the bird standing on the sill, watching her. Lightning flashed once more, a brilliant, blinding flash, and in that instant Mairi swore she saw the image of Bran. Behind him were black wings, and on his hand were those strange marks glowing gold and pewter.

“How?” she asked, amazed the bird had gotten this far from his cage, let alone up on the sill.

The bird didn’t answer, and Mairi was left feeling oddly disappointed. She needed to hear Bran’s voice. If only one last time.