Velvet Haven (24 page)

Mairi shook her head, denying everything he was telling her. “What do you want?”

“You have a purpose in this life, and now our purposes are entwined.”

“You’re not real. You’re not real,” she chanted over and over again.

“I am,” he whispered. “Have faith. Trust.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to need it for what lies ahead. Things will happen, but know that this is the path you are supposed to take. When the time is right, and when I am summoned, I will come to you. Do not fear me when I do.”

“What the hell are you?”

Black wings suddenly unfurled from his back, and Mairi gripped the sheet to her chin. Holy shit!

“I won’t hurt you, Mairi. Believe that.”

He waved his hand before her face, and she slumped down. The last thing she was aware of was a pair of hands gently placing her on the bed before she fell back to sleep without any further dreams to plague her.

The shop bells tinkled as Sayer swung the door wide open and led Bran and Keir into the cramped little shop like he owned the place. He always was a cocky bastard, Bran thought.

The bells chimed again as the door closed behind Bran. As a precaution, he locked the door. The last thing they needed was an interruption.

“Sorry, I’m closed.” Rowan looked up from the cardboard box she was filling. “Oh, hi. Sorry, I didn’t know it was you guys.”

Rowan looked well, her cheeks pink, the gray cast of her illness gone from beneath her eyes. She was lovely, seated in the middle of her store with her turquoise-colored skirt spread out like a fan around her. Her blond hair was cut short and choppy, making the plump apples of her cheeks more prominent. Her green eyes sparkled in the soft glow of the lamplight. Anyone casting a lascivious eye over her full figure would not believe she was dying.

But dying she was. Bran had tasted death on her skin not more than thirty-six hours before. So long, he thought, since he’d been there in the apartment with Rowan and Mairi.

Such had been the last day for him. Thinking of her. Dreaming of her.
Wanting her
. Not even the gruesome discovery of the murdered woman was enough to prevent him from thinking of Mairi. It might even have made him think of her more, hoping she was safe.

Keir stepped forward and carefully helped Rowan up from the floor. The wraith would not be denied. He had demanded to come, despite the fact that Bran needed only Sayer. “Why are you packing up your store?”

She colored. Not the pretty, flirty type of blush, but one that stemmed from embarrassment. “I have to close up shop.”

“Why?”

She appeared surprised, and perhaps alarmed, by the demand she heard in Keir’s voice. Sayer quickly stepped in and touched her arm, enchanting her so she would answer their questions willingly. That was their purpose here, to discover more about Rowan, who Bran believed was connected to Annwyn.

“Why must you close the store?”

“I’m having surgery in a few days and I don’t know how long I’ll be away.”

“Have you no one to see to the running of it?”

“No.”

“No family?”

Rowan shook her head. “Just Mairi, who already has a full-time job.”

“What happened to your family?”

“I . . . umm . . .” she stammered. Sayer stroked her arm and she calmed. “I’m an orphan. Dropped off at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow when I was five. I never saw my mother after that, and I never knew my dad.”

“We need information.”

“What kind?” she asked as she brushed dust from her hands.

Keir pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and passed it to Sayer, who showed it to Rowan.

“What do you want to know?”

“What those symbols mean to mort—”

Bran cut Sayer off before he could say the word “mortals.” They did not need this woman’s curiosity piqued. Bran could still see her aura, although it had faded from the other night. The black was there, but so was the indigo weaving in and out. A seeker, he reminded himself. She would take it upon herself to learn more about them if they made her suspicious.

Sayer tilted her chin with his fingertips, bringing her face back to his and looking into her eyes.

“Have you seen symbols like this before, Rowan?”

Bran watched as Rowan allowed herself to be pulled back into Sayer’s mesmerizing gaze.

“Yes. A few days ago. Mairi brought a drawing, similar to this one. The same symbols were on it.”

Bran visibly jumped at the mention of Mairi’s name. Sayer glared at him as his enchantment wavered once more. Then he smiled at Rowan and the woman went molten.

“Did Mairi say how she came to know of these symbols?”

“Yes. There was a murder of a young girl a few nights ago. She lived at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. Mairi counseled her there. When the police brought the girl into the hospital, she was dead and her body was carved up and decorated with these symbols. In her purse was Mairi’s business card.”

Deeply entranced now, Rowan did not witness Bran’s tension, or hear his expletive. She was thoroughly hypnotized, her voice even and automatic. She didn’t move, didn’t blink. Sayer kept up the contact with her, skimming his fingertips along her cheek, brushing them against her throat. He didn’t need the physical connection with her any longer to keep her enthralled, but Bran suspected he needed it for an altogether different purpose.

“Ask her what those symbols mean,” Bran hissed. “We need to ascertain if they mean the same in her world as in ours.”

Bran paced the small store, taking in the statues of fairies and dragons. His fingers slid over a white crystal ball and an ornate chalice and athame. The craftsmanship was lovely and would have looked right at home on his own altar. He wondered where Rowan purchased the items for her shop. Some of the relics looked ancient, and some looked like they might have come from the Otherworld itself.

He picked up a curved knife, inlaid with gems. Engraved on the blade were strange markings. They sort of reminded him of angelic script.

“Where did she get this? Ask her, Sayer.”

The Selkie asked, and without a blink she responded. “It was the only thing besides a pair of pajamas that was in the duffle bag I was left with. The nuns found it and put it away. When I moved out, they returned it to me. I have no idea who gave it to me, or what it is. But I think it’s pretty, so I keep it.”

Bran knew what it was. It was an athame used in his people’s sacred Lanamnas ceremony, an eternal vow taken with a soul mate. He turned it over and noted a symbol much like the one Suriel carried on his neck. Beside the symbol was the Celtic Tree of Life, an icon used by the goddesses of Annwyn.

His suspicions were confirmed. Rowan was not all mortal. She was at least partly of the Otherworld. Perhaps her mother had even been a goddess. He pocketed the knife to bring back to Annwyn.

“I’ve finished questioning her. Basically the meanings are the same,” Sayer announced.

Bran flexed his arms, tension rippling down his back. He didn’t like the feeling. Something was not right here. Mairi’s name was cropping up more times than it should. And now this information about Rowan. It was all tied together somehow.

“Ask her what she knows of Mairi,” Bran ordered, his insides in knots.

“I dream of her,” Rowan suddenly whispered, her gaze clouding, unable to focus on either him or Sayer. “I see her in a magical place, standing in a grove. She’s wearing a long gown, white, flowing. Her face is covered by a veil, but I know it’s her. She’s holding out her arm, and a black raven flies to her, landing on her arm.”

“What does it mean?” Sayer asked, glancing back at him. “What place is this you see, Rowan?”

“Heaven,” she answered.

“No,” Bran roared. “She does not die. She
will not
.”

“She dies by your hand, Raven. Your refusal to believe is the knife that cuts.”

Suddenly Rowan collapsed, and Bran felt as though his world had come crashing down.

“What now?” Sayer asked as he held an unconscious Rowan in his arms. “Shall we bring her to Suriel? For certain she is no simple mortal.”

“She will come to Velvet Haven,” Keir demanded. “I don’t want Suriel near her. I don’t trust the bastard.”

Bran nodded as he struggled to right his reeling senses. Did he believe in Rowan’s dreams? Why shouldn’t he? He believed in his own.

What was he going to do? He would not kill Mairi. Despite the fact that she was destined to murder him, he would not—
could not
—lay a hand on her.

“Where now?” Sayer demanded.

With a curse, Bran fisted his hands at his side. “To the place where all our information keeps returning us. To Mairi.”

One thing was for certain, Pretty Boy Sanchez sure did look good in tight-fitting jeans and a plain white T-shirt.

“Thanks.” Taking the beer from her, he tipped it to his sinfully seductive mouth.

“I have beer glasses if you want.”

“Nah, I’m a bottle guy.”

Mairi watched him drink and swallowed hard. She must be ovulating, she thought with disgust, because she was like a dog in heat. All she could think of was sex and how she wanted it. Even Sanchez would do. Although she knew she’d be pretending he was Bran.

But who cared? Maybe once she finally had sex she’d get the constant thoughts of Bran out of her head.

She’d dreamed of him last night. She couldn’t remember the details, but she knew she had. In her dream, she’d been in control, straddling his hips, making him burn.

“So, I like this,” Sanchez murmured. “Having dinner at home.”

Mairi shrugged. “I like to cook and don’t often get to do it.”

“I’m honored.”

Inwardly she cringed. She was leading him on, and all so she could get her rocks off. She hadn’t wanted to go out tonight. She’d wanted to get down to business. Damn Bran and the feelings he’d awakened in her. She had been perfectly content with her solo sex life until he had entered the picture and made her want.

“Hope you like pasta,” she asked over her shoulder as she walked into the kitchen to check the sauce.

“Sure do,” he called. “And I’m liking your ass in those jeans.”

Mairi bit her lip. She didn’t do this sort of thing. She didn’t have guys over to sleep with them. But this fever in her blood, it wouldn’t go away. Sometimes she actually felt weak with the need, the hunger for sex.

It was crazy. Her whole life was becoming one big hallucination. Ever since she’d taken that book, reality had been skewed and bizarre things had happened. Like Bran.

I wonder what he’s doing.
She stirred the sauce, tasted it, then added a little more garlic.
Probably back at Velvet Haven getting lucky. Probably with a blonde with artificial boobs. Bet he isn’t leaving her naked and alone, like he did to me.

Damn it, why couldn’t she piece together the events of that night? There had been his touch, his tongue on her pussy, a blinding orgasm, and
bam!
Nothing. Not until the moment when she pulled up to the red EMERGENCY sign at St. Mike’s.

But she had had plenty of dreams of him . . .

“I brought you something.”

Probably a box of condoms, Mairi thought. Then she chastised herself. It was obvious her one- night stand with Bran was just that—one night. He wasn’t coming back. Hell, they hadn’t even exchanged last names. Would it hurt to be nice to Sanchez?

Putting the lid back on the saucepan, she fixed her hair in the reflection of the microwave oven door and sauntered out to the living room. Sanchez was standing by her end table. The lamp was on and he was holding something up.

“Whatcha got there, Sanchez?”

He turned; then a slow smile crept across his mouth. Mairi found herself stepping back. Her skin felt like tiny bugs were crawling all over her. She shook herself, clearing her thoughts.

“Come here.” He motioned her over beside him. “Most women would want flowers and chocolate, but you”—he gave her a lethal wink—“I knew you’d want something much more special.”