Velvet Haven (28 page)

She heard numerous doors opening and closing. Music from the floor below, and the occasional male voice. She was not in her apartment. And this was not Sanchez sitting beside her, holding a cloth to her face.

Grabbing the thick wrist, she forced his hand away and looked up into Bran’s mismatched eyes.

“So, Sleeping Beauty awakens,” he said with a smile. “And about time, too.”

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday. You have lost two days.”

“Where am I?”

“Velvet Haven. And you’re safe.”

His gaze darkened as he looked at the side of her face. Gently, he ran his fingertips along her swollen cheek. The throbbing she had felt suddenly left, leaving nothing but warmth and that familiar hum she always got when he touched her. “I should have killed him for this,” he whispered. “I
will
kill this bastard,” he vowed fiercely.

“That’s very kind of you,” she said with a smile, “but I don’t think you need to commit a mortal sin on my behalf.”

“Nothing is too much for you, Mairi.”

Warm fuzzies unfurled in her belly. “You would kill for me?” she asked, not knowing whether she should be scared shitless or extremely flattered.

“I would do anything you asked, except . . .” He looked away, then swung his gaze to hers. “Anything but leave you,” he murmured. “I could not do that.”

His expression was serious. She eyed him cautiously. What had happened? How had he come to be here—with her? And why was he so possessive? The last time they were together, he’d left her without even a memory of what had happened to him.

Not that she should be complaining, but still, everything was a confusing puzzle.

“Do not trouble yourself trying to fit all the pieces together. We’ll talk in a while, when you’re healed.”

Mairi fought through the fog, trying to make sense of what had happened. “I . . . I think it was you all along in my dreams. I’ve dreamed of you—for weeks now.”

She felt the tension in him coil. “They are not dreams,” he said, “but premonitions.”

“If you say so.” She licked her dry lips, and a cool glass was pressed up against her mouth.

“Drink.”

She took a little sip, wincing as she swallowed.

“Rhys says that your throat may hurt because of the tube they shoved down your airway to make you breathe. I hope I did not hurt you when I removed it.”

Tube? Airway? Suddenly she remembered what had happened. Aaron, that sick bastard, had somehow hidden himself
inside
Sanchez. He’d beaten her, demanded to know where the Oracle was. And then Bran had come crashing through her door. He’d picked up ordinary objects and turned them into weapons—swords, arrows. Even electricity.

She moaned, her head hurting as she tried to make sense out of something that defied all possibilities. Magic, and madmen . . . and her death. She specifically recalled dying. Yet here she was, alive and—her stomach rumbled loudly—apparently hungry.

“You’re thinking too hard,
muirnin.
Just rest and the events of the past days will come when you are ready.”

“I died,” she rasped, her voice hoarse. “I felt a shroud cover my face and body, and then I felt my soul lift as it left me.”

“You did not pass through the veil. You are alive,” he said against her mouth; then he kissed her, making her body heat, showing her that indeed, she was very much alive, with
all
senses intact, too.

“Rhys has brought you something to eat. Start slow, and if you’re hungry you can eat something else.”

“Aaron,” she whispered. “I have to warn Rowan.”

“I am sorry that Aaron escaped when I turned my attention to you. But do not worry. Your friend is protected.” She struggled against his hold, but he held her tight. “She’s here,” he whispered, gently shoving her back. “Just down the hall. When you are well you can see her.”

A whimper from the end of the bed was followed by a rhythmic thump that stopped Mairi cold. Clancy? The dog’s head popped up, its muzzle resting on the black coverlet.

“You saved him!”

Clancy came bounding onto the bed, despite Bran’s cursing and commands for Clancy to get down. But the great big lummox came forward, licking every inch of her face.

“Disgusting. You would not allow him to do that if you knew what he had just been licking.”

Mairi laughed and rubbed Clancy behind his ears. “How can I ever repay you?”

His eyes darkened. “It was I who owed you. We are even now.”

Mairi looked at him. His expression had changed, had grown blacker—angry.

“Thank you,” she whispered. As she said it, she allowed her fingertips to graze his tattooed arm. He closed his eyes in response.

“Eat now, Mairi.”

Bran left the bed and went to the window seat, where a large tray of several covered dishes waited. With a flourish, Bran lifted the lids.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at a golden-brown triangle next to the bacon and eggs.

He smiled. “It’s Scottish, a potato scone. It’s fried in bacon fat and you put jam on it. It’s delicious.”

“And artery clogging, no doubt.”

Bran shrugged and placed the tray on her lap. As he did so, he shoved Clancy aside with a brisk command and sat down beside her.

“I do not worry about arteries,” he mumbled as he took a knife out of a napkin and dipped it in homemade strawberry jam, “and neither should you.” He lifted the scone to her lips. “Eat.”

She took a bite and moaned.
So good
. She tried to take it from him, but he insisted that she eat from his hand. It was the left hand, the one with the tats, and every time their skin connected he shuddered and closed his eyes. It was absurd to be thinking this at such a time, but Mairi silently hoped he was as turned on by the act of feeding her as she was.

“When you can, tell me what you remember.”

She swallowed and he passed her a teacup and saucer. It was dainty and fragile. An antique. She glanced around the room, noted the expensive antique furniture and huge fireplace. It was like something you’d see in an English manor home. It might have made sense if this was still the MacDonald mansion, but it was Velvet Haven, a Gothic fetish nightclub. Antiques seemed so out of place.

But then she remembered that Bran had mentioned that family lived there. Maybe this was Bran’s room in the club.

The tea tasted good and Mairi took another sip, trying to find the fortification to tell Bran everything.

“Start at the beginning. Leave nothing out.”

With a nod, she plunged in, telling him about the book she had stolen, Lauren’s death, and the strange dreams she’d been having of a man—of him. She left out the sexual details, and the part about her picking up a dagger. She hadn’t made sense of that yet, and she didn’t want him to think she’d actually follow through with anything in her dream—well, except the vivid sex parts.

She even told him about Suriel, the part he had played in her life. She talked of Rowan, what had happened and what Mairi had done in return. As she spoke, Bran brushed his fingertips along her scarred wrist. When she was done, he bent and kissed it.

“You have seen much in your life,” he whispered. “Much pain.”

Mairi felt the sensation of his lips on her wrist and instantly the discomfort in her body eased.

Silence hovered between them till he asked, “Where did you come by your hobby of translating illuminated manuscripts?”

She was relieved to be talking about something other than her scars. “I first discovered illuminated manuscripts in the library of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. I used to go there after school to wait for my mom to get done work.”

“Why did you not go directly home?” he asked as his fingers idly brushed her wrist.

She didn’t want to talk about this. She’d buried her past.

“Mairi?”

She shrugged. “We preferred to go home together, once my mom was done doing dishes and cleaning up. She worked in the kitchen, making meals for the school and the nuns.”

“And why could you not go home, Mairi?”

It was times like this that she hated that soft, deep voice of his. The one that could lure and entice. The one that felt like a tender caress.

“My mother didn’t want me alone with my father.”

She exhaled a big breath. There. She’d said it.

Fingers under her chin, he turned her face to look at him. His eyes were dark, the pupil now big, swallowing up the pewter and gold of his. “Did your father abuse you?”

She blushed. “No, it was nothing like that.”

“Then what was it like?”

She pulled away from his hold and looked down at the quilt. “My father used to beat my mother. She didn’t want me to be alone with him because she was afraid that he’d take his drunken anger out on me, instead of waiting for her to get home.”

His expression was fierce. “My people would have shred him to bits. In my world, a woman only feels the passion in a man’s touch. Never his anger.”

“Your world?” she said with a nervous laugh. “Aren’t you from Earth?”

His expression changed, his gaze narrowing.

“How did you meet your friend Rowan?” he asked.

“In the library at Our Lady. I was looking through books and she was drawing at a table. We’ve been friends ever since.”

He lifted a strip of bacon to her mouth. “Has she no family?”

She took a bite and chewed. “No, none. She was dropped on the doorstep when she was five. She lived there until we went away to college.”

“Neither of you has had an easy life.”

She squirmed beneath his scrutiny and bristled against the concern she heard. “No worse than a lot of people.”

He pulled back, giving her the space she needed. But Mairi still felt his gaze on her, roving her body and finally settling on her face. “We have much to learn about each other.”

“And you still have to explain what I saw.”

He smiled and raked his knuckles down her cheeks to her throat. “After. You need rest.”

“I’ve been asleep for two days.”

“And you will sleep as much as you need.”

She laughed, thinking of all the people she had nursed, and now here she found herself on the receiving end. It was very strange to be the helpless one.

“You must take every care, Mairi.”

“Why?”

“Because I cannot lose you again.” The words fell from his lips, wrapping around them. When their gazes met, she could not detect any regret on his part for speaking so openly. “Somehow our fates were destined to cross, and now our futures are entangled. I know we’ve only just met, but I swear to you, I need you in my life. I want to know all your secrets, your fears. I want to pleasure you, to protect you.”

She looked at him with an expression of awe. “What are you?” she asked. “Where did you come from? Because I’ve never met a man like you before.”

He caressed her skin, but did not answer her questions.

“Who are you?” she asked in a low voice as she studied him, wondering how a man she didn’t know could mean so much, could break past her barriers of mistrust and crawl inside her heart.

He pressed forward and brushed his lips below her earlobe. “Tell me who you want me to be. I can be that person.”

“Bran,” she whispered, allowing herself to just feel the fluttering sweep of his lips against her throat, his incredibly long lashes against her earlobe. “Just Bran.”

His big body softened against her. “I love the way you smell here. I love the way you taste.”

His words were followed by the slow flicking motion of his tongue. Her belly flipped. Before she knew what she was doing, her hand was resting low over her belly, trying to relieve some of the empty throbbing she felt.

“Do you feel me there?” he asked in a dark whisper. His palm rested on top of hers, then slowly began moving. Her breath left her mouth, her lips brushing his cheek, which was faintly dusted with a five-o’clock shadow.

Lower he pushed her hand till her heel rested on her pubic bone and her fingers were between her thighs.

“Tell me where you need me, Mairi.”

Oh, God!
Her heart was bounding and her breathing was all erratic. She couldn’t tell him what she wanted. Not when she didn’t know him, or understand what had happened. What the hell was she thinking?

“I won’t hurt you, Mairi. Trust me.”

“I . . . I’m trying, but . . .” She lifted her gaze to his face. “I have questions.”

“Later,” he said, trying to catch her lips with his. “I will answer everything later.”

She turned her face away. “I saw what you did in my apartment . . . magical stuff.”

“Mairi, let me do this, let me make you come. Let me use my fingers, my tongue, my cock, to make you feel better.”

“Bran—”

“It’s the only way I know how, Mairi. The only way I know how to be with your kind. Let me . . . heal you.”

She was melting. She truly was, but she couldn’t allow herself to weaken—especially when he said things like “your kind.” But Bran reached for the tray and set it aside. Then he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, allowing the garment to fall to the carpet.

Mairi looked her fill, from the thick cords in his neck to the broad shoulders, down to the defined pecs and abs, to the fine line of hair that disappeared beneath his pants. On the left side, the tangle of gold and silver tattoos snaked over his shoulder and around his nipple, then over his ribs, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants, just like that tantalizing trail of hair.

His skin was golden, smooth. She could smell him, as fresh as the woods after a cool spring rain. She felt the heat radiating off him and the sexual aura that seemed to wrap around her, pulling her in deep.

“We both hunger for this,” he growled. “So why do we try to resist, pretending we don’t?”

She shook her head, and he reached for her palm, sliding it down the tattoos on his chest. “I don’t want to resist anymore, Mairi. I don’t want to pretend that you’re just another woman. I don’t want you to treat me like a stranger.”