Mists of Velvet

and deep.
    He had never been this way with her, this hard and demanding. But she did not fear it—or him. She only wanted more. And when he shoved her hand aside and slid his thick fingers into her, she cried out and accepted him, and the way he filled her.
    When he used the pad of his thumb to circle her clitoris, she spread her legs wider, allowing him in closer. Feeling his breath on her skin and smelling the sheen of sweat on his only built up her desire, until she was digging her nails hard into his shoulders.
    His beautiful eyes fixed on her, holding her steady with his ravenous gaze; then he pulled his fingers from her, brought them to his mouth, and tasted them. She felt as though she could hear his thoughts. He wanted to watch her take him into her mouth. He wanted her to know his taste, to watch her suck and lap at him.
    Bronwnn was on fire. She ran her hands down her body, cupping her breasts, then lower, to her thighs, watching him track the progress of her fingers. She spread her legs wider, hoping he would put his powerful shoulders farther between them, set his mouth to her core, and taste her with his tongue and lips.
    In her sexual frenzy, her fingertips grazed too close to the mark on her leg she always tried to avoid. With a gasp of alarm, she snatched her fingers away, but instantly her lover melted away and the other, hated images were upon her.
    They were dark and disturbing images of a woman who had symbols carved onto her body. Her nipples were red and swollen, and she was moaning. And then she saw him—the flash of black, the hood covering his features—and she pressed her eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop the vision. But she knew better. She couldn’t stop it.
    Inside her, she felt the evil, the scent of death and decay. She felt him, the Dark Mage, as surely as if they were the same person. She heard his thoughts, the cruel, biting taunts. And then she saw her dream lover—on top of a stone altar. He was tethered, naked. And there was a blade placed directly over his heart.
    She tried to wake up, but it was futile. The vision never left voluntarily. It wasn’t hers to command. Covering her eyes with her hands, she rocked back and forth, but it kept coming in waves. Images of blood and ancient Celtic symbols, chanted incantations, and the acrid odor of incense washed over her. And then, the black hood fell back, revealing the mage’s face.
    With a jolt, Bronwnn woke to her surroundings. She was breathing fast, the remnants of the vision making her tremble. Unsteady, she rose to her feet, and her eyes searched through the forest. It was quiet and still. Reeling from the vision, and from the sexual need that made her body tremble, she jumped down from the rock, landing far below on a winding path that led to her sanctuary.
    The mage had sensed her, too. She was certain of it. There was a connection between them, some cursed bind that allowed her to track his movements, and she was not naive enough to believe that it was one-sided.
    She must run and hide. Later, she would try to determine whether her vision had been of the past or of the future. Right now, she must take care of herself.
    The change was smooth and painless. She simply had to think of it, and it happened. Now she was safe. The mage would not find her like this, not in this form, for she was no longer a pale-haired goddess, but a white wolf.

    Groaning, Rhys felt himself being picked up and hauled up over a shoulder like a bag of flour. His head was swimming, and he felt as though he might vomit. And he hoped he did, right down the back of the bastard’s robe.
    He couldn’t think through the pain and the dizziness and the beckoning darkness. But Rhys knew he had to or else he’d be awakening to the singing of a chorus of angels, his body carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
    Through the double vision, Rhys saw that they had left the lit corridor and turned left. There was only one sconce to light the path. Shadows played on the walls, and Rhys strived to stay lucid and conscious. In order to escape, he’d need to know which way to go.
    His captor’s boots scraped against stone. Rhys bounced against his shoulder. They were descending an ancient staircase. Above him, Rhys saw catacombs. It was a crypt of sorts.
    Suddenly he heard a noise—a moan. It sounded like a woman—a sexually aroused woman.
    “Look what I’ve brought you, lovely.”
    Raising his head, Rhys saw a woman tied down to a stone slab. She was