Mists of Velvet

eyes blackened. “You will accept me, wraith, because when it comes time, I will make it painless for her. And I know you understand my meaning.”
    He did understand. Suriel would make the end bearable for Rowan. Fire and ash . . .
    “And if you treat me with some measure of respect,” Suriel murmured, “I will make it bearable for you, too.”
    Suriel left then, leaving Keir to face a bewildered Rowan. She didn’t approve of violence. He knew that. He also knew she had no idea what bad news Suriel was. She trusted everyone. That was her one failing. She was too damned trusting.
    “Can I come in?”
    “Sure.” She stepped aside, allowing him inside her room. It smelled of her—of lilies and the faintest hint of woman. It never failed to arouse him, or fill his mind with images of them together in bed. But that would never be. Rowan was ill—dying. And she had been brutally raped. A guy as big as he was, covered with tattoos, would not make her feel comfortable and relaxed. His was a body designed to overpower, not soothe.
    “What’s up with the robe?” she asked, closing the door behind him.
    “I thought we might take a journey.”
    Her gorgeous jade-colored eyes lit up. “A mystical journey?”
    He nodded, swallowed hard, and gazed at a spot on the wall above her head. What he needed to do wasn’t going to be easy. But it had to be done.
    “What’s wrong?”
    He didn’t blink. He tried to hide the spike of arousal—and nervousness—that speared him. He didn’t know what would happen—for either of them—when she saw what he looked like. The part that feared her reaction made him rethink what he was doing. The other part, the dominant male side, wanted her gaze on him. He wanted to show her his body, like a damned male peacock preening before his female.
    All of him wanted her to want what would soon be bared to her.
    “Keir?”
    His gaze lowered, capturing hers. Mentally steeling himself against her fear and repulsion, he pulled the cloak off, allowing the purple satin to fall to the floor. He had always taken care to hide himself from Rowan. She had seen the tattoos on his hand and forearm, but nothing else. But now he was naked to the waist, his chest completely bared to her.
    “Oh my God, they’re beautiful,” she whispered as she came to him. She touched him with the softest of grazes, and his skin flickered, his muscles jumping as she skimmed her fingers along his chest. “The colors are so vibrant.”
    He was the only Shadow Wraith in existence who had been born with such markings. They were a cross between Sidhe-type sigils and mortal tattoos. His mother had thought the markings a sign of divinity. Others had seen them as an omen.
    “The artwork is incredible. You must have had it done here in Annwyn.”
    He closed his eyes as her hand wrapped around his upper arm, her fingertip tracing the scrollwork around his bicep. “I was born with them. I recognize certain ancient forms of Celtic knotwork and some of the symbols, but I do not fully understand what they represent, or what my having them means. But they do aid in my ability to divine things.”
    “I think they’re fabulous.”
    He startled, his gaze searching her face. “You’re not afraid?”
    “Why would I be?”
    A feeling of excitement snaked through his body. “I’ve purposely hid them from you, thinking they would scare you. They’re strange, and not at all comforting to look at.”
    Her gaze lifted from his chest, to look up into his face. The directness of her stare, the way her eyes glistened, made him want to cup her face in his palms and kiss her hard, taking her and making her his. She wasn’t afraid of him. His body lit up with the knowledge.
    “Why?”
    “I did not want to frighten you with the sight of me.”
    She softened, and he saw the look in her eyes turn from surprise to something far more alluring. “You don’t frighten me. Why would you?”
    “A man hurt you. I didn’t want to bring up bad memories.”
    “He didn’t look like you, Keir.”
    The way she said his name made him feel weak. He wanted nothing more than to gather her up and fall onto the soft bed with her. He wanted to show her the beauty they could share as he made love to her. He wanted to hold her and love her and shut out the world—and the future.
    “He wasn’t anything like you. Nothing at all.”
    “I wanted you to feel you were safe with me. And like this . . . I look . . . savage.”
    “Beautiful,” she