Mists of Velvet

fuss.
    With a nod, she reached for the book that contained her visions and her images of the prophecy. What she had never put in writing was that she had a way to connect with the Dark Mage.
    Opening the book to a blank page, she reached for the quill and allowed her fingertips to rub against the soft feathers. She needed to ground herself in order to see. It was a little more difficult with Cailleach seated on her throne, watching every move she made. But after a few seconds, Bronwnn successfully put Cailleach out of her mind and began to focus on the dark clouds. Through the solarium’s window, she focused on the gathering storm. It would rain soon, and the scent of her lover would be washed away. Perhaps she might even persuade Cailleach that her instincts had been wrong and that it had, in fact, been the Dark Arts she had sensed last night.
    Thunder rumbled across the sky as she thought of a way to dissuade Cailleach from searching Annwyn for the “disturbance.” Even though Cailleach wanted this union between her and the wraith, Bronwnn could not help but feel she needed to protect the man in her cottage from the goddess and her far-reaching power. There was some hidden motive to this alliance that Bronwnn sensed but did not understand. Her instincts were always correct. She had learned to survive on her instincts, and they were telling her now that her lover needed her protection.
    The gathering storm soothed her, and as she watched the swirling clouds thicken and darken, her lashes lowered, her trance beginning. She had a fleeting image of her lover, but she forced it aside, fearing she might say something while under the spell. He must be protected at all costs.
    “Well, get on with it,” Cailleach muttered irritably. It was not like the Supreme Goddess to show any emotion other than perfect composure. Something was most definitely wrong.
    Closing her eyes, Bronwnn focused on the gathering winds. She could hear the sounds of Annwyn, the leaves and the trees, and every living thing that moved and crawled. At last, she was one with the elements, and as her breathing slowed and her mind stilled, the vision came upon her.
    The number three appeared. Mindlessly, she picked up the quill and wrote what she saw. The next images were of three women, their faces heavily veiled and their bodies shrouded in white gossamer gowns. Bronwnn had seen their image before—the Sacred Trine. Now she heard the words, “Oracle, Healer, Nephillim.” They kept repeating the words, over and over.
    Just when she thought there would be no more to her vision, a new image appeared—one of a man, tall and majestic. His hair was dark and his skin pale. She had never seen him before, but she felt an instant connection. On the left side of his neck was a mark—a brand of sorts—and she drew it in her book, trying to sear the image in her mind.
    “Camael,” her mind whispered as she wrote the symbol, running over it with the tip of the quill several times to darken it.
    That was all. The spell broke.
    Cailleach came behind her. “The Sacred Trine,” she murmured. “Yes, we must find it and protect it at all costs.”
    The goddess’ finger scrolled down the page until she reached the symbol. With a shaking hand, she touched the Φ that Bronwnn had drawn.
    Cailleach visibly trembled, then whispered, “He’s returned.”
    Bronwnn turned in time to see Cailleach hurrying from the solarium. “Send a missive to the raven,” she called. “I must meet with him and his warriors. There is no time to lose.”

    Rowan stared at the man who stood before her. Never in a million years had she expected to see Keir half naked—and in leather pants of all things. Despite the cancer eating away at her, her ovaries still seemed to be in perfect working order, because they shot a surge of estrogen that flooded her blood and made her want to fan herself. Lord, she was hot just looking at him.
    Keir was beautiful. She’d always known he was. But this—the bulk and hardness, the tats—defied anything she had cooked up in her nightly dreams. He was too perfect for words. And if she didn’t stop staring at him like a fool, he was going to know how she really felt about him.
    Friends. She cleared her throat and found the courage to gaze up into his mysterious gray eyes. She loved how they were rimmed in violet. She once thought they were contacts. Now she knew they were the real deal.
    He reached for her, and she shivered, anticipating his