Mists of Velvet

paste.
    Bringing a chunk of the paste to his nose, he inhaled. It was organic, the smell of pine and plant and earth. That didn’t surprise him. The inhabitants of Annwyn practiced the Druid ways, and the Druids believed that every living thing, from the smallest leaf to the largest animal, held its own living spirit. The Druids used herbs in their healing, their ceremonies, and their magic. Rhys had been told of the ancient ways but had never seen them in practice. Now he was a recipient of those ways.
    Speaking of magick, Rhys wondered where the hell Keir was. Rhys had been certain the wraith would have appeared on the cottage doorstep eons ago. He had even sent out a mental search for him, but there was nothing—no connection at all; just quiet.
    Sighing, Rhys rested his head and closed his eyes. He was royally fucked if the goddess had decided to abandon him. He could tell the cottage wasn’t used very often, and the likelihood that someone would stumble across him wasn’t very good—someone who would help him, at least. Cailleach, on the other hand, might very well appear before him, ready to kill him.
    He was close to dozing off again when the latch on the door clicked. His skin flickered, and he prepared to fight the intruder as he watched the door slowly creak open.
    In the threshold stood his goddess. Her gaze, alarmed, flew from the empty pallet to the wall, where he saw relief flash in her blue eyes.
    “I’m still here,” he said quietly. “But I began to wonder if you would come back.”
    She said nothing, just turned and closed the door. On her shoulder was a bag, and she walked to the worn wooden table and set it down. Opening it, she set the contents on the table.
    Rhys watched her work. This was the first time he had seen her through clear eyes, without the drug clouding his mind. His erotic hallucinations were not exaggerated. She was beautiful, and her body was stunning, all fine curves and high breasts. Her hair was up today, exposing the back of her neck, which, of course, made him think of coming up behind her and running his lips over her downy skin.
    “What is your name?” he asked as he moved his hand lower to cover his cock. There was no need for her to see him in this state—at least not yet.
    She didn’t answer, and he asked in a louder voice, which still got no reply. But she did turn to him, her hands full of food and a flask.
    Kneeling before him, she ignored his nudity and held out a loaf of bread to him. He noticed there were cheese and fruit as well.
    It wasn’t a double Big Mac combo, but it would do. He was starved. “Thank you.”
    She nodded and looked at him expectantly. Rhys didn’t know how he was going to eat with an erection. He was also starting to get a little uncomfortable with the one-sided conversation.
    She nudged the bread at him, and Rhys accepted it, spreading the cloth it had been wrapped in on his lap to cover himself. Then he broke the bread apart and began eating. It was warm and soft, and nothing had tasted better. Grabbing a piece of cheese, he devoured it, then the berries. She passed him the flask, and he took a big drink of the cold water.
    She watched him for a few seconds, then began to assemble some bottles and jars she had placed on the dirt floor behind her. She worked quietly and methodically. Chewing the bread as he silently watched her, he wondered.
    Finally, he asked, “Do you not speak?”
    She shook her head that she did not.
    “But you hear?”
    She nodded. Rhys was disappointed, because he would have liked to have heard her voice, but it didn’t lessen his desire for her or his certainty that they were meant to be together. They would just have to find other ways to communicate.
    As he ate, she began tending his wounds. With a warm cloth, she washed the remainder of the paste away, leaving the reddened and raised scars on his chest. Carefully she touched one wound—an inverted pentagram—and looked up at him, questioning him with the tilt of her head.
    “Artwork courtesy of the Dark Mage. I had the misfortune to run into him in the Cave of Cruachan.”
    He saw in her eyes that she understood. She went back to work on his chest, cleaning and rubbing his wounds with lotions that had him smelling like a pine forest. The medicine stung for a few seconds, but the stinging was quickly replaced with a cool tingling that neutralized the burning he felt from the wounds.
    “Do you know the Sidhe king?”
    She paused and looked up at