Mists of Velvet

face, but she could smell him, a putrid, rotting stench that made her want to vomit.
    “Indole,” he murmured. “An element present in all the delicate white moth-pollinated blossoms. It is the only common element in perfumes created to arouse the senses. Although it has the distinct aroma of putrefaction, it’s an aphrodisiac. Sexually stimulating while giving a taste of the sweet elixir of sin. My sacrifices are bathed in it, a radiance born of darkness and death. Wait till you have sex magick, my lovely. You’ll die of the pleasure it can bring.”
    She shook her head, unable to fathom what he was saying.
    “So lovely and innocent. You look just like her, you know.” A pale hand reached out, and she jumped back, avoiding his touch. He laughed and called over his shoulder. “If only you could see her, Camael! She is the spitting image of Covetina. All innocence and etherealness just waiting to be corrupted.” He leaned in, his voice dropping. “Do you know why you are here?”
    She shook her head and took another step back, even as he advanced on her.
    “You’re here because we’re connected. But you already know that. While you may look like your mother, I’m afraid that is where the similarities end. You are your father’s daughter. And all good girls do their father’s bidding.”
    No, it couldn’t be. She refused to believe that someone so evil had any connection to her. But somewhere deep inside, Bronwnn knew it for the truth. This . . . creature was her father.
    Blinding hatred and rage filled her, and she turned, lunging at his throat, which was hidden by the black coat. Darkness blackened her thoughts; her only need was to kill.
    She was the wolf now, and she was going to rip him to shreds.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    Keir paced the perimeter of Rhys’ office, stopping to stare into the empty box on top of the desk. The torc and cuffs were gone. Cliodna, his wren, was perched on his shoulder, silent, but watching as Keir rifled through the room.
    From what he could ascertain from the club staff, Rhys had not been seen for at least eighteen hours, maybe even longer. He hadn’t been out on the floor last night, nor had he been present for the close of the nightclub. This morning, when Maggie, the housekeeper, went in to make his bed, she discovered that his bed had never been slept in and that the supper tray she had sent up the night before was untouched.
    Struggling to calm his thoughts, Keir tried to piece together a time line. Time moved much more slowly in Annwyn, and Keir never forgot that, but he had to admit he had dallied too long with Rowan, leaving Rhys unprotected. How long had he been in Annwyn? That might tell him how long Rhys had been missing. But try as he might, he couldn’t recall. He’d been too caught up in Rowan and the divination.
    Fuck! Slamming shut the box, Keir picked it up and threw it against the wall. Where the hell was Rhys? Surely he would not have gone into the Cave of Cruachan. He’d been warned. Rhys knew what would happen to him in Annwyn if Cailleach discovered his presence. And the Dark Mage? Keir shuddered to think what that sadistic motherfucker would do to Rhys if he ever found him.
    “I see you’ve managed to lose my kin.”
    Keir glared over his shoulder at the Sidhe king. “He’s not lost.”
    Bran fisted his hands on his waist. “How long has he been gone?”
    “I don’t know. At least eighteen hours, but probably longer. I’ve been in Annwyn and lost track of time.”
    Bran’s gaze was hooded when he replied. “I sensed he was gone. That’s why I’m here. The mortal fool never was one to take orders.”
    Keir didn’t particularly care to hear the king’s thoughts on Rhys. Yeah, he was a stubborn ass, but he was most likely in trouble. Whatever the king felt didn’t matter. Rhys was the issue here. And finding him was first priority. Rhys likely had ignored both his and Suriel’s warnings. MacDonald was far from stupid, but he felt he needed to prove himself, not only to Bran and the others, but to himself.
    Bran’s mismatched eyes lifted to meet Keir’s gaze. “Any chance he left the club and went into the city?”
    “What does your gut tell you?” Keir snarled, feeling the fear well up once more.
    “It’s not my gut that’s connected to him.”
    Keir did see red then. “It’s not as if we’re always in each other’s heads. We do allow each other some time off.”
    “Can’t you just search your feelings and find