Mists of Velvet

him?”
    Keir whirled on him. “I can’t get a fucking connection with him!” Punching the desk, Keir unloaded all his fury and fear into the wooden top, watching with satisfaction as the thick oak cracked down the middle. He hated telling Bran anything, but he hated showing his terror and worry even more.
    Bran swallowed uncomfortably. He had never hidden his distaste for the unique bond Rhys and his wraith shared. “Has this . . . inability to connect with MacDonald happened before?”
    The relationship between mortal and wraith was what it was. Rhys needed Keir’s protection, and Keir needed Rhys’ emotions for fuel. Normally, emotions were plenty for a wraith to live on, but as time went on, Keir found he needed more . It was through the passion of sex, when Rhys found release, that Keir preferred to feed. It didn’t matter what the fuck the king thought of them. The only thing that mattered now was finding Rhys.
    “No,” he grumbled, hating talking of what they had together. “Our emotional bond is strong. I can usually hear him . . . and feel him. But now I can’t.” Keir glared at Bran as he paced the room. “I don’t know why he’s not answering me.”
    “Maybe he’s not answering you because he can’t.”
    “He’s alive. I can sense that much. But I can’t tell where he is. I can’t even hear any of his thoughts.”
    “Maybe he’s unconscious?”
    “The brain still sends out waves in that state. In fact, it’s easier to hear him and find him when he’s sleeping, because he’s unguarded.”
    For someone who claimed to hate his great-nephew, Bran certainly looked worried. “You warned him away from the cave as I commanded?”
    “Of course.”
    “And the portal? It’s still enchanted?”
    “There’s no way Rhys or any of the staff opened the door.”
    “Positive?”
    “Rhys has zero magical abilities. He’s tried, and none of his attempts have been successful.”
    Keir glanced at the empty box on the floor. Rhys might not have any magick inside him, but maybe the torc did. Unfortunately, Bran followed the direction of his gaze, and his expression turned murderous.
    Bran looked once more at the box, then to Keir. “He’s impetuous, hotheaded, stubborn, and pissed-off with being a mortal. He could only have gone one place—Annwyn.”

    Bronwnn came awake in Rhys’ arms. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and she gagged as she struggled to break free of his grasp. Her mind was reeling with the knowledge that she shared the same blood as this evil magician who was terrorizing Annwyn.
    “It’s okay,” he murmured as he smoothed his hand over her hair. Her body was shaking violently. “You’ve bit your tongue. That’s where the blood is coming from.”
    Shaking her head, she wrestled out of his hold. She had to wash. She had to get the mage’s blood away from her skin. It sickened her—the taste of it and the knowledge that he was inside her.
    Memories of the vision replayed in her mind. She had lunged at him, breaking the skin of his throat with her fangs. But the instant she had bitten down, the vision had ended and she was returned to her body.
    “Look at me, Bronwnn,” Rhys soothed. “Let me wipe your mouth.”
    She looked frightened and wild when she saw herself in the reflection of Rhys’ eyes. What she had witnessed and heard in that vision horrified her—first what the mage’s captive had said, and now this. The revelation of who she was and the understanding of her connection with the mage—it was all too much.
    How she wished she could speak to Rhys and tell him what she had seen. But there was safety and comfort in her silence, and she was not yet ready to put into words what had been revealed in that black crypt of evil.
    Frantically she pulled away from Rhys and reached for the quill and parchment she had used to communicate with him. Vision. Mage. To Bran.
    Rifling his hands through his hair, Rhys glanced at the paper, then back at her. “You had a vision of the mage, and you need to get to Bran?”
    She nodded, then stood, her legs unsteady. Rhys caught her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Easy; I’ve got you.”
    Sinking into him, she turned in his arms and pressed her cheek to his chest. She had never had anyone to comfort her before, and the feeling was extraordinarily nice.
    Beneath her cheek, Rhys’ heart pounded in a soothing tempo. His skin was warm, his unique scent a reminder that he was hers, and that he would keep