Mists of Velvet

lethal glare, then fixed her gaze upon Rowan. “Is he the only one you would die for, wraith?”
    Rhys sensed Keir’s shock as well as the pain and rage that lanced through him. If he was fully prepared to sacrifice himself for Rhys, he was a thousand times more determined to protect Rowan from Cailleach.
    “Leave us,” she commanded the small group. “He is mine.” She turned on Rhys and raised her hands, which started to glow. Rhys wondered how bad her zap of light was going to feel as it pierced his body.
    “Now, Rhys MacDonald, you will die for entering Annwyn.”
    There was a deep growl behind him, and then his wolf lunged at Cailleach, landing at her feet. It snarled and snapped, and the blue ink on the left hind paw glimmered in the moonlight. Rhys knew then he was looking at his goddess.
    “Bronwnn, no!”
    Cailleach narrowed her eyes, hatred shining in them. “You’ve been hiding things, I see,” she said to the wolf.
    Cailleach raised her arm and pointed her fingers at him, but the wolf lunged, snapping at the goddess once more.
    “You fool,” she taunted. “You do not know what you’re doing.”
    The wolf—Bronwnn—circled the goddess, growling low in her throat. Cailleach watched her warily; then her gaze widened, as if she had just realized something important.
    “Do you think this man is your mate?”
    The wolf growled, then glanced over her shoulder at Rhys, then back at Cailleach, who was beginning to laugh as she glanced between Keir and Rhys.
    “Stupid girl, your protection is ill placed.”
    Bronwnn—the wolf—snapped at Cailleach, whose face turned dark with anger.
    “You think he is the wraith. But you have no clue, do you?” Cailleach replied, her voice dripping venom. “He is nothing but a mortal, cursed by my own spell.”
    The questioning glance in the wolf’s eyes made Rhys step forward. There was hurt in those blue eyes—and pain. Had she not realized who he was? Bronwnn swung her head in Keir’s direction and sniffed the air; then her gaze fixed on each man, all except the king, and Cailleach laughed.
    “Silly little fool,” she snapped. “You’ve given yourself to the wrong man. You’ve defiled yourself for a lowly mortal.”
    Suddenly the wolf vanished, replaced by a naked, kneeling Bronwnn. Rhys ran to her, but Bronwnn held out her arm, halting him. And a piece of him shriveled up. Did she no longer want him because of his mortality? Who—or what—had she believed him to be?
    Her bowed head slowly lifted to look into Cailleach’s chilly eyes. “Supreme Goddess,” Bronwnn murmured, her voice lilting and beautiful—a sound that would haunt him forever. “I wish to offer you an adbertos .”

CHAPTER TWELVE

    Bronwnn waited anxiously for a response from Cailleach. She could feel the curious stares on her back, but mostly she felt the hard glare of Rhys, whose anger clouded the air. She could almost taste it as it wrapped around her.
    Closing her eyes, she fought back the tears that had started to form. He was a mortal, not a wraith. He was not her mate, yet she had dreamed of him . . .
    Cailleach circled her, and Bronwnn fought the urge to feel shame and humiliation. She had given herself to Rhys because of her dreams. Because inside herself she had felt Rhys was her mate. Why she had dreamed of Rhys and not the wraith, she didn’t understand. But it did answer the puzzling question about his scent. It was a mortal’s scent. And it covered her own flesh like a blanket. She never wanted to be washed of it. Yet she knew the connection they shared was at an end. Her fate was tied to the wraith—not to a mortal.
    “You’ve broken your vow of silence,” Cailleach uttered in a cold voice. “You must have great feelings for this pitiful creature to come to his defense and to break a vow you have held for so long.”
    “I can defend myself,” Rhys snapped, and Bronwnn glared at him. Cailleach was already livid. Rhys’ insolence would only enrage her further.
    “What is it you’ll sacrifice to me for this mortal’s life?”
    “May we please have this discussion in private?” she whispered. What she had to say, she did not want Rhys to hear. She did not want to see him, because if she did, she might no longer possess the will to do what needed to be done. She would save him at any cost, because he had become her ideal. In her heart, he was more than a lover. The past two nights had been more than sexual pleasure. In her soul, he was her mate. And