Mists of Velvet

Cailleach whispered as she gazed up at the jeweled ceiling. “Day and night, you haunt me.”
    Not knowing of whom Cailleach spoke, Bronwnn decided to take advantage of the Supreme Goddess’ distraction to slip away from the screen. Bronwnn did not dally, climbing the stairs to the hall where the king was waiting for her. He would ask her questions and probe her thoughts. She must keep her secrets. And she must, she thought, find the man who was to be her mate, for he was not safe from Cailleach. She did not need a vision to know that. She felt it deep within her. Cailleach was hiding something, and Bronwnn felt the overriding animal instinct to protect her mate.

CHAPTER TWO

    Sometimes being mortal was a real bitch. Like tonight, when he was trying to open the wooden door to Annwyn—a door that mortals should know nothing about. Except he wasn’t just an average anthropomorphic.
    Frustrated, Rhys slammed his shoulder into the thick oak, hoping the antique door would give under his strength. The damned thing didn’t so much as budge. He gave it another shot, this time pushing with his body.
    Damn his great-uncle Bran for placing the protection spell on the portal. The Sidhe king had enchanted the door so that mortals like him would stay the hell away from the realm where the immortals dwelt. The inhabitants of the Otherworld guarded their home and their secrets well, and their greatest fear was that humans would discover their world and destroy it.
    “ Cocksucker ,” he swore as he pounded his fist into the door. “God damn it.” He took the brass handle in his palms and jarred it up and down. Christ, he must look like a five-year-old. But the fact was, he didn’t want to admit defeat. He didn’t want to come close to admitting what he truly was—your average, garden-variety human.
    “Hey, buddy, back away from the door.”
    Rhys sent a lethal glare over his shoulder. The bouncer, who was really an immortal, a troll in a human’s guise to be precise, paled when he saw his face. “Apologies, Mr. MacDonald. I didn’t realize it was you.”
    “It’s me, and I suppose that apology doesn’t extend to opening the door for me?”
    Farley rubbed his big palm over his shining bald head. “Sorry, man, but I have strict orders from my king.”
    “What about the orders of your boss?”
    “In my world, no one outranks the Sidhe king, except perhaps the Supreme Goddess.”
    “Well, we’re not in your world, Farley. We’re in the mortal realm.”
    “Still—it’s just that—well, from what I understand, you’ve been banned by the king.”
    “Tell me something I don’t know,” Rhys snarled as he shoved past the bouncer and headed back to his office. Fucking Bran . Who the hell did he think he was? This mansion, this club, and that damned passageway to Annwyn were Rhys’ birthright. He’d inherited everything from his great-great-grandfather Daegan, who had abdicated his throne and Sidhe powers for life as a mortal. In Rhys, there had to be some Sidhe blood, no matter how minuscule an amount. But try as he might, he hadn’t been able to summon any magical powers, and as a consequence, that damned door remained permanently off-limits to him.
    Normally, he didn’t give a damn about Annwyn, but this was the third time in a week that he had seen Keir disperse the Enchantment spell and slip past the door into Annwyn. Not that Rhys cared what Keir did in his downtime, but it was really strange for Keir not to tell him what he was doing or where he was going. His recent behavior—agitated, almost strung-out—perplexed and worried Rhys.
    Jesus. It sounded like a damned love affair—which it wasn’t. This was Keir he was talking about; Keir he was worried about.
    Keir—his Shadow Wraith; his protector since birth.
    “Some fucking protector,” he snarled as he slammed the door to his office. Not that he needed a babysitter. He was quite capable of handling himself, not to mention taking care of mortal or immortal troublemakers who liked to stir up shit in his club.
    No, it wasn’t fear for his own life that had him all juiced up; it was worry. Something wasn’t right with Keir. Always intense, lately the Shadow Wraith had gone from quiet intensity to downright lethal menace. Keir wasn’t himself, and no one knew that better than Rhys.
    In some grand cosmic fuckup, he’d been given a male Shadow Wraith to protect him from the family curse. The previous firstborn males of his line had always been