Mists of Velvet

long, healthy lives, but they couldn’t match immortality. One day, he would be parted from her, so he wanted to make every moment count.
    “I missed you when I woke up.” She smiled up at him and traced her fingertips over his lips. “You should have woken me when you were summoned by Cailleach.”
    “It was something I had to do alone.”
    The edge in her voice made him suspicious.
    “Rhys, shake your ass.”
    It was Bran. He was standing in the hall with his arms braced over his chest.
    “I guess the goddess can’t be kept waiting, huh?”
    Bronwnn stood up on her tiptoes and kissed his chin. “I will be here when you return.”
    “Good. And be waiting in that bed,” he whispered, “because you aren’t getting out of it for the rest of the day.”
    Leaving the room, Rhys closed the door, but not before he saw the shared glance between Keir and Bronwnn.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

    The wind was up, and the temperature had dropped. Rhys could see his breath—gray smoke, wafting up to the slate-colored sky. It wasn’t a spring sky, but a winter sky with heavy gunmetal gray clouds that hung low on the horizon. As the darkness permeated more deeply into Annwyn, the trees had begun to drop their leaves, and as a consequence, the wind howled through the branches. It was a low, melancholy sound that wailed through the Otherworld. Even from up here, high atop Bran’s castle, the sound swirled around him.
    Rhys should have been cold, standing in the ramparts hundreds of feet up where the wind blew wild through the stone turrets. He wore only a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. The cotton was thin and well worn, and his arms were bare, except for the bronze cuffs, and the tattoo on his arm. Yes, he should have been shivering. But he wasn’t. He felt nothing. He was numb.
    A firebird circled overhead, and Rhys watched its graceful rises and falls, the dips and turns as it circled. He knew the Supreme Goddess had sent the phoenix Melor to watch him. He was a prisoner here. But he’d have it no other way. This was where Bronwnn was, tucked inside her chamber. There was nowhere he wanted to be except close to her.
    As always, his thoughts were of Bronwnn. Last night had been incredible—the best ever. The way she whispered in his ear drove him wild. Her voice was sultry, sexy, then soft and lulling, like that of an angel.
    He would never forget the sight of her beneath him, or the way she felt, slick and hot against his fingers, or the taste of her on his tongue. That had been the biggest mistake, tasting her. Those memories made him hard and achy all over. Damn, it had been good—too good. But it was about so much more than sex with Bronwnn. It was dreams of forever; of nights spent holding her and mornings of looking at her across the breakfast table. It was images of a morning kiss and spooning together at night. It was all that normal shit he craved—a companion, a friend, a confidante, a lover. He’d actually dreamed last night of their Shrouding ceremony—what she would wear, and how she would look. He imagined seeing her round with his child.
    “Rhys, descendant of Daegan.”
    Rhys whirled around, dagger pulled and drawn, ready to fight in an instant.
    “You do not need that blade.”
    Hastily Rhys slid the dagger back into the sheath at his belt. The Supreme Goddess was standing before him, glaring.
    “I shall have to have a word with the raven. He did not divest you of your weapon.”
    He didn’t know why he felt the need to defend Bran, but he said, “It was well concealed.”
    The goddess stepped closer, her steady gaze scouring every inch of him. She was dressed in a long silver cloak edged in white fur. Her voice was soft, womanly, yet commanding.
    “You look like him.” She stopped before him and gazed up into his face. “He was my favorite consort, you know.”
    No, he hadn’t known. Daegan had never spoken of her, other than to remind Rhys of the curse she had cast.
    “It killed a part of me to banish him from our world. It hasn’t been the same without him.”
    “You could have taken him back.”
    She smiled, but there was no joy in her expression. “You’ve much to learn of our ways, Rhys MacDonald. Your great-great-grandfather offered an adbertos . Do you know what that is?”
    “A sacrifice.”
    “Yes.” She walked around him, her pale green eyes watching him. “A sacrifice cannot be undone. It is to be endured. That is the meaning of the word.”
    Rhys stiffened as she stroked her