Mists of Velvet

Rowan as he gazed down upon her. She didn’t want to be a substitute for his lover. And she didn’t want him being a substitute for hers. There must be another way to appease Cailleach.
    “Keir, I’m certain there is a way around this. You don’t really want me.”
    “We can have . . . passion,” he said awkwardly. “There would be pleasure between us. I can guarantee that pleasure. Rhys will join us in bed, and all will be well.”
    “But what about love?”
    His eye twitched, and he looked away, toward the stained glass window behind her shoulder.
    “There will be pleasure.”
    She wanted more. She wanted Rhys. Oh, God, what had she done, offering such an arrangement to Cailleach?
    Keir reached out and drew his fingers through her hair and down her cheek till they rested against the notch in her throat. With a few fluttery sweeps, he brushed her bounding pulse. “You worry for Rhys.”
    “I do. We’ve . . . shared intimacies. But I assume you already know that.”
    “I know you dream of him. That he dreams of you.”
    “I’m sorry.” She shuddered as his fingers skated over to her collarbone.
    “Rhys can be part of this.”
    “He won’t accept that,” she whispered.
    “We have shared before. We will share again. I won’t need your love, Bronwnn. I know it’s for Rhys, and I won’t ask for any of it.”
    “Do you touch him when you share your women?” She had no idea what prompted her to ask him such a thing, but she had been too afraid to ask Rhys. She couldn’t understand it, but there was jealousy there on her part. She didn’t want the wraith taking him from her.
    “We have. But I won’t, if you do not wish it.”
    “To survive, do you need to? Touch him, that is.”
    “No, not to survive. In the past, it has always been a mutual need, one that I can see no longer exists for Rhys. He has you now to fill that need—the empty place where one’s mate should reside.”
    She was relieved. She understood that need, that empty hole that was left open and wanting as one waited to find one’s mate. Keir and Rhys had taken care of each other, pleasured each other because it filled a void while they waited for their Anam Cara to take up the place where the emptiness beckoned.
    Suddenly she felt for Keir, for his pain, for the loneliness and despair. If they shared each other, he would be the third wheel, the odd man out. He would be the one to watch but never feel; to yearn, only to be left hungry—and empty. “I’m sorry I am not the one who can fill the need in you.”
    “Don’t be. I’ve always known your feelings. But some things can’t be changed. For the sake of Rhys’ life, and for Annwyn, we will do this. And we will make it work.”
    Bronwnn watched him walk away, but before he closed the door, he turned to her. “You will spare Rowan the knowledge of this?”
    “You have my word.”
    He nodded and tilted his head to study her. “It will work.”
    Bronwnn watched as he closed the door. She didn’t want to do this, but it was the only way to save Rhys. She would do anything for him. Endure anything.

    Rhys pounded down the stone steps of the castle toward the opposite wing where Bronwnn was being kept from him. Ahead of him, the adder weaved over the gray stones, leading the way. His blood boiled; his anger, volatile and threatening, was erupting inside him.
    How dare she give herself to Keir? How could she after what they had shared? After he had vowed to fight for her, to give her a Shrouding ceremony? She had looked into his eyes and made him believe that he was her true mate; that all the dreams they had shared were about them, and not Keir.
    Damn it! He wanted answers.
    Stopping at a door, the adder curled up, signaling that this was where he would find her—his goddess; his mate. And God help her once he did.
    Taking a deep breath, he reached for the latch and forced himself to exhale slowly. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he did want to know what the fuck she was thinking. She was not mating with Keir.
    Inching open the door, Rhys watched as Bronwnn rose from the tub, the water sluicing over her curves. Her back was to him, and he watched the graceful movement of her spine as she reached for a towel and covered her body. He was seething mad; more angry than he had ever been in his life. He could feel the anger flooding his blood, but desire and longing swiftly replaced his anger.
    Why was she doing this? Did she think him weak? Unable to protect himself