Mists of Velvet

Bronwnn’s swollen folds and entered her in one thrust. She gasped, but she continued to finger herself. The sight was damned hot, and he stroked her hard, bringing her hips back to him as he stood before the bed. Her breasts swayed back and forth, and he reached around and fondled them, more roughly than he ever had before. He captured her breasts between his hands and pressed them together, thinking how he would like to put his cock between them. He swelled even more inside her, then released her breasts, only to watch and feel them sway against his hand. Their gazes met, and he could not resist purposely pinching her nipples and flicking them with his fingers till she was biting her lower lip in pleasure.
    “Take me, Rhys.” Her lips parted on a moan as he very slowly circled her nipple, then flicked it. “I want you, all of you, deep inside me.”
    He was taking her hard, but she just kept begging for more, making him more reckless, more hungry to possess her.
    He was close, and the way he felt her clamping around his cock, he knew she was close as well. He felt his balls tighten, and he pressed against her. “I would do anything for you,” he groaned, coming in long, hot spurts. “I would be anything for you, even immortal if I could. But I can’t. So you’ll just have to accept me as I am.”
    Rhys fell on top of her, still deeply inside her. Their fingers linked, and she kissed his knuckles.
    “You’re not leaving me,” he whispered. “I don’t give a damn about sacrifices or what you think you need to do to protect me. I look after what’s mine, Bronwnn. I might be mortal, but I’ll give every last drop of my blood for you.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

    The scent of flesh permeated the tomb. Not human flesh; it was animal. He sniffed the air again, then grew still as the scent swirled around him. The faint flutter of wings whispered near him.
    “Who is there?”
    Only the echo of his voice answered him.
    The clanging of metal, the loosening of his bonds made him not care who was there. His only thought was that he was free.
    The wings fluttered again, and despite his blindness, he reached out into the blackness to clutch at the sound. There! He trapped it in his hands. The bird’s hoot of protest made him smile.
    It was a gift from the goddess.
    The owl fluttered frantically in his hand, and he brought the bird to his face, inhaling the soft, downy feathers. Beyond the avian scent were those of the goddess and the heady, intoxicating aromas of moonlight and seduction. It was like the dew on the grass, the humidity in the air on a sultry summer eve. It was Cailleach.
    Unraveling his fingers, he let the owl free, then stood, unsteadily—free at last. He could hardly understand it. He could not fathom why, after a millennium, the Supreme Goddess would come to his aid.
    It didn’t matter now. He needed to escape. In the distance, he heard the owl’s flapping wings, and he took a step, and then another. Seeking to follow the bird to Annwyn.
    Feeling along the wall with one hand, he made his way to the door. When he found it, he tore the thick oak door off its hinges, tossing it aside as if it were cardboard. Despite his blindness, he had found his way out of the pit in which Uriel had kept him and into the cavern where Uriel performed his butchering.
    Circling around, Camael sniffed the air, which was heavy with the remnants of the candle smoke and the sweet scent of burned wax and ceremonial incense.
    With a roar of outrage, he moved his arm to the side, trying to connect with something that might give him an idea of where he was. Metal clinked against metal. He’d cleared the altar of its magical items with one fell swoop of his thick arm.
    “Uriel!” he roared, but there was no answer. There was only the sound of his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Where have you hidden them?” he cried.
    Damn it. He wanted out of here—out of this pit; out of this black abyss. A hissing sound at his feet stopped his mental tirade.
    It was Uriel’s little viper. “Come to kill me, have you?”
    The snake hissed again, only this time, Camael was certain he heard a voice whispering, “Follow me.”
    That would be the damned day, he thought with disgust. He’d followed Uriel down here from heaven, and look what it had gotten him. There was no way he was going to follow a snake, of all creatures.
    “Trust . . .”
    There it was again, that voice. It was a female voice, soft and beckoning. Camael