Velvet Haven

where the feather had landed on her.
    Their gazes locked as he began to walk—no, stalk —slowly toward her through the crowd. An instant connection was made, one Mairi felt deep into her core. The way he looked at her, the way he made her insides tighten with longing was the same as her dream lover.
    But this man wasn’t a fantasy; this man was flesh and blood and warmth. This was for real, and so was the desire she felt suddenly taking over.

    The scent of the woman clung to his fingers. Bran hadn’t been able to resist flying past her, allowing the tip of his wing to graze her soft skin. The zap of sensation had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t expected to feel so much with only the barest of contact. In fact, his fingertips still tingled from the brief brush of her arm.
    He could still smell her, despite the scent of cigarettes, booze, and sweating bodies. As overpowering as those scents were to him, the woman’s was still more powerful. As sweet as the apple blossoms, but spiced with something more exotic. She smelled of woman, and sex, and the unmistakable pungent odor of unease.
    She was perceptive, this female, her instincts keen and clear. Yet she buried them, hiding them beneath a suffocating layer of disbelief and rationalization. Mortal thinking , he thought with disgust. It had been many centuries since humans believed in the Otherworld. As much as he despised their narrowed vision, Bran counted himself fortunate that the humans didn’t see past their own kind. If they did, he’d have more to worry about than keeping Annwyn safe from within. He’d have humans to keep out.
    He did not need mortals creeping about his world, causing havoc and mayhem. They would not understand magick, or Annwyn. And when humans didn’t understand, when they feared something they could not explain, their natural inclination was to destroy.
    As king of the Sidhe it was his duty to protect Annwyn and its secrets. And to do that he needed to lie with a human female to sustain his magic. A bitch of an irony, but there was nothing to be done about the Legacy Curse now. He needed this woman.
    “The two of you better be keeping your noses clean tonight.”
    The gruff voice of Rhys MacDonald stopped Bran and he turned and faced his cousin. That this human was part-Sidhe burned him every time he thought it. His uncle had been a fool to give up his throne and his powers for a mere human. To know his uncle’s essence swam in the veins of this mortal made Bran feel savage.
    “What are you up to, Raven? And it’s not your usual sex fest.”
    “Nothing you need concern yourself over.”
    “Don’t bother to hide it. I already know about the bodies that have shown up in Annwyn.”
    “The Shadow Wraith, no doubt. He needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”
    Rhys shrugged. “He doesn’t need to tell me things. We’re connected. I already knew of the killings before he told me.”
    “You’re an abomination,” Bran spat with disgust. “Your bond with your wraith is unnatural.”
    “Screw you, Raven.” Rhys took a step closer to him. “If you’ve come here looking for revenge, you can sheath your talons. The murders didn’t happen in my club.”
    “No, just beneath it.”
    Rhys’ gaze narrowed. “That’s your domain, King. I haven’t gone near that door since you put the spell on it. You can look to your own kind for the murders.”
    “Why do you think I’m here?” Bran growled impatiently.
    “And I thought you came to get your rocks off.”
    Bran felt his lips curl with rage. “Stay out of my business, MacDonald, or you’ll wish you had.”
    “Is that right?” Rhys snorted, straightening his stance as if he were getting ready for a fight. “While you’re here, in my club, you’ll watch yourself. I’m not going to allow you two to interfere with my livelihood. No cops, no magick, and no trouble, you got that? You might be king back there,” he gritted out as he pointed to the wooden door that led to the Cave of Cruachan, “but in my club, I’m the boss.”
    “I’m only here thanks to your great-great-grandfather. If he hadn’t left our world to fuck a human, believe me, neither would I.”
    MacDonald stiffened at the affront, his violet eyes narrowing dangerously. He was mostly mortal, true, but Bran knew he could fight like the devil, and just as dirty, too.
    “As I wasn’t around a hundred and seventy years ago, I’m not taking responsibility for your curse. It’s not my problem Daegan