Velvet Haven

found the women of my species more pleasing than the Sidhe. I know what brings you here, Raven. Now get your fix and do your investigating, but keep a low profile. There’re a couple of undercovers here tonight, so watch what you’re doing and who you’re screwing.”
    There had never been anything but bad blood between Bran and his mortal relations, but this little prick was the one who had gotten under his skin the most. Probably because Bran saw so much of himself in the immovable, arrogant man’s face.
    “Oh, yeah,” Rhys drawled, stepping closer so that they were nearly nose to nose. “I have a message for you from Keir.”
    Bran glanced at the DJ, who was still playing music. “What does he want?”
    “Stay the fuck away from the one named Rowan.”
    “And which one is she?”
    “The blonde.”
    Bran was instantly relieved. “Tell your friend that the one named Rowan holds no interest for me. It is the other I want.”
    Rhys slowly backed away. “I’ll be watching you, Raven. One wrong move and you’ll be back in Annwyn without your energy fix. You got that?”
    Bran watched the mortal leave, hating him, loathing his own miserable circumstances. He despised being weak, hated being without the powers of Annwyn.
    With a snarl, he headed for the women.
    “ Put on your happy face ,” Sayer ordered him, using telepathy so the women wouldn’t hear them. “ You’re going to scare them off. And try to talk like you belong in the twenty-first century, for God’s sake. Fit in, for once.”
    Bran lifted his lips in a smile, hoping it was the sort that would make the woman’s panties wet. He never had been very good at foreplay. He was more a take- what-he-wanted guy, but he knew that just taking this woman wasn’t going to get him what he needed: his cock buried deep inside her, all night long.

    The guy looked as if he had a case of severe gastrointestinal upset. Never had Mairi seen a more pitiful excuse for a smile than this one.
    “Hey,” he said, extending his hand to her. Obviously he wasn’t one of those smooth talker types. Taking his hand in hers, she smiled.
    “This is my friend, Bran,” the golden god murmured. “And I’m Sayer.”
    “Mairi,” she replied, pulling her hand free. “And you already know Rowan.”
    Sayer’s eyes seemed to glow as he looked over her friend. “Not nearly enough, I think.”
    Mairi heard her friend’s breath catch. She was going to have to watch this Sayer character. He was just the sort of smooth operator that got women to do whatever he wished. And she’d seen many of those women rolled into the ER raped and bloodied after a night out dancing and drinking.
    Rowan was easy pickings. She was still reeling from the tumor diagnosis and the fiasco with Aaron. Rowan had never had it easy with guys, and Mairi knew without a doubt that Sayer could make her friend forget all about being cautious, even though the frightening events with Aaron were never far from Rowan’s—and Mairi’s—thoughts. Now she, Mairi thought with pride, wasn’t so easily taken in by a handsome face and buff bod. Unlike Rowan, her inability to trust made it easy for her to avoid becoming a victim.
    Looking around the club, Mairi found herself feeling very uncomfortable and conspicuous. She didn’t know what to say, and the music was so damn loud they wouldn’t hear her if she did talk. And the big guy with the short black hair and the tight T-shirt with the fuchsia VELVET HAVEN logo on his chest kept watching them.
    Mairi hadn’t missed the altercation between the guy and Bran, and she found herself wondering if Bran wasn’t a regular shit disturber at the club. If so, she wanted no part of his company. The last thing she wanted in a place like this was trouble.
    “How about a drink?” Sayer asked. Laying his hand on the lower part of Rowan’s back, he ushered her along, toward the bar and another room where there were chandeliers and velvet couches.
    She followed behind, but all along Mairi was conscious of the man who walked beside her. He was at least six feet six with shoulders the width of a house and legs like oak trunks. He was dressed in black leather pants, black Doc Martens, and a long black coat that was cool in a Matrix sort of way. His hair was black as well, long, silky. She couldn’t see what color his eyes were, only that his lashes were black and thick.
    He walked with a pantherlike grace, his stride long and lazy, belying the power she sensed in