Velvet Haven

inside him whispered. For what purpose if only to destroy him later?
    He watched Mairi pace the small living room, lost in thought. Finally she sat on the couch and rubbed Clancy behind his ears. “What am I gonna do?” she whispered to the dog. “I don’t want to go out with Sanchez. I don’t want . . .” She trailed off and smiled. “That’s a lie. I do want someone, but I’ll never see him again.”
    Bran stilled. Was it him she wanted? Half of him longed for it to be true, the other half feared it, knowing she sought only his destruction.
    “And what am I doing spilling my heart to you, huh?” With a laugh, she ruffled the dog’s ears, then jumped up from the couch and headed to the bookshelf. She picked up a small book bound in leather. On the front cover was the symbol of Annwyn.
    Ah hell, he thought to himself. This was the book that Cailleach wanted. Damn it, he didn’t like the way their paths weaved. The book. This death vision. Everything led back to Mairi and he didn’t understand it. Couldn’t figure it out.
    How had she gotten the book? And how the hell had she been able to pull him into her dream?
    He watched her for a long time as she flipped through the pages, carefully separating the thin vellum. She sat up and reached for the notepad and pen that sat on the end table and scribbled something down, then returned to the book.
    He wondered what language it was written in, the Gaelic tongue of Annwyn, or English. He wondered what secrets the book contained. Secrets Cailleach had not told him.
    Did Cailleach know about Mairi?
    She stood up, stretched, and he watched her walk across the apartment to the bookcase. Curiously, she hid the book behind her stereo, then disappeared inside the bathroom. Bran heard the taps turn on and the old water pipes groan, followed by the spray of water hitting tiles. From his perch he saw the silhouette of Mairi pulling off her top, then bending at the waist, tugging off her jeans.
    Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a black cloud hung heavy over the roof of Mairi’s building, making the apartment dark. Steam from the hot water spilled into the living room from the open door, carrying with it Mairi’s scent.
    Knowing he was a fool, Bran slipped between the wires of the cage. Cursing himself, he hobbled over to the bathroom. With some maneuvering, and a good deal of pain, he managed to get himself up on the bathroom counter, where he could see into the shower.
    His breath caught. Mairi was a dream, standing beneath the spray, her long hair hanging in clumps, the water sluicing and running down her curves. She was soaping her body, and he felt his blood heat as her hands roamed over her breasts, then down between her thighs.
    He had no idea what she would think once she opened the shower door to see a big black bird standing there watching her, but he didn’t care. He wanted every second he had left to be with her. Near her. Beside her. But most of all, in her.
    Deviant that he was, he managed to get himself to the windowsill. To his delight he could look down upon Mairi and all her naked glory.

    Mairi never took baths. Not since the age of sixteen. It would have been lovely to have one now. To soak in hot water with scented bubbles. She would have liked to have lit some candles, poured herself a glass of wine, and lounged in the water and thought of her time with Bran. Perhaps she’d even bring in her vibrator and live out the fantasy that still burned in her mind.
    She would have loved that. But she couldn’t do it.
    Against her hip, her wrist burned. When she looked down she saw it was red, chafed, the scars scratched raw.
    The last time she’d taken a bath she had awakened to a steady stream of blood flowing from her wrist. The voice she had heard the other night at the club was the same voice she had heard when she was sixteen. The same voice she heard as a child.
    She had felt so much pain, so much emptiness as she sank deeper into the water, trying to shut out the voice. But she had not picked up that razor. She had not slit her own wrist.
    One of the nuns had found her. Thankfully there had been a doctor there, working the infirmary. He’d stitched her wrist hastily while the ambulance was en route. Almost unconscious from the blood loss, Mairi hadn’t felt a single thing.
    The next day, Sister Catherine had come to visit her and told her that Rowan had been raped by the creepy caretaker of Our Lady. It had happened at the exact same time