Velvet Haven

leave.
    His wounded arm felt heavy at his side as he released Mairi’s cheek. The few exchanges he had shared with Mairi had given him enough power to shift into his male form. Tonight he would walk the streets of this realm as a man, not fly as a bird.
    And it was all thanks to this one small human he was still alive. Alive and rejuvenated in his magical powers. Bran would forever remember those moments, of tasting her skin and feeling her pleasure pulled into his body. When his Legacy Curse once more beckoned him, he would recall that feeling of desire and he would pretend that the mortal beneath him was Mairi. Everything, he feared, would always come back to her.
    Despite knowing her for so short a time, Bran could honestly say that she was like no woman he had ever met—Sidhe or mortal. His life had been lonely, a solitary existence. These past days with Mairi had made him realize that. What a fucking irony, he thought, to realize something so painful, to ache to change it and find companionship, to yearn not only for a physical connection, but a spiritual bond as well. And with the one human who could kill him.
    Mairi shifted, her hips sliding against the cool sheets as she stretched. Her foot came to rest against his thigh and he touched it, allowing his fingertips to graze her skin. Every little contact was like a lightning bolt to his body. She had so much power to give, and he wanted it for his own.
    Why must he endure this? Was it not enough to have Morgan curse his beloved brother? Why did she have to design a curse that would destroy him?
    It was not dying he feared. It was dying at the hands of a woman he wanted. A woman he . . . he could have loved.
    Love. Bran closed his eyes. It would never be his. As king of the Sidhe and coruler of Annwyn, his duty was to his people, to their safety. Love did not factor into his life. Yet when he opened his eyes his gaze fell once more on Mairi, and his heart felt as though it had been sliced through with a sword.
    She had looked so right on his altar. It had been a fantasy, but he wanted so much to make it a reality.
    He must go— now . He was falling into a dark pit with no means of escape. She had merely been an amusement, he reminded himself, a means to an end.
    No. He did not care if he ever saw her again. He would not think of her. Would not recall her expression of ecstasy. His dreams would not be filled with her.
    Standing up, he moved quietly from the bed, never turning back to look at her. Not giving voice to the desire that suddenly welled within him.
    Dream of me, Mairi , threatened to spill from his mouth, but he forced it back and left the room.
    As he opened the apartment door, his gaze caught the dog’s, who had followed him out of her room. “Protect her,” he ordered. He turned to leave, when the flashing of the stereo’s display caught his attention. Reaching behind the machine, he pulled out Cailleach’s book, his thumb stroking over the triscale pressed into the leather. It was time to get back on track—to find this Dark Mage, to save Carden, to destroy Morgan. He had spent too much time with Mairi and not enough time thinking of what he should be doing.
    It was fruitless to think of her. To wish for her.
    Pocketing the book, Bran shut the door, feeling the heaviness of his heart that would continue to beat for eternity. Alone. Never loved. Cursed.

    Walking the dark streets, Bran scanned the unfamiliar area. He wished his arm was thoroughly healed. He needed to fly, to lift himself above the buildings so he could see. As a bird, his sense of direction was better, his eyes keener. Every second he walked in the mortal realm would weaken his newly stored magic. He needed to get back to Annwyn, or at the very least, Velvet Haven.
    Mindlessly he walked the two blocks to the club. From across the street he could hear the music pounding, see the neon lights flashing from inside. He could smell the sex and corruption seeping from the stone walls.
    Stepping out of the shadows, he stopped at the sight of a black shape flying from the roof of the club down to the alley beside it. Immediately his pupils enlarged, swallowing up the irises, showing him the portal to Annwyn. In the gray mist, vapors rose and the scent of death stung his nose. He saw a naked female, kneeling, neck and ankles chained to a stone slab. In a circle around her, black candles had been lit. On the floor, an inverted pentagram was drawn in red— blood .
    Her head shaved,