Velvet Haven

her pale body shivering with cold, she turned her head, which rested on her knees. Her eyes were gone, replaced by black holes. On her body were carvings, symbols of Annwyn combined with angelic script. The blood that had leaked from her wounds had dried, reminding Bran of dried tears. The agony she must feel. The terror.
    Suddenly she reached out to him, her voice dry and hoarse.
    “Help me,” she begged. Then something or someone pulled at the chain, silencing her. Yet she still looked at him with those black holes and he heard the world “please” whisper past him.
    The vision melted away, consumed by the curled fingers of vapor. He stumbled, disgusted by the image, and wondering who the woman was. Slowly, he gained his breath, trying to burn the memory into his brain so that he could inform Cailleach, but he was robbed of all thought when his left pupil began to open and the mortal realm swam before him. He saw Mairi. Asleep. A shadow at the foot of her bed.
    Suddenly a female scream echoed in the night, taking the vision from him. Before he could think what he was doing, Bran ran across the street to the alley, where he found a woman unmoving on the ground. He bent and felt the steady pulse at her throat. She had fainted. But why? He looked up, peering through the darkness that seemed to grow thicker.
    The air in the alley was stagnant with the stench of decaying rubbish, rats, and the metallic tang of blood.
    Quietly he rose to his feet, stepping forward, deeper into the depths of the alley. He stopped and swore when he practically bumped into Suriel, black wings spread, long black leather trench scraping against the ground.
    “What the fuck?” Bran asked in disgust.
    “Raven,” Suriel murmured without turning to look at him. “I see you were able to pick yourself up off that road. How’s your wing?”
    Bran ignored him and stepped closer. Suriel lifted his palms and illuminated the scene with his heavenly light. Now Bran could clearly see the two bodies pinned against the bricks in a mockery of a crucifixion; one was an angel—a guardian—his body limp, his white wings spread and pinned— nailed —to the sandy grout between the bricks. In the angel’s arms was a mortal woman who had been stripped bare. One black-heeled shoe remained on her foot, the other had fallen and landed in a pile of old newspapers and a grisly pool of her own blood. Her body had been desecrated by the same symbols that had marred the youngling Sidhe. Around her neck, Bran noticed a silver cord that glistened in Suriel’s light.
    “What the fuck is going on here?”
    “I don’t know,” Suriel whispered. “But it’s far more demonic than I have ever seen.”
    “Did you do this?” Did you desecrate the body of one of my kind?
    The look Suriel gave him was murderous. “I’m fallen, not a psychotic motherfucker.”
    Bran had never believed a word Suriel had uttered, but he believed now. The desperation and pain he saw in those dark eyes was more than enough to convince him.
    He glanced back at the woman, not knowing why he was going to confide in Suriel, only knowing—feeling—he should. “I had a vision seconds before this happened. A woman—” He swallowed thickly. “It wasn’t her I saw.”
    “There will be more,” Suriel murmured. “He’s only beginning.”
    “I didn’t recognize her.”
    “I know who you saw.”
    A mortal then, if Suriel knew. He thought of Mairi, what his right eye had shown him. “Mairi,” he rasped, licking his lips, which were suddenly dry. If that was Mairi he had seen . . . he felt ill, murderous.
    “She’s safe at home,” Suriel replied calmly. The bastard closed his eyes. “I can see her, she’s sleeping.”
    Bran glanced at Suriel, not knowing what to feel. Jealousy flared, and he wanted to strike out and smash the bastard.
    “How do you know?”
    “I feel her within me.”
    “How?” he growled, his lips twisting.
    Suriel’s dark eyes flickered over him. “What is it you call it in Annwyn?” Suriel’s eyes hooded. “Oh, right. I am her Anam Cara .”
    Bran sucked in his breath. Suriel was Mairi’s Soul Friend.
    Fuck!
    He felt like his chest had been bludgeoned. He didn’t know the significance of the bond in the mortal realm, but in Annwyn, the Anam Cara was the most binding tie between people. He didn’t want Mairi having this connection with Suriel.
    “ Jesus Christ ,” he muttered, using the mortal curse words. He was jealous—fucking seething