Velvet Haven

had to do. Keir was right. Whatever the hell was going on involved both the mortal and immortal worlds. “This past month saw eight Sidhe males murdered. Then three nights ago a youngling female was brought to me. She was marked as this woman is. Symbols of our faith were carved on her body.”
    Suriel looked up from the woman. “There have been nine such killings in the city. Eight were men. The ninth was a woman, her flesh torn like this.”
    “The power of nine,” Keir murmured. “He’s performing a ritual. Death magick.”
    “The beginning and ending of all things,” Bran whispered. “And it involves both our worlds.” And Cailleach. Is that why she wanted the book? A flame and an amulet. Was the amulet hers? Was the flame Uriel’s?
    Suriel lifted the woman’s body, carefully cradling it in his arms. “Her soul is gone, stolen,” he clarified. “I will take care of her body. Later we’ll discuss what we’re going to do to stop him.”
    Rhys motioned to the scratch marks on the woman’s belly. “What does it say?”
    Bran narrowed his eyes. “It is written using the Ogham alphabet. It says, ‘The war has begun .’”
    “So what you’re saying,” Rhys growled, “is that we’re gonna have one hell of a turf war on our hands.”
    Suriel swung around as his wings spread out, ready to fly away with the body. “You had better fucking believe it, MacDonald. The shit winds are blowing and they’re coming this way.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

    Mairi was having the most arousing dream. Her lover was back, and she sank into the pillow, letting the dream take over.
    A drop, in the shape of a tear, trickled between the shoulders of a tattooed back. Sweat. She inhaled the scent of man as she watched the crystal fluid run between the rippling muscles that quivered and strained.
    He was naked, back ripped and sculpted, arms thick and defined, spread out at his sides. His face was covered by black hair that was long and damp, clinging to his brow. His ass was solid—unyielding—the smooth skin stretched taut over contoured muscles. His thighs were thick, powerful, possessing stamina and sheer strength.
    His was a body made to master a woman’s.
    Straddling his hips, she licked away the rivulet of sweat, tasting salt and arousal as she traced the sword tattooed along his spine with the tip of her tongue. A blast of heat wrapped around her despite the dampness between them. He arched, trying to connect once again with her tongue. Beneath her, she felt his ass flex, rising up hard between her thighs to nestle between the folds of her sex.
    He moaned as the heat from her core swamped his skin, coating him with her arousal. Tormenting him more, she dragged her nipples along his back, scraping the pointed tips over his skin as her tongue flicked up his spine in teasing, insinuating lashes. He was shackled, his wrists in black manacles, his fingers curled into fists. On his left hand he wore a ring that bore an oval stone, the color of fire. With her lips and teeth she pulled it from his finger, allowing him to feel her mouth wrapped around his finger. She sucked it, teasing him, giving him a glimpse of what she could do with her lips and tongue.
    “I am your slave,” he said in a voice intoxicated with lust.
    Never more did she realize the truth of his words than now. Never had she seen him so aroused, so eager for her. But she wanted him hotter. Harder. She wanted him begging.
    Sitting up, she placed his ring on her index finger and admired the glow of the stone. It felt warm from the remnants of his heat, the hint of power contained within the gem.
    Reminding her that she had left him aching, he strained beneath her, rocking against her sex. She was wet. She let him feel that wetness before she reached behind her—between his thighs. He groaned and shifted, the manacles straining with his immense strength.
    “You are too impatient,” she whispered in his ear.
    “I would feel you now,” he growled, a sound that made her shiver in desire, and the slightest bit of fear.
    “All right.” Reaching between his thighs, she teased him until he lifted his hips from the bed. He wanted her to reach for his cock. Instead, she reached for something just as hard.
    In her hand was a dagger, etched with symbols. She felt that power of the silver as it touched her skin, the tingling that worked its way down her nerve endings. He turned his head and looked up at her, his strange, haunting eyes glaring at her through