Velvet Haven Read online

  “No. It is not my purpose to change one’s path.”

  “So you did not see who did this to her?”

  The stranger shook his head. “I arrived just in time to keep her soul before it could be taken. It is here,” he said, showing Bran his hands. The illuminations glittered, nearly blinding him.

  “You do realize she is the ninth?” Cailleach asked, drawing Bran’s gaze away from the youngling’s body and the Anam Cara’s glowing hands.

  “But the first woman. The other eight were males.”

  Cailleach met his gaze. “Is it of significance, do you think?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Bran walked the perimeter of the altar, taking in the woman from all angles. “May I?”

  Reluctantly the Anam Cara nodded, stepping just far enough away to allow Bran near the altar.

  The scent of burning flesh assailed him. On her mons, which had been shaved, a pentacle, point down, had been scratched onto her skin with the tip of something sharp. A knife? A sword? The jagged edges of flesh told him it might be from an athame, but the sacred knife of their rituals was never meant to shed blood. There was no greater insult than to use the sacred knife to cut flesh. And the significance of the pentacle? Inverted, it was pointing to the Shadowlands, otherwise known as hell to the mortals.

  Her thighs were bruised as well, the tops bloodied and smeared with sexual secretions. Both wrists and ankles bore red excoriations. She had been tied down. Spread.

  Bending closer, Bran inhaled the heavy perfume of incense. It was a cloying, oppressive aroma that coated her body. Pressing close to the woman’s mouth, he smelled the sweetness of death, but there was something else there as well. The pungent, nutty scent of thorn-apple. Parting her lips, he found the pod of thorn-apple that had been placed inside her mouth. Bran closed his eyes, imagining this youngling tied up. The dark magick rituals performed as she writhed in pleasure, unaware that her death would follow orgasm.

  “Where was she found?”

  “The Cave of Cruachan.”

  The passageway to Annwyn.

  At the eastern end of the stone corridor lay the glimmering gold veil that led to Annwyn. At the western end was an ancient wooden door that led into a nightclub where both mortals and immortals mingled. The corridor was long, shadowed, with alcoves perfect for hiding, or for carrying out clandestine meetings. Built deep beneath the club, only inhabitants of Annwyn knew of the cave. Unless, of course, the mortals had somehow discovered it, which posed a whole host of threats. But Bran doubted they had, for the human owner of Velvet Haven would never allow any mortal near the door that led to Annwyn. Besides, Bran himself had cast a protection spell on the door, keeping mortals away. Which meant, of course, they were dealing with something magical.

  “What has you frowning, Raven?”

  “Had she been inside Velvet Haven, then, if she was found in the cave?”

  “Yes.”

  Then this dark mage was preying on immortals who came to the club. And this female, she was not the first immortal to return to Annwyn dead.

  The previous eight bodies that had been returned had been that of males, old enough to know what they were doing. There had been signs of sex and bondage, but not gruesome markings. No symbols or incense.

  Bran had thought the first two deaths might be nothing more than sexual experimentation by lovers not well versed in bondage. But after the third body had turned up, Bran had known something more sinister was lurking in the shadows.

  “This is someone of our world,” Cailleach announced as she came to stand beside him. “Only one who makes their home in Annwyn could know of these symbols.”

  Bran glanced once more at the woman’s body. “That is clear, but it’s where they are placed on her body that puzzles me. And there is this symbol here,” he said, pointing to her neck, above the red excoriations on her throat. “This is not of our world.”

  “Ancient Druid,” Cailleach suggested. “Or perhaps an archaic symbol used in Black Magick?”

  “No. It’s Angelic.”

  He thought he heard Cailleach’s breath catch. Interesting.

  As he walked around the body once more, Bran studied not only the youngling, but the goddess as well. She was discomposed, though she tried admirably to hide it. Nothing unnerved Cailleach, but something about this particular situation did. Which, of course, made him even more determined to discover what the black magician wanted of them. For that was the purpose of the markings on the youngling’s body. The mage had something to say.

  “The third eye has been etched onto her forehead.” Bran ran his fingers carefully over the mottled flesh. “That is a warning we are being watched.”

  “But by whom?” Cailleach murmured. There was true fear in her voice. He’d never known the goddess to fear anything—or anyone.

  There were a few seconds of silence before the goddess addressed the Anam Cara. “You may leave us. Carry her soul with you, for I fear that the ones who have done this to her seek her soul for use in black magick.”

  Lifting the lifeless body from the altar, the Anam Cara moved silently into the depths of the forest, the blackness of night enveloping him. When he was gone and the grove had fallen silent, Cailleach turned to Bran. “We must speak in private.”

  Folding his arms over his chest, Bran studied Cailleach. “This is my sacred grove. None but you intrude here.”

  She did not blush despite the coldness in his voice. “I am aware of your opinion of me. But you must now see how this battle between us has brought the Dark Times. We have allowed evil to seep into our lives while we have warred between us.”

  Bran hated to admit the truth, but Cailleach was correct. They were supposed to rule Annwyn together, yet they had never once done so. For a hundred and seventy years, they had been at odds. But whose fault was that? It was she who had given him the Legacy Curse, damning him to a life without love. She who had made him king of the Sidhe, knowing he disdained the throne.

  “Your hatred for me has clouded your vision, Raven.”

  “Your need to rule me has clouded yours,” he snarled.

  She smiled and stepped closer. “And this is the way it is between us. Always circling each other. Always fearing. Never trusting.”

  “I am Night Sidhe. Why would you trust me?”

  “True, your blood is black and dangerous, but I sense in you such power. And above all, honor. Alas, your loyalty does not lie with me or with Annwyn, but with your brother.”

  “A brother I cannot find. A brother you allowed Morgan to curse.”

  Cailleach held his gaze. “And you have never forgiven me.”

  No, he hadn’t. Nor would he ever. “I begged you most humbly to sever the marriage contract my father made with Morgan. Yet you did nothing.”

  “There are some things that even I cannot interfere with.”

  He snorted, feeling his hate and anger swell. “You had the power. But you sat back and refused to intervene. You allowed her to ruin my life and that of my brother.”

  “Have you no feelings for anyone other than Carden?”

  He stilled, wondering at the soft tone of Cailleach’s voice. Did she want his love? She knew he had no heart to give, nor love to share.

  “Cailleach—”

  “I speak of love not for me, Raven, but for your people. For all people of Annwyn. Have you no love for them and for what they hold dear?”

  His head suddenly hung in shame. “I did. Once. Now I live only for two things, to feed the Legacy Curse that hungers within me, and to find Carden.”

  When she faced him once again, her eyes were saddened. “Will you allow the Dark Times to destroy our world? Or will you become the warrior you once were? Will you not fight this darkness with me? I cannot do it alone.”

  “Will you lift the Legacy Curse?”

  “You know I cannot. It was your Adbertos, not a punishment.”

  Yes. He had offered her a sacrifice, his happiness for that of another’s. He had
sacrificed himself for his uncle, Daegan, then Cailleach’s consort; had offered the goddess an Adbertos so that Daegan could spend his life with the mortal woman he loved. Cailleach had taken that sacrifice and given him his Legacy Curse. She had robbed him of a soul mate, stolen the sacred rites of his kind from him, for he could never have a Sidhe bride. No Sidhe female would share him with another. And there would be others. She had made him need the one thing he hated most. Humans. Female humans.

  To keep his magic alive and strong, Bran needed to mate with human females. Their sexual energy was what made his magic so powerful. And he hated it. Despised having to pleasure them, touch them, to gain power, a power that had rightfully been his by birth.

  “How many more of your people will you allow to be carved up? How many more need die before we act to vanquish this darkness that plagues us?”

  He thought of what had been done to his brother, cursed to live as stone. He thought of the youngling whose body had been mutilated. She could have been his child. Could even have been his mate. “None,” he said. “I promise, no more.”

  “So you will do it?”

  “I will.”

  “You know where you will have to begin?”

  “In the mortal realm,” he spat. “’Tis where all evil begins.”

  “Be careful, Raven. For I cannot help you in that world. I am bound to Annwyn. I cannot leave.”

  And that grated his nerves. While Cailleach could do whatever she damned well pleased, he was bound by his curse to visit the mortal realm regularly. The prospect of staying there for any length of time made him feel violent. Away from Annwyn his magic was weak; he would need to mate with many human females to survive. He would find all he needed at Velvet Haven, but he despised the place, and the things he would have to do inside its walls.

  “I will go to Velvet Haven and begin the search.”

  “I think I know what you must do first.”

  Bran looked at her expectantly, but she averted her gaze. “Amongst my kind, there is a scribe. A chronicler whose grimoire has gone missing. We must find this book, Raven.”

  “And how is this book connected to the killings?”

  “You know that once, long ago, there was a goddess who betrayed her order to lie with an angel,” Cailleach said, garnering his attention. “Their forbidden passion cost them both their powers. When you mentioned the angelic mark the youngling’s body bore, it made me recall the prophecy the grimoire contains.”

  “What prophecy?” He knew the story of the fallen angel and the goddess, but he had never heard of a prophecy. When Cailleach spoke, her gaze remained on the ground.

  “The tale of the amulet and the flame, and how to find them. The prophecy says that whoever possesses these will have the power to rule both Annwyn and the mortal realm. The angel swore retribution against Annwyn; perhaps he has found the book and is using it against us.”

  Bran eyed her skeptically. “An angel performing death magick?”

  “Why not? The grimoire contains the necessary spells. It is most vital that you find this book, Raven, and bring it to me. Only then will we have the means to destroy this threat.”

  Extinguishing the candles, Bran stood in darkness while Cailleach seemed to glow and sparkle in the moonbeams. She looked like an angel, but he knew her for a succubus beneath her goddess guise.

  “There is much you are not telling me,” Bran accused. “I can sense your deception.”

  “I do not know all, Raven.”

  “So much for your pretty speech about fighting this darkness together.”

  “Some things you are not meant to know.”

  “Why? Because you enjoy having the upper hand?”

  “Because it is not the right time to reveal them,” she snapped. She pressed her eyes shut and struggled outwardly for control. When she opened them, she was steadied. Slowly she walked forward till she was standing before him. Once again she was the Supreme Goddess. “There is much I cannot tell you. Already, I have said more than I ought.” Her gaze flickered before holding his. “But know this, Raven. Your time as a warrior has come. You will lead the quest for the flame and the amulet. This I have foreseen. You will command nine immortals whose powers will assist you in destroying this dark magician. It is a destiny that you will not evade, for it will find you. Already it is close.”

  He glared at her. “What if I don’t want it?”

  “It’s too late. Besides, you cannot choose fate. It chooses you.”

  He growled, not liking her answer. He wanted to find his brother and destroy Morgan. He had no desire to be Cailleach’s soldier, but he had no choice. He was king. It was his duty.

  “And the significance of nine?”

  “The beginning and ending of things. Be careful, Raven. There will be one amongst the nine who has immense power. Even more than you. That one will either save or destroy everything we love.”

  “You know a lot more than what you’re telling me. Damn you, Cailleach—”

  “Trust, Raven. You must learn it. In time I will reveal what you need to know. For now, you are ready to begin.”

  She smiled, then reached for him, bringing him close to her before placing a silver chain with a large fire opal pendant around his neck. “This is the only way I can help. Inside this pendant is all you need to protect you. Birch bark for purification and fortification, holly berries for protection and potency in your magick. Leaves of the ivy, for the vine that never fears to go into the dark will guide you through the blackness. Be well,” she whispered, before fading into the mist.

  The beginning and ending of all things. Casting one last look at the empty altar, Bran was left wondering what was ending and what the hell was just beginning.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mairi MacAuley stroked the gilt edges, then traced the flowing words on the wrinkled vellum. The contact gave her an immediate rush. She’d never seen anything so beautiful, so rare. The detail in the artwork was amazing for such a little book. She’d never felt this amount of excitement over an illuminated manuscript.

  But this one was different. Special in a way Mairi couldn’t describe. She should probably feel guilty for taking it, but she hadn’t been able to resist.

  “So this place is, like, totally dead.”

  Mairi looked up from the illuminated manuscript to see the new student nurse she was training flop down beside her. “Probably not the best thing to say in a hospital,” she replied.

  “Besides, the patients waiting behind the curtains don’t want to hear the word ‘death.’ ”

  “You know what I mean. I thought the emergency department would be more exciting and have waaaay more hot doctors. All the docs here are dinosaurs.”

  “Competent dinosaurs,” Mairi replied. “And you shouldn’t date colleagues. Gets messy.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  It was a comment full of snark and Mairi refused to rise to the bait. Obviously people had been talking behind her back. Everyone thought it was a laugh that Mairi preferred musty old books to men. But she had her reasons. Reasons no one needed to know.

  “I’m not stupid enough to get involved with on-the-job drama, and you shouldn’t either,” Mairi mumbled as she returned to the book that lay open in front of her.

  “You didn’t actually think I went into nursing to become a nurse, did you?”

  Mairi looked over her student. From her highlighted hair, enhanced boobs, and acrylic nail tips, Mairi knew that Blondie, as she’d dubbed her, wasn’t in it to help the sick and injured.

  Her student crossed her long, shapely legs, not bothering to shove down the creeping hem of her already too short dress. She’d already given Blondie the dress- code rundown, but her student obviously didn’t care. Which made Mairi not give a shit, either. Why should she put effort into someone whose only concern was landing a rich doctor?

  “I bet you’re one of those real nurse types, aren’t you?”

  “I care about people who are hurting, if that’
s what you mean.”

  Blondie snorted. “No way am I doing this gig all my life. I hate going home smelling of hospital and . . . people.” Blondie actually shivered in disgust. “I can tell you’ve been doing this forever, though. The shift work shows around your eyes.”

  Mairi actually felt herself snarl, and was about to tell Blondie where she could stuff her inflated boobs and empty brain when the chief of the ER came up to the desk, looking for a head to bite off.

  “Where’s the chart for the MVA in five?” Dr. Bartlett growled.

  “I don’t know,” Mairi replied, refusing to be cowed. “I’m not assigned to trauma tonight. I’m working domestic violence.”

  Bartlett actually growled as he flipped through a pile of charts that lay on the desk. “Is it too damn much to ask you nurses to keep the chart outside the cubicle?”

  “It’s against hospital policy. The privacy act,” she reminded him.

  Bartlett growled, “I need a pen and the chart. Please,” he said with mock sincerity.

  Beside her, Blondie perked up. “Oh, let me get that for you, Doctor.”

  Rolling her eyes, Mairi went back to work on her book, separating the fragile vellum pages that had stuck to each other. Bartlett, while a good doctor, was an ass to nurses. It’d be a frosty day in hell before Mairi jumped to do his bidding.

  “Here you go.” Mairi saw the student nurse flip her long blond hair over her shoulder and stick out her silicone breasts. Old Bartlett’s eyes almost bugged out of his skull, smacking against his eyeglass lenses.

  “I could use a hand in trauma five,” he murmured, not bothering to look at Mairi.

  “I’d love to help,” Blondie gushed.

  Mairi watched her student leave and laughed to herself. If she was looking to marry a rich doctor, Blondie was barking up the wrong tree. Bartlett was a womanizing snake who was drained by alimony payments to his long-suffering ex- wife, not to mention those hush- hush child support payments he was making to one of the nurses Mairi worked with. There was very little left for the lifestyle Blondie was dreaming of.

  “She know that Bartlett won’t give her anything but a case of VD?”