Mists of Velvet

Annwyn and a centuries-old curse didn’t come easily, or believably. Finally, his mother had bailed on him and his dad. Rhys didn’t know her—couldn’t even remember her. But more disturbing? He didn’t feel the loss of her.
    His father had suffered, though. Regretted not telling Rhys’ mother the truth. Which only cemented the thought that Rhys would never live a normal life. He was sure no woman would believe the fantastical story, or trust him and accept him as he was.
    Yeah. It sucked. But this was his life, and he couldn’t deny that he appreciated what Keir did for him. Hell, he wouldn’t be alive without him, but he did regret that his life could never be normal. And he felt bad that Keir had also been denied a life. As Rhys’ eternal shadow, Keir was chained to him until Rhys drew his last breath. After that, he had no idea what Keir’s life would entail. Maybe he would be cast back to the Wastelands where others of his kind lived. Maybe he would cease to exist like Rhys. In any event, Keir had no life of his own, because he’d been sentenced to babysitting duty.
    Both of them were fucked. Even if Rhys wished to get rid of the wraith, he couldn’t. Keir was his. A wraith only ever belonged to one person. And Rhys himself? He wanted to mean something to someone—someone who needed him; someone he could protect, and make love to. Not just screw, but make love to. That sappy, bone-melting passion they showed in the movies—that’s what he wanted.
    But women were constantly out of his reach—well, the kind of woman he wanted. The easy kind—he always had those. They were fine for a night, but long term? No, he didn’t want the type of woman he screwed in the back of Velvet Haven. He wanted wholesome. Lovable. Sexy—and a good cook. Hell, he was mortal. He liked to eat.
    A cursed mortal, he reminded himself, which of course made him question for the millionth time that day where the hell Keir was. He hadn’t seen him since daybreak, when he opened his eyes to find Keir slinking out of bed and out the door.
    Just what the hell was going on in Annwyn, and why the fuck was he being kept in the dark? Sure, he was mortal and would die. But he wasn’t a pansy ass. He could hold his own.
    Rhys’ teeth ground together, making his head pulse harder. Reaching into his desk drawer, he popped open a bottle of Tylenol and took two tablets, along with a swig of cold coffee. Propping his Doc Martens on his desk, he leaned back in his chair and put his arms behind his head. Focusing on the copper tin ceiling above, Rhys allowed his mind to go blank.
    It was time to locate the wraith.
    Closing his eyes, he stilled his breathing, trying to sift through his anger and frustration to locate Keir’s thoughts. Their bond was strong, stronger even than his father’s bond with his wraith, who just happened to be Keir’s mother.
    Immediately Rhys felt Keir, but he couldn’t hear him or see him in his mind. Was it possible he had cloaked his thoughts? Wraiths had the power to do that, but Keir had never done so with Rhys. Their thoughts and emotions were an open book. It was what made their bond so strong.
    Rhys lingered in Keir’s mind, nudging a bit harder while he waited patiently for the wraith to talk. But Keir’s voice never came, and a black curtain suddenly drew down over Rhys. He’d never seen such a thing before. He had no idea what was happening—why he couldn’t hear Keir, despite sensing him—and couldn’t seem to shake off the sudden exhaustion that claimed him. Struggling against the blindness, he gave in and let the beckoning black velvet suck him in. Sleep overcame him, and he felt his arms drop to his sides and his head fall back.
    The minute Rhys felt the woman, he knew he was dreaming. This was no astral projection. The thought was confirmed when he discovered he was in bed with only her. No way was that happening in real life. Keir was always present. Together they pleasured the women Rhys wanted. But this woman? She wasn’t even his type. She was too angelic, too pretty, and untouchable.
    The women he bedded had a bit of an edge to them. They knew what they wanted, and he gave it to them. But this one looked shy and virginal as she kneeled on the bed before him, her pale eyes watching him with excitement but also wariness.
    Her long hair was a silvery blond. Her skin was pale, except for the faint glow on her cheeks, which were stained with her blush.
    She didn’t look of this world,