Free Mists of Velvet by Sophie Renwick Page B

irritable and snappy. His nerves were stretched thin, and the whole situation was beginning to wear on him. So, too, were the dreams he kept having of the sexy blonde. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing her image. Hell, he didn’t even have to close his eyes. Sometimes he caught himself daydreaming about her, and those daydreams naturally evolved into steamy vignettes of sex.
    Sure, he had a healthy sex drive, but lately he was acting like a hormonal teenager. He had a perpetual hard-on, and it was making him bad-tempered. Maybe he could find a woman who looked like his dream woman. He could pretend she was that dream woman, and he could act out all the things he thought of doing. Then, he could purge her from his dreams, and his mind, and carry on with his life, living as he had before the murders started. But last night, he’d had a woman, and it hadn’t made it easier to forget his dream goddess. It had only made him want her more.
    “Hey, what’s for breakfast?”
    Rhys watched as a shadow crept across the carpet, only to solidify and become Keir. “I gave Maggie the morning off. It’s cereal or toast.” Rhys narrowed his gaze. “Where have you been?”
    “Annwyn.”
    So why did he have to change his shape and slink out of the room at the crack of dawn? Rhys wondered. No, Keir was lying. But why?
    Keir poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip. “Sleep well?”
    “No,” he grumbled. “I didn’t.” His dream lady kept visiting him, and his conscience was eating away at him. He hadn’t really wanted that woman last night. But he’d taken her anyway. It didn’t sit well with him.
    “You?”
    Keir shrugged and sat back in his chair. “Not really. I haven’t slept in weeks.”
    “Rowan?”
    “That’s not up for discussion.”
    They sat in silence for a minute. Then Keir suddenly snapped, “Do you have to do that?”
    “Do what?” he growled. Apparently, both of them were in a bitch of a mood.
    “Slurp your milk. It’s damned annoying.”
    Rhys scooped up a hefty spoonful of Froot Loops. “What’s your problem this morning?”
    “Nothing.”
    Rhys grunted as he wolfed down his breakfast. Keir and his mood swings were getting out of control. For weeks, Rhys had tried to give the wraith the space he needed to tend to Rowan and accept her fate. But it wasn’t working. Keir was becoming only more sullen and withdrawn.
    “I’m fine,” Keir grumbled, obviously hearing his thoughts. “You gave me enough energy for a month.”
    The mention of the woman and the night of hot sex should have brought back some satisfying memories. Instead, it reminded him of her —his dream goddess. Rhys felt his cock harden, and he groaned. He emptied the box of Froot Loops into his bowl and ate, trying to think of anything other than the woman—or sex.
    “So, you want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked Keir, who was busy gazing into a cup of black coffee. “You left early this morning, and in shadow. Which tells me you didn’t want me to know you were leaving.”
    “You know what it is.”
    “I know it has something to do with Rowan, and there’s also something else you’re trying to hide.”
    Keir shrugged. “Bran has named me one of his nine warriors.”
    Rhys waved his spoon. “Too late. I already figured that out. I’m mortal, not stupid. So, tell me what you’re really trying to hide. And don’t bullshit me. Remember, we’re connected.”
    “It would be better if you didn’t know anything—”
    “If you’re going to insinuate that it would be better for me because of my mortal status, you can prepare for a pounding. I’m getting sick and tired of being treated like a goddamned kid.”
    “I’ve never seen you this way,” Keir accused, “so angry to be what you are.”
    “Well, I’ve never had to feel ashamed that I was a human. You know, in my world, I’m considered a hard-ass. In yours . . . you treat me like a wilting flower, and it bugs the shit out of