Page 13 of Evil Eyed
:With your permission, I can ask Queen Morgan for a consultation. She may be able to answer some of your questions.:
I read hesitation in his words. As if she might not be willing to answer all of the things I could ask. Or be unable to answer? Could Balor—or some other High Court fae—have put a geas on the queen of Faerie that would prevent her from telling me what she knew?
Warwick gave me a subtle nod.:All of that and more.:
I blew out a sigh. Ancient fae courts were a convoluted mess that I really didn’t want to explore. Though if I wanted answers…
“You’re not full already, are you?” Keane asked.
I’d never seen a grown man pout and still look so undeniably sexy. Quirking my lips, I picked up my fork, bracing myself for another food-gasm. “Not even close. Just needed a breather.”
* * *
We ateand laughed and ate some more for what seemed like hours. I’d never eaten so much in my life, but I didn’t feel stuffed or bloated or miserable. Every time I lifted the fork to my mouth, there was still room in my stomach. I had a feeling the drúchta might be helping Keane’s cauldron magic somehow, making it easier for us to eat endlessly.
It was nice. Very nice.
They told so many stories and jokes that made my sides hurt from laughing. I didn’t talk much but I still felt as though I belonged, because everything they did was for my entertainment and benefit.
I’m not sure when the light, sweet mead turned into amber whiskey but the pleasant, boisterous story time quickly turned into a rowdy pub vibe that took a distinctly raunchy turn when they started bragging about scars. Showing off their war wounds meant tugging shirts over their heads and soon unbuttoning pants too. I wasn’t drinking the hard liquor, but it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize they weren’t just showing off old scars for kicks and giggles.
Elbow braced on the table with his chin resting on his hand, Keane stroked the tip of his finger around the rim of his glass. No gloves. I wasn’t sure when he’d removed them. “Doran said you healed one of his old scars.”
I couldn’t help but look down to the opposite end of the table where the biggest treasure sat. Formidable shoulders and chest, massive arms, a mountain of a man, Doran was covered from head to toe in battle scars. They’d all died over and over, countless times in their futile war against the dark fae invading the world. I’d kissed an old scar on his shoulder and the mark had faded back into his skin, smoothing away as if he’d never been wounded.
Keane let out a low, toe-curling chuckle that brought my attention back to him. “I’ve got a wicked foot-long scar in my groin that killed me over two thousand years ago.”
I couldn’t help but wince, thinking about how much that must have hurt him. “A spear?”
“Fuck, no.” Aidan shook his head. “He got a little too close to Donn Cúailnge.”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Not a who—a what,” Aidan replied. “A very large, very amorous bull.”
My eyes widened. “You were gored by a bull?”
Keane rolled his eyes. “He’s lucky he killed me before I could turn him into the largest feast we ever had.”
“Would have saved everyone a whole lot of trouble,” Aidan added. “That bull lay at the heart of war between Ulster and Connacht.”
Of all my men, Keane was the only one who hadn’t been inside me yet. He’d been involved, certainly. His magical hands and mouth had given me several climaxes. But he’d promised to be inside me the next time he kissed me.
I wasn’t hungry for food any longer, though I wasn’t satisfied yet. “I’d like to see that scar and see if I can heal it too.”
I hadn’t thought his sultry eyes could burn any hotter, but I was wrong. He picked up the black leather gloves and slowly pulled them on, flexing and splaying his fingers until the leather was just so on his hands.
Then he offered his gloved hand to me.
My heart thudded heavily as I slipped my fingers into his and pushed back from the table.
“Would you like anyone else to join us?”
I met Aidan’s stormy gaze. He didn’t ask. He didn’t remind me of what I’d agreed to when they’d come to the bedroom dressed for war. I nodded. “A deal is a deal.”
He shoved up out of his chair so hard it thumped against the wall. “The leprechaun made a promise too.”
I didn’t try to mask my surprise. Aidan had tried to cut Warwick’s head off days ago. Now he was reminding me of something I’d asked for what seemed like ages ago. Inviting the leprechaun to join us in bed—a huge feat for a man like him.
