Page 23 of Evil Eyed
My mouth sagged open. “Waaaaaait. A god? Like for real?”
Preening, she lifted a delicate paw and groomed herself. “I would have the very best sire for my child, and who better than a fertility god to do the deed?”
Stunned, I turned to look at the guys one by one. Doran’s features were locked down like grim granite but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Though Aidan’s perpetual scowl was wiped away. Even his eyes were wide, his mouth tight. Ivarr’s golden eyes usually gleamed like burnished coins but his light was completely banked. Even Keane’s luscious lips were clamped shut, as if he was afraid to say anything aloud. Usually Warwick’s dimples and glittering eyes made me smile but he was just as somber as the treasures.
:What’s wrong?:I asked in my head, hoping one of them would explain their alarm.
:It’s not everyday that one learns his lover’s father is a god.:Even Doran’s deep rumbling voice was hushed.
“Um.” I cleared my throat. “Is he still… alive? Like… around?”
Her tail flipped from side to side. “He’s a god. Of course he’s still around. Once you deal with Evil Eye, I’ll take you to see him.”
“About that… How exactly do I deal with Evil Eye?”
She made a low humming purr. “You’ll know when it’s time.”
I sighed. So not helpful. “So what you’re saying is we have to go in blind.”
She bumped her forehead against me again, still purring. “No, child. What I’m saying is that you’ll know when it’s time. Everything you need is within you. That’s all I’m at liberty to say.”
“Jonathan said the secret to defeating Evil Eye is written in my soul.”
She sniffed, her tail twitching faster. “For once, the slimy bastard is correct.”
“Which makes no sense.” I fought the urge to wail, cry, or bury my face in her fur. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know where Evil Eye is. What can we do to prepare? I can’t watch them die. I can’t. I won’t. I have to figure out what to do before it’s too late.”
She leaned closer, rubbing her cheek against mine, but then she whispered in my ear so softly I strained to hear. “He’s already here. He’s close. Someone you know. Beware.”
In a blink, she was gone.
* * *
IVARR
A seriesof resonating bombshells fired in Riann’s mind like dominos. Combined with the revelation of her parentage, we’d all be reeling for days. Especially her.
Our treasurekeeper wasn’t only fae. She was also descended from one of the oldest and most feared Irish gods. Cromm Crúaich had been ancient even in my day. Very little information remained about him, and the precious few stories had been Christianized over the centuries. Though in one thing they all agreed.
He had been the kind of god who needed to beappeased.
Riann blew out a long breath. “Okay, now that she’s gone, what has you so worried about him? My, uh, father. Cromm… whatever.”
“Crúaich.” Doran’s usually deep and rumbled voice as hushed as if he were treading holy ground. “Some knew him as Crom Dubh, the Crooked or Bent One.”
“Also Crouching Darkness,” Keane added. “Or Cenncroithí, head of all the gods.”
“Darkness?” Riann’s voice quivered. “So he’s a dark god? Dark fae?”
“Dark, aye, but not fae,” Doran replied. “Some say he was worshipped by the Fomorians and brought to Éire thousands of years ago.”
A few moments passed without anyone saying anything. Silence weighed heavier. She looked from Doran to Keane and then me. “What are you not saying?”
I was the Sword of Light, the truth that cut through all darkness. Though I hated to bare this truth. The last thing I wanted to do was dim the spark of light that had started to shine in her eyes as she learned about her true parentage. “We don’t know much about him, but the few stories that remain all say that people worshipped him through human sacrifice. Some even say he required the sacrifice of the first-born child to guarantee good crops for the coming year.”
She paled, her lips trembling, though she let out a harsh laugh. “And I was worried about being a changeling, or a dark fae. Only to find out…” Shuddering, she closed her eyes and drew her knees up to her chest, hugging herself. “A god who revels in death and murder fathered me.”
Warwick leaned closer, letting his hair hang like a silky curtain down her back.
