Morgan was shocked he would go against his family to protect her. No wonder he’d been so nervous giving her the gift. He didn’t know if Faerie would approve of their mating or not. She could only imagine the cost he would’ve paid if they were denied, possibly even losing the family heirloom or more, and she wanted to smack him for taking such a chance without telling her.
Aoibh’s pale blue eyes glowed, darkening to gunmetal as her fury took over. Tiny black lines around her eyes appeared like veins under the skin, giving her appearance a sinister cast. Malevolence crept across the room like shadows, seeking to infect anyone it touched. “The heartstone should’ve been returned to the family immediately. Keeping it only sullies the family further.”
Not evenourfamily.
Her total disregard for her own son chilled Morgan to the bone.
If she was the type of woman who could treat her son in such a way, she wasn’t the type of woman Morgan could trust not to stab her in the back.
No matter what happened at this meeting, Aoibh wouldn’t stop coming after her.
If she wanted Morgan dead, she would never stop until she finished the job, even if it meant destroying her own son to do it.
“Enough,” Aoibh said in a waspish voice, her patience clearly gone for those who she considered beneath her notice—anyone who was not fae. “We didn’t come here to negotiate. Either hand over the girl and Caedmon and we’ll allow the rest of you to live, or reject our offer and we’ll destroy your coven and anyone in it.”
They didn’t even blink at the mention of mass murdering innocent people.
No remorse.
Not even the slightest qualm.
The guys stiffened like only predators could, three of themgrowling, but thankfully, none of them attacked. The fae were trapped, unable to attack during the meeting, unless the guys broke the accords first.
But one thing troubled her. “Why did you even bother coming to the meeting?”
Aoibh smiled slowly, her expression chilling, totally lacking in any emotion but the need to end her life. “To tell you there is no sense running or trying to fight. It’s nothing personal. If it’s not me, they will send someone else. Your death has been foretold since your birth. There is no escaping it.”
Morgan could only gape at them, her mind broken at the impossibility. “Why?”
“Because of your birth.” Arthur sighed and rose to his feet.
Morgan nearly leapt out of her skin, having once again having forgotten his presence. She rubbed her brow, a sharp pain piercing her skull, her head feeling like it was splitting. The image of him blurred, like another person was overlaid on top of him. “I don’t understand.”
“Thanatos,” Aoibh breathed the name, blanching when she caught sight of the old man. She and the other fae gave him a formal bow, lowering their eyes in subservience.
Magic surged in the room the instant his name hit the air, then his form rippled and the image of the old man peeled away, the glamor keeping him hidden finally broken.
Her mind cleared, and every interaction with him returned with startling clarity.
And every single suspicion she’d had about him.
Power radiated from the man so strongly that it actually seeped from his pores, unable to be contained in his body. He still resembled Arthur somewhat, the human version of him was just watered down.
He stood a few inches taller, his shoulders broader, his frame packed with muscles. His hair was fuller, his eyes deepening to a darker green. Wrinkles melted away, his body firmed, and he practically glowed with vitality.
Air became trapped in her lungs as awareness settled into herbones, her body recognizing the magic that was so similar to her own—void magic so pure, it was like he was a doorway to the other world.
Which meant one thing—he was a freaking god.
Outside of Tartarus.
The literal god of death itself.
Fuck.
Morgan stood frozen like a rabbit who sensed a predator nearby, her brain unable to process what it meant. Thankfully, he appeared more interested in the fae than in her, angling slightly in front of her like he was protecting her.
Which was ridiculous…right?
