“What do you think?”
“Cliona was right, and I will spend the rest of my wretched, immortal life trying to make it up to her.”
His words sank deep into my heart. “I will fight for her.”
A single sharp nod. “I know, but you still keep secrets from Evie. My daughter has had too many secrets in her life. You will lose her if you continue to hide the truths hidden in your heart. If she is what you think she is, you must trust her, no matter where her heart leads her.”
“Even if it leads her away from me?”
In an instant he was by my side, so fast I would have had no hope if he planned to attack me. Instead of violence, Cernunnos clapped me on the shoulder and rose. “Again, young Lord, if she is who you believe she is, the road, no matter how treacherous and long, will always lead back to you.”
The god rose and held his hand out, a peace offering. For now. I took it and rose, Cernunnos’ immense strength turning my movement into more of a soft leap. “Come. We must speak of darker things than love.”
Chapter
Fifteen
Agentle nudge on my shoulder dragged me out of a deep sleep. My eyes opened to see Rowan peering down at me.
“You alright?” he asked, amusement sparkling in the hazel depths of his eyes.
My right hand was buried a foot deep in the garden bed’s soil, the roses I’d planted in full spring bloom. The intoxicating scent drifted around us. I smiled lazily. “Sorry. I was more tired than I thought.”
“It’s alright.” He helped me up and waited for me to brush the soil away. “Your father is waiting for us outside. Ready to talk, or do you want me to send him away?”
The image of Rowan sending a god away made me smile. “He’ll just come back. Better to do it now and get it over with.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Lunch will arrive soon.”
My stomach chose that timely moment to growl. Loudly.
“I’m glad you agree,” he said with a chuckle. Rowan held the greenhouse door open and gestured for me to go first.
Dad was sitting at a large iron patio table, his posture careless and almost human. If they didn’t know him, someone might think him a senator’s son, or an entitled trust-fund kid.He looked younger than usual, his golden skin gleaming with immortality. His antlers were gone, hidden wherever they went when Dad was trying to appear normal, leaving a mop of sandy-colored hair mussed artfully about his head. It was only when he looked at you that you knew the person behind those ancient, swirling eyes was no person at all.
“You’re staring at me as if you’re performing a dissection,” he observed.
I flopped into a seat. “Just wondering when I’ll start to look like you.”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “You look more like your mother than me.”
“Not physically,” I said, helping myself to the strawberry lemonade someone had left in a pitcher in the middle of the table. “I would like to learn how to adopt the ancient, menacing, violent vibe you have going on, though.”
Dad frowned and looked down at his casual attire. “I thought this was the outfit of an easygoing American male.”
Rowan, who’d taken up the seat next to me, pressed his lips together and looked down at the table.
“It is,” I assured him. “But you are not the average American male, nor are you easygoing. We can try to shove ourselves into a box, but we aren’t box-shaped.”
“Hmm,” Dad said to himself, as if I’d given him a vexing problem to solve.
A slight woman came out, carrying a large wooden board filled with crackers, meats, cheeses, various jams, and different types of honey. “Something to tide you over before the main course is served.” She set it in the middle of the table, dipped her head to Rowan, and turned without waiting for a response.
Rowan handed me and Dad a plate. “Please, Evie. You haven’t eaten anything since we’ve been home.”
You didn’t have to tell me twice. Once I’d served myself a heaping plate, I dug in. Rowan and Dad did as well, and we fell silent for a while as we ate.
Once the main course was served, a traditional beef stroganoff with mashed potatoes, Dad took a sip of his water and cleared his throat.
