Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5) by Bridgette O'Hare (best large ereader .TXT) 📕

enchantment Cian McCallister seemed to have over the situation—and me—control the narrative. Since he apparently liked my kick-the-door-down mentality, I had another question.

The moment he stopped talking, I turned and looked him dead in the eyes and asked, “Who do you work for?”

Twelve

I expected some type of elaborate diversionary tactic, a little cloak and dagger. But that’s not what I got. What I got seemed to be a straight answer, and it threw me for a bit of a loop.

“Davar Magén,” he replied.

My stare narrowed as my mind processed what he said. I knew those words. It took a moment to realize where I had encountered them: while studying the one Silver Scroll in Natra’s possession. Davar Magén translated to The Order of Defenders. I suddenly wondered if Cian had done enough research to know ancient languages were one of my fields of expertise. And I found myself thinking maybe I hadn’t gotten such a straight answer after all.

“That seemed a bit too easy,” I pushed back. “Is that a front? How do I know ya aren’t feedin’ me a line o’ bull?” I angled my head and regarded him closely. I may not have been able to use Soul Sight to read him, but I could still use the skills I had been taught to recognize the verbal and physical cues humans—and those who had protected themselves in some way—might give off when not being completely honest. I’d spent enough time watching Cian to establish a baseline for truthfulness in his movements and gestures.

“You don’t,” he admitted. “Like I told ya last night, anyone can tell ya what ya want t’ hear, Aish. I’m not doing that. You are much too smart t’ be fooled by a ruse. So, why would I waste my time or yours?”

I tried to ignore my inner skeptic who was insistent that he was just buttering me up. Pushing that voice to the side, I saw no indications in his mannerisms that he was lying. Uncle Lachlan’s words kept replaying in my mind. He had said there was no known reason not to trust Cian McAllister, though I still had the gut feeling that Uncle Lachlan hadn’t been completely forthcoming with what he knew. Or maybe I just didn’t ask the right questions. Either way, Cian wasn’t lying to me, or he was an incredibly talented liar.

“Do we ever really know the reasons someone might have for not being truthful? Can we ever really get into someone else’s mind and know why they do what they do? Maybe you have something to hide. Maybe sending me in the wrong direction benefits you somehow,” I posed.

“So, you're saying you don't believe me?”

“I am saying I don't know what t’ believe. I want t’ believe you. I want t’ trust you.” As cynical as I was when it came to letting someone into my circle of confidence, I meant every word that had slipped through my lips. I couldn’t explain it, but I wanted to trust Cian. “Tell me about Davar Magén. Help me believe you.”

Cian turned in his chair so that he was looking right at me. Determination burned in his eyes. “I need for you to believe me, Aish. Everything rides on you believing me right now.”

“Then convince me.”

His expression grew somber. “Davar Magén has been around since long before The Saiad, but there have always been others like them. And because of this constant threat, Davar Magén have been both the unseen protectors of Heaven’s chosen and the defenders of what is good and right in the world. Some eras of time have required more involvement than others,” he paused as though he were trying to consider his next words carefully.

“I’m not sure how this—" I was cut short by what came next.

In one swift motion, he grabbed the arms of my chair and swung it around so that we were squared up and face to face. He looked upward as if he were talking to the ceiling and said, “Please, forgive me.” He returned his gaze to me, took both of my hands in his. The sensation that had merely tingled through me when we touched earlier, now burned with a magical rush into every fiber of my being.

All at once images began to flicker through my mind like information was being downloaded into a mainframe. Scenes from wars of the past flooded my vision followed by flashes of artifacts and encounters with The Saiad and . . . death. More death than one person should have to witness. The last of the visions stole the air from my lungs. A war. One in which the man before me lost his life.

When the visual onslaught ended, the world around me blurred back into view. Cian sat watching me, his hands still wrapped around mine, remnants of the powerful magic still swirling between us. I tried to catch my breath.

“You okay?” he asked tenderly. His thumb softly stroking the back of my hand was the physical anchor I grasped to pull me back into reality. “That was a lot of information t’ take in and more energy than . . . well, it was a lot,” he admitted. Concern filled his gaze.

It took me a moment to find my voice. I swallowed the lump in my throat and exhaled hard as my head trembled back and forth in disbelief. “What . . . what are you?” I muttered softly.

A faint, half-smile turned up the corner of his mouth. “It’s complicated. Let’s just say that you and I really aren’t so different.”

“So, you’re Fae?”

“We share the same origins, if that’s what you’re asking. I know . . . it’s not a straightforward answer. I’m sorry, but it’s the best explanation I can offer,” he said. “I think you’ll understand in time. At least, I hope ya will.”

“You . . . you died,” I whispered and squeezed his hands as if it would change what I had seen. As if that