Qebhet's expression was frozen, her eyes widening in horror as the whole story spilled out. She'd hoped his phone had been dead. She'd hoped he had blocked her number. She'd worried he was hurt, or in danger, or worse.
This was worse. This was so much worse.
It was only when Marcie turned away that she realised she had been twisting the wash cloth tight in her hands, the grimy water trickling down her wrist to soak her sleeve. She set the cloth down and drew a long breath. "He... told me he's seen people twisted by gods. His brothers... Ares makes men into killers, and a son of Ares..." She was speaking half to herself, thinking out loud as she tried to process it.
Ares had made Kaden's brothers into killers. And one of the brothers, in turn, had tried to make a killer of Kaden. Ronan had saved him from that – she was sure now it was him who had fired the gun – and they had both tried to save the baby from the future they knew he was bound for.
Stars above. And now both brothers were dead and Kaden was alone and afraid with a newborn baby and a war god on his heels. Qebhet dearly wished she had given him more than a meagre luck token.
"I don't have power," she said. "Not like Ares. I don't know if I can protect him. But I'll try. I promise I'll try."