“Make me forget, Dylan.”

He rolled them over swiftly, reversing their positions. Wrapping her hair around his fist, he began to kiss his way down her neck.

His heart thundered in his chest with a locomotive’s fierce, ground-rattling force. Blood hummed under his skin. Nerves began firing faster, yet he didn’t struggle to control the situation. No, with Kennedy’s soft encouragements, he simply let go and followed where the moment led.

“You’ll be the death of me, Kennedy Jefferson.” He raised her hands over her head, his hands tracing down the soft undersides of her arms and down her sides, thumbs tracing the outer swells of her breasts.

“Dylan.” His name was a tender plea from her lips.

KELLI IRELAND spent a decade as a name on a door in corporate America. Unexpectedly liberated by Fate’s sense of humor, she chose to carpe the diem and pursue her passion for writing. A fan of happily-ever-afters, she found she loved being the puppet master for the most unlikely couples. Seeing them through the best and worst of each other while helping them survive the joys and disasters of falling in love? Best. Thing. Ever. Visit Kelli’s website at www.kelliireland.com.

The Immortal’s

Redemption

Kelli Ireland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Kate Hollister, author and fellow lover of all things that go bump in the night.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Scotland, 1718

A damp cold seeped into Dylan’s bones. He and another young assassin had spent the night in the hillside cave again, waiting. It was the worst part of his job. He’d rather be active, engaged, whether in subterfuge or killing, because activity meant progress. Waiting meant...waiting. Nothing happened. The sun and moon chased horizons more slowly. And one could only prepare so much before the actions became habitual. And habit would get you killed.

Dylan flipped his kilt higher over his shoulders, his gaze locked on the sun’s first softening of the eastern night sky. The Scottish laird of Clan McKay had made it a personal goal to see the Druids run out of his lands. He’d acted against the peaceful settlements with violence. It was about time the fat bastard met violence in return. He’d have to pass through this valley in order to reach the next Druidic keep. With a fair amount of certainty, Dylan was sure the man would never make it that far. It was, after all, his charge to ensure the laird didn’t make it through this valley.

Dylan rolled onto his back and stared at the darkness above. The cave was deep enough he couldn’t see the ceiling. Fine by him. Meant he didn’t crack his egg when he stood up. He hooked an arm behind his head, pillowing it. As far as headrests went, it wasn’t bad. As far as beds went, the stone floor wasn’t the worst he’d experienced. The cold, though. That was eating into him as he whiled away the hour before dawn with fanciful thoughts of the lass he’d last bedded. Bonnie little thing, blonde hair and all.

What had her name been?

Pebbles skittered down the hillside, the small sound amplified by the dark. A sigh breathed across the cave’s mouth, soft and resigned.

Dylan reached for his smaller sword. The short sword hissed along its leather scabbard as he pulled it free. He clasped his dirk. Dark tartan made nary a sound as he flipped it back, disguising his broadsword. Rising to his feet like a phantom, he readied himself for any threat that might come against him.

“Gareth.” The man’s name was little more than an exhale between Dylan’s lips. His companion didn’t stir.

Dylan dared not speak louder. Instead, he moved to position himself between the cave mouth and the sleeping Druid.

“Rest easy, child of mine.”

The feminine voice startled him, and he moved back a step. Shifting his dagger to an underhanded hold, he regained the ground he’d lost to surprise. Using darkness as another type of weapon, he sidled up to a small rock outcropping. It didn’t hide him entirely, but it would give him an advantage if she tried to enter.

“Dylan.”

The voice came from behind him and he whirled, sword and dagger raised. Both immediately clattered to the floor.

It was a rare man whose destiny was molded while he listened and watched. And for better or worse, Dylan was just such a man, for it was the goddess and Mother of All, Danu, who now stood before him, her face smooth and serene.

“We may speak at ease, for Gareth has been sent into deep slumber,” she said, her voice as gentle as mist yet as powerful as lightning. “I must forewarn you, Dylan. There is a time coming, a time when you will rise to power and position, only to be tried in the greatest challenge you shall ever face.”

“Why tell me now, Mother?” His voice cracked on the last word, and he blushed. He wanted her to see him as strong and capable, not a boy. Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath to emphasize the baritone he was developing, he asked again. “Why tell me now, Mother?”

She’d stroked his head then, and reality had gone soft. He’d seen a woman with a mane of black hair in a world that was not his own. Her eyes had been bluer than the shallows near the cliffs. Her mouth could only be considered wanton. She was the most stunning woman he’d seen, yet there had been something slightly off about her.

Danu removed her hand and reality snapped back into being, clear and stark.

Despite the fact Dylan had been trained to recall finite details, he couldn’t remember anything that had gone on around her other than it hadn’t made sense to him. “Who is she?” This time his voice did not break. Instead, it was heavy with reverence.

“She is your truth, the answer to your ultimate reckoning with an imprisoned god of the Shadow Realm. The wards that bind the gods there were not cast in a manner to make them infinite, and in your woman’s time, they will begin to fail as Samhain draws ever closer.”

Dylan’s gaze shot to the goddess’s. “Wait. What do you mean, my woman?”

“Do not question me. I risk the wrath of the All Father, Dagda, in coming to you now.” Her words were soft but laced with power that burned along his skin. “You will find the woman and your truth within her. This will empower you to save not only mankind and the Druid race, but also the world as it will come to be. To fail and let the truth escape you will mean the release of the imprisoned gods. Chaos will reign as they seek to remake the universe as they would have had it, seating themselves as the supreme gods. Be assured that should you fail, Chaos will bring certain death. You will be the first to taste it, young assassin. In order to survive, you will be required to willingly lay either the truth or sufficient sacrifice upon the altar, to offer the lifeblood of faith to rebind the wards.”

“What is sufficient sacrifice, should the truth not be found?”

“That is for you to discover. Begin seeking her in what will be a new world to you, Dylan, for she is the only one to hold the truth. You must find Kennedy Jefferson before all is lost. She holds within her the single truth you must reveal and accept.”

Then she’d disappeared.

Chapter 1

County Clare, Ireland, Present Day

Dylan O’Shea leaned back, arms crossed, one booted foot pressed against the stone wall of the westernmost battlement. His gaze was locked on the storm brewing over the Atlantic. Violent winds drove sheets of rain across the Cliffs of Moher. The green of the grass echoed the peaks and valleys of the sea, where waves rose and crashed forward. He watched, unblinking, as lightning struck shallow water.

A sound not unlike a woman’s sigh wove through the shrieking wind. He glanced up and shoved his drenched hair back, looking around. No one there, but he wasn’t surprised. Still, the sound had his mind pulling up the image of a black-haired beauty with eyes bluer than the shallows near the cliffs and a mouth he couldn’t help but consider wanton.

For three hundred years he’d searched for her on the goddess, Danu’s, directive. Three hundred years he’d conjured her image during every empty night. Three hundred years he’d spent with that face, and he’d come to want her like he’d never wanted another. And now her time—their time—was coming. He knew it with the same certainty he knew this storm wasn’t a natural occurrence. Not with the extremes he witnessed. No, the balance of the elements was already out of order. It left him uneasy, bordering violent, as he considered how the woman might fit into the threat that built on the air.

And if he knew the elemental balance was threatened, the Elder Council did, as well. It also meant it wouldn’t be long before they sought him out, and it was about time. Idleness was driving him mad. Or, if he were dealing in honesty, madder.

As if summoned by his thoughts, one of the very men he’d been considering pushed through the iron-banded wooden door. “It’s time,” he said.

“Time.” Dylan blinked slowly before turning his attention back to the sea. “It’s a subjective topic, is it no’?”

“Stalling will do little but delay the inevitable.”

“You engage me, of all people, with talk of delaying the inevitable?” The bite of his voice broke through the storm’s fury, and the man in the doorway bristled.

“The Elder Council waits for no one, Assassin, not even you.”

The slamming of the door would normally have made Dylan smile. Not today.

Shoving off the wall, he dropped his hand to the door latch when a whiff of citrus and heavy spice tickled his nose, the long-forgotten scent called up from memory with the same gut-churning effect as a roller coaster’s first radical drop. Dylan froze. Rain still ran in rivers down his face, but the pelting he’d been taking faded. Uneasy, his free hand drifted to his dirk, fisting the handle.

“I would think you’d willingly, and wisely, speak to me without violence, Assassin.” The musical lilt of her voice hadn’t changed, not in three hundred years.

“You use my title but expect me to behave peaceably?” He let go of the door handle and turned toward the woman who stood untouched by the rain.

“And you, you won’t use my name.” She tucked long-fingered hands into the bell sleeves of her robes; at the same time she cocked her head to the side, openly considering him. It was the equivalent of calling him a coward, and he would suffer a lot of shit, but not that.

“A gracious welcome to you, Danu, Mother of All Things.” Dylan’s numb lips struggled with the formal greeting. His belly tightened, and he absently rubbed it as he considered the goddess. She hadn’t shown herself to him other than that one night three centuries ago when she’d changed the course of his life.

Danu reached for him, dropping her hand when he stepped back. “You are still angry with me for delivering your solemn responsibility at such a young age.”

Dylan’s mouth opened and closed, his ability to speak lost in a turbulent sea of emotions. Barking out a laugh, he shook his head. “I’ve spent my life wondering if I’d dreamed the whole conversation, thinking myself mad at best.”

“Yet you acted with faith, preparing yourself for the inevitability of death.” She closed in on him, laying a hand against his near-frozen arm.

All he could think was that she was neither hot nor cold. Odd that he’d handled meeting her as a lad much better than he was handling this moment. “So I’ll die, then, the last of your direct line to hold the position of Assassin, to wield justice as deemed fit by the gods.”

Danu stroked his cheek. “It does not have to be so. You must find the truth of which I spoke that night and stop the goddess Cailleach from breaking the chains that bind. Until you have found the truth and made your decision, nothing is guaranteed.” She smiled gently. “Man’s free will is a factor that tends to skew even the gods’ predictions.”

Cailleach. The anger that always simmered so close to the surface of his consciousness flared. “Free will, is it? Then I’d have you go back and return mine to me. For I’m nothing if not a man. I’d be something other than what I’ve become because of your blessed intervention. You gave me nothing, nothing more than a vague promise that I’d perish if I didn’t find this truth you referred to. Yet you delivered your jaunty news and disappeared, leaving me with nothing more than your charge. What the hell good has that done me, then?”

The goddess’s hand stilled, then fell away, her face transforming. Gone was the compassion of only a moment before. In its place was a cold and deadly stare that told him precisely how far was too far to push her—and that he’d crossed that line with a running leap of the mouth. Damn if he’d back up or apologize or—

Dylan’s back slammed onto the stone he’d been standing on moments before. Air knocked out of him, he wheezed in an effort to regain his breath.

Danu stood over him, glorious in her fury. “You will comport yourself with respect, Assassin. Furious or not, your time has come. You will discover the truth you lack before Samhain or you will damn mankind and the Druid race to the end of life as it’s known. Extinction would be a kinder fate.”

He slowly pushed himself to his feet. “Will you not give me more to go on than that? Or will you charge me to continue to search the world over with nothing more than faith?”

Her lips thinned. “Still you show such belligerence. My hope for victory fades with every word you utter.” She stepped back, putting distance between them. “In order for all to survive, you will have the slimmest of opportunities—hours—to lay either the truth or yourself upon the altar. Regardless of your choice, the sacrifice must be made willingly.”

He blinked rapidly. She’d failed to mention that little fact the first time she’d come to him. Opening his mouth to speak, he realized he was again alone.

Fucking gods and their fickle demands.

Fighting to breathe normally, Dylan hauled the heavy door open and stepped inside, shaking the rain from his hair like a dog exiting a lake. He pushed the wet mass off his face then started down the spiral steps. There were one hundred forty-two treads to the bottom, and each one seemed to propel him forward faster and faster until he fought the urge to run. He never ran unless he was the one doing the chasing. Deliberately leaning back far enough he nearly ass-planted on the steps, he forced himself to move slower. The Assassin wasn’t running, even from this.

Particularly from this.

He silently rounded the corner at step seventy-three when he heard methodical footsteps coming up the stairs. Whoever it was heard him a moment later and paused. Dylan’s hand automatically went to the short sword at his back. He began to unsheath it, allowing the metal to rake against the scabbard in warning to whoever might think to surprise him.

“Put your weapon away.”

The voice had Dylan’s brows rising even as he let the sword slide back home.

Aylish rounded the corner and stopped three steps below Dylan. The height difference between the two was significant enough on the rare occasion the men were side by side, but now the Elder was forced to tilt his head back at an unnatural angle in order to meet Dylan’s shrewd gaze.

The man looked older in the years since Dylan had last seen him. Considering the actual rate at which they, as Druids, aged, that it was noticeable at all said much. Fine lines speared out from the corners of Aylish’s eyes, even as deep crevices ran alongside his mouth like cracks in the dry earth. They might have been smile lines if the man ever smiled, but in all Dylan’s recollection, such events were rare. Silver strands of hair in the man’s black mane reflected the little bit of light in the stairwell.

The Assassin cocked his head to the side and arched an insolent brow. “They sent you for me, did they?”

Aylish stood quietly and looked the giant man over before he spoke. “I’m the head of the Elder Council. No one sends me anywhere.”

The surprise having passed, Dylan leaned against the curving stone wall and crossed his ankles, thumbs hooked in his jean pockets. “So you volunteered.”

“You believe you’re above my notice?”

“Certainly never above.” The delivery was intentionally lazy and clearly irreverent.

“You’ll do well to remember our traditions and the respect demanded of them, particularly as it relates to your Elders,” Aylish bit out.

Dylan inclined his head. Pushing off the wall, he clasped his hands behind his back and spread his feet in a traditional at-rest position. “Forgive my impertinence. I meant no disrespect.”

“You meant to press me until I snapped and, while I’m not proud of it, you’ve succeeded. And quickly. What was gained?”

Dylan chanced a glance at Aylish. “Nothing but personal satisfaction.”

Aylish barked out a laugh, his bright grin melting the tension lines around his eyes and lips, the change reverting his appearance to that of a man in his early forties. “I rarely forget you’re so direct, but when we’ve not dealt with each other in so long, it’s easy to fall into the habits our brethren use to communicate.”

“You dress up the fact that they stall and bicker then hem and haw like old women.” Dylan held up a hand and shook his head before dropping back to the at-rest position, dipping his chin to the floor to hide his grin. “It’s no wonder they draw straws to see who has to deal with me.”

Aylish stepped closer. Reaching out, he laid a hand on Dylan’s forearm. “You are our sword arm, our first line of defense against all comers, the shadow of death to those you hunt. It’s no wonder they fear you more than a little.”

Dylan’s chin jerked up enough to meet Aylish’s gaze. “Their collective power could end me. I’m not so foolish that I forget this simple fact.” He silently cursed himself for admitting he considered his own end. It was soft, indulgent even, given his status and responsibility. He likely wouldn’t have slipped if he hadn’t just had the very same topic at the forefront of his mind and reinforced by the goddess.

Aylish dipped his chin fractionally and withdrew his hand. “Neither are they so foolish in their power as to forget that you are the potential salvation of our race.”

“That answers why you’re here.” Dylan couldn’t stop his lip from curling into a hard smile. “Danu came to me.”

“When?” Aylish snapped.

He looked toward the rooftop. “Now. It’s time. Either I discover the truth she charged me with finding or all of mankind falls.” He arched a brow. “She offered an alternative.”

“Tell me.” The order was barked out.

“I can sacrifice myself in place of finding the gods’ invisible truth, but even so there’s only a slim window of opportunity in which it will make any difference.”

Aylish reached out a second time only to let his hand drop to his side when Dylan stepped away. He turned to leave then surprising Dylan when he looked back and said, “It should never have come to this, blood of my blood, bone of my bone.”

Dylan’s whole body jerked at the sentimental address. He couldn’t remember the last time Aylish had acknowledged him as such.

“The time for your charge is now. Our safeguards are breaking down, the Shadow Realm of Cailleach and her siblings pressing in. You can see it happening.” Aylish raised his brows and tipped his head toward the storm raging outside.

“You blame the weather on a banished god’s behavior?” Dylan curled the corner of his mouth up in a nasty smile. Looking out a small window in the battlement that faced the cliffs, his smile faded. A particularly vicious gust of wind blew ocean mist along the glass, and the smell of the sea—a source of life and, equally, death—assaulted him. And wasn’t that what this was about? Life and death?

Aylish hesitated long enough Dylan was ready to throttle him. “The goddess Cailleach has chosen her physical host. The woman is in Atlanta, Georgia, in the United States.”

Dylan’s false calm broke, and he spun from the window to face the other man. A sick twisting in his gut nearly doubled him over. He fought the urge to grab his belly. “Why has no one told me?”

Aylish’s shoulders drooped briefly, and he leaned against the stairwell wall for support. His head hung low, and he wouldn’t look at Dylan as he answered. “Because we only just found out. The reports we’re getting are disjointed at best. We believe the goddess is fighting to not only gain her freedom but to release Chaos, too.”

Dylan’s brows winged up sharply. “She’s surely not so foolish as to believe she can control it. Chaos ultimately destroys everything. I don’t accept it.”

“What you accept or reject is irrelevant. There is only what is. Cailleach is pushing with incredible force against the spells which bind her. We’re unsure from where she draws her power, but draw it she does.” The Elder paused, watching Dylan through shrewd eyes. “You know what we require of you.”

The burden of his role had never been so heavy, but he would carry out his duty—find and eliminate the host. Vengeance was his dance partner, and the music was just beginning to play.

Dylan ran his hands through his hair and, to disguise their shaking, clutched his skull. “You would call on me now, make it an official matter of the Order and not the capricious gods.”

“Mind your tongue. Our obligation is to serve the gods’ purpose. They’ve not intervened, so this is for us to do. Eliminating Cailleach’s chosen host and banishing the goddess to the Shadow Realm, where we will rebind her, is our only option. We must move, and now, on the woman Cailleach has chosen.”

* * *

The hospital’s antiseptic smell did nothing to diminish the sun’s brilliance as it slowly rose over the window ledge at the end of the sterile hallway, and Kennedy Jefferson squinted. Autumn in Atlanta, Georgia, was beautiful, the air crisp and the skies a bright blue—unless a person sported a severe...what? Hangover? She searched her mind, ran her tongue over her teeth. No memories of drinking, no bitter aftertastes of alcohol or vomit. Instead, her eyes watered and shed emotionless tears as the sun continued to rise. Confusion muddled her thoughts, made them murky and disjointed. Unexplained fear wove through the fabric of her consciousness, out of place, a dark thread against a pale background.

Someone plowed into her. Terror made her clumsy as she fought to regain her balance.

“Sorry.” The man’s amused tone was totally unapologetic.

Dropping her gaze, she shuffled out of his way and sagged against the wall. Her purse slipped from the slight groove it had worn in her shoulder.

“Kennedy!”

Startled, she looked up to find a nurse charging toward her.

The woman slowed and then stopped, her assessing gaze sweeping over Kennedy. “You okay?”

“I don’t think...”

Admit nothing, whispered a discordant voice.

Pressing her back to the wall, Kennedy looked around. “What did you say?”

The woman stopped short, brows drawing together. “I called your name.”

“After that. What did you say after that?”

Pale brows relaxed over concerned eyes. “I asked if you were okay.”

“Oh.” Kennedy cleared her throat and, focusing, looked around. “So, I’m at the hospital?” Shaking her head, she held up a hand. “Sorry. I know I’m at the hospital. I work here. I mean, I’m here to work. As the director of nurses.” She closed her eyes and tried again. “You seem shocked to see me.”

The petite woman’s shoes squeaked against recently waxed floors. “You didn’t show up for drinks Saturday night, and you missed work yesterday.”

Kennedy’s eyes shot open. Denial burned across her tongue. “Not possible.”

“No one’s been able to reach you for something like three days.” She yanked Kennedy into a fierce hug.

Three days. “I’m sick.” The hoarse admission raked her throat with sharp tines. No. Not sick. Worse than that.

The nurse stepped back and tilted her chin up to accommodate the height difference between the two. “Seriously? Are you okay?”

There was that question again. Kennedy couldn’t answer because she had no idea what had happened or what she’d done, no idea where she’d been. She hadn’t had another blackout since... Friday night played through her mind. There’d been a bar. With bikers. A fight of some sort and she’d left in a cab. The cab. She’d been in the cab when she’d slipped off the precipice of consciousness.

The memory made her shiver. Hard.

“I need to get to work.” The beep of monitors, calls of patients and steady rush of feet up and down the hall punctuated the soft words.

A tiny V formed between the other woman’s brows. “I’m not sure you need to hit the floor if—”

“I need to work, to clear my head. I just...” Kennedy rolled her shoulders. “Grab me some scrubs and a patient care kit.”

The woman chewed her bottom lip and looked Kennedy over.

“I’m not contagious.” Of that much she was sure. When the woman still hesitated to move, Kennedy met her stare. “Don’t force me to make it an order. Please.”

“Okay.” She shook her head when Kennedy opened her mouth. “Don’t thank me. I’m not convinced I’m doing the right thing here.” Shoving her hand in her shirt pocket, she fiddled with a pen. Click. Click. Click. “Room 4410 is open. Use the shower in there. I’ll leave the scrubs on the counter.” Her pager sounded, and she backed away.

Kennedy slipped into the vacant room, rushed through her shower, dressed then headed to her office. This job was all she had left in a world that seemed determined to see her follow in the footsteps of every woman in her family tree—footsteps that led to the intersection of Crazy Lane and Dead Before Forty Boulevard.

* * *

The constant beeping of cardiac monitors was driving Kennedy insane only forty-five minutes later. The clang of every slammed medical cabinet made her jump. Every alarm that sounded made her want to scream. Her neck prickled like someone was watching her. Strange memories invaded her thoughts, providing abstract snapshots of a life she couldn’t recall living. A life that wasn’t hers. Not anymore.

Elbows on the wide counter, forehead in her hands, she craved silence. The second she had it, though, she knew she’d give in to the exhaustion that dogged her. “Someone hook me up to a caffeine IV. Stat.”

The nurse to her right laughed.

Kennedy looked over and tried to smile but couldn’t. “Don’t suppose you have a dollar, do you? I have to raid the vending machines before I lose my mind, but all I’ve got is a five.”

The woman’s grin faded as she studied Kennedy. “Girl, you look like someone beat you with a powder puff before putting your eye shadow on upside down.”

“Huh?”

“Pasty face, dark circles under your eyes,” she answered, digging a dollar from her pocket.

“Just tired.” She accepted the money and turned away before the inevitable “what’s wrong” question was asked. How the hell would she answer? My life’s falling apart, I’m disappearing in my own mind while I run around doing God knows what—and I’m scared I’m going to end up dead while my mind’s on autopilot.

Irritation rode her hard as she stormed into the employee breakroom. Her hands shook. Trying to force-feed the rumpled dollar bill into the recalcitrant vending machine made her long for a cutting torch. She’d take her time. Liberate bottles one at a time. Make the machine bleed quart after quart of whatever ran through its insides if the inanimate son of a bitch didn’t give her caffeine now.

A large hand settled on her shoulder and she whipped around, fist connecting with ribs before she could stop herself.

“Ow!” Her best friend, Ethan, jumped back, clutching his side while eyeing her carefully.

“Sorry.” The apology nearly stuck in her throat as she shook out her fist. The idea of hitting again was more gratifying than making sure she hadn’t hurt him with her first swing. That’s not me. Opening her mouth to ask if he was okay, the words turned to ash on her tongue. No matter how hard she tried, they wouldn’t come.

Stumbling back in a rush to put distance between them, she tripped over a chair and did an ungraceful ass plant before sliding across the hard tile floor. “Damn maintenance! Is this the only place they get the wax and polish right?”

Ethan’s gaze narrowed.

Kennedy could almost hear him ticking off marks on his checklist for mental instability, and the implication there was something wrong with her chafed. Even if it was accurate. It gave her fear a tangible foothold. Made it all too real.

Still sprawled on the floor, she glared up at him. “Stop looking at me like that.” The unguarded hostility in the command forced her to close her eyes and take a deep breath. Undiluted anger simmered in her blood. Not me, not me, not me, she silently chanted.

A whir followed by the thunk of a plastic soda bottle being dispensed made her shoulders sag even as she opened her eyes.

Ethan extended a broad hand and hauled her to her feet, still eyeing her silently.

“You should’ve left me there and run for your life.” Goose bumps decorated her arms, and she rubbed them briskly.

“I thought about it, but we both know you’re only director of nurses until you can take over the world and make me your consort.” He waggled his brows and offered a lopsided grin. “And everyone who’s anyone knows you can’t rule the world from the floor.” He held out the bottle of Coke. “Caffeine.”

Kennedy clenched her jaw shut and forced a close-lipped smile. “I suppose.” What in the world is wrong with me?

Holding the soda as a bribe, Ethan pulled out a chair and sat. He toed a second chair away from the table and tilted the bottle toward it in invitation. “Scared me, disappearing like you did.”

The urge to run kicked her adrenaline into overdrive. Fighting it, she sank into the proffered seat hard enough it slid back a few inches. “Caffeine first. Logical word exchange second.”

“Caffeine while you explain.” He handed over the bottle.

“If it helps, it scared me, too.” The soft admission hung between them, the impetus to a conversation long overdue. Toying with the lid, she finally spun it off and took a deep pull. Ethan’s silence made her shake her head as she picked at the bottle label. “Any other day you’d score me on depth and clarity.”

“There’s not a damn thing about this that I find funny.”

His sharp tone made her look up. “That makes two of us.” She took a second sip before setting the bottle on the table.

Raking a hand through his dark blond hair, he snagged the soda and took a sip. “Where’ve you been?”

“I can honestly say I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it’s been a bad eighty-four hours.”

He considered her, eyes guarded. “That’s a long run of bad.”

“Yeah.” Adrenaline mixed with anxiety to form a wicked cocktail that spread through her with immediate effect. Breaths came faster. Heart pounded. Sweat prickled her nape. “I haven’t been this screwed up since losing my dad and finding myself both devastated that he was gone but also horrifyingly relieved I could stop trying to please him while forever failing.”

Ethan stood and moved behind her, laying a palm between her shoulders and rubbing tiny, soothing circles. “Slow down.”

Panic folded in on itself and left her hollow, her skin too loose, her clothes too tight.

He gradually widened the circle. Heat emanated from his hand and spread through her at a lethargic pace.

Pervasive calm soothed the raw edges of her psyche. Her chin dipped forward. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but don’t stop.”

“It’s nothing, really. Just touch.”

“Whatever. I swear you’ve got magic hands.”

His touch slowed further then stilled. “Tell me what’s going on. You fell off the face of the earth. Didn’t call. Didn’t answer your cell. Scared me bad.” Tense silence stretched between them, fragile as spun sugar.

If my life had a soundtrack, this moment would cue the dramatic orchestra piece.

Ethan pulled his hand away. “Something bad happened.”

“What are you, psychic?” She twisted to look at him. “Because if you are, you should give all this up for the glamour of your own nine-hundred number.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll cut you a good deal on my by-the-minute plan. Now stop trying to redirect the conversation and answer me. Where’ve you been?”

It was impossible to meet his open stare. “I don’t know.”

Fingers tightened against her jaw. “Come again?”

“I’m having blackouts.” The words, nothing more than a whisper, yowled through her mind in desperation.

“You mean blackouts as in passing out and waking up, or episodes of fugue?”

“It’s worse than fugue. I... I lose time, but always in short periods. Hours at most. Until last Friday anyway.” Wrapping her arms around her middle, she gripped her elbows and pulled tight. “I’m having violent thoughts, might even be getting violent while I’m out of it. I don’t know.” She forced herself to look at him.

His mouth worked wordlessly. He grabbed the soda and took a huge swallow. And choked. Waving her off, he wiped at his streaming eyes. “Violent how? Like temper tantrum violent, or I’ll cut you seventy-three different ways before I castrate you with a spork violent?”

The hiss of the door’s hydraulics saved her having to answer.

Kennedy shoved out of her seat and faced the nurse who hovered half in, half out of the break room. “You need me?”

“No. I mean, yes,” he stammered. “A guy’s out here asking for you.”

“Asking for me?” Her stomach plummeted, hitting bottom hard enough to bounce.

Ethan cleared his throat. “Is he a cop?”

Glaring at him, she fought against the invisible vise tightening around her chest. “Why would you think he’s a cop?”

“I, uh, sort of filed a missing person report.”

“Oh, man. Okay.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’ll be right out.”

The nurse said something over his shoulder as he left.

A deep, unfamiliar voice answered.

“I can’t believe you involved the cops,” she whispered, the words low and harsh.

Familiar, warm hands rested on her shoulders. “I’ll explain that it was a simple misunderstanding.”

“Sure.” Yanking the door open, Kennedy stepped into the hallway only to stop so abruptly Ethan slammed into her. She hardly noticed.

The smell of the sea, with its salt-saturated air and rain-fueled storms, washed over her the moment she met the burning green gaze of the man waiting for her.

Chapter 2

Dylan O’Shea stopped breathing the moment the woman came into view. White noise wiped out all but the thundering sound of his heart in his ears as he felt every ounce of blood drain from his face. He hadn’t been prepared. Not now. Not after so long spent looking for one face among millions over the centuries. He’d given up faith, and that’s when the gods, with their arbitrary natures and impossible demands, struck.

Wide blue eyes were fringed in black lashes. Long hair, glossy as a raven’s wing, curled loosely to the middle of her back. Porcelain skin flushed prettily. Tall but fine-boned, she couldn’t weigh nine stone.

She pulled up short only to be driven several steps closer when the man following behind crashed into her.

Dylan hardly spared the guy a glance. Instead, with need flowing through his system like spirits after a night of revelry, he reached for her. He had to touch her, to know with certainty she was real. His hand cupped one side of her neck. One thumb moved of its own volition and tenderly stroked her jaw. Never in all his years had he wanted anything as badly as he craved this woman, body and soul. Desire choked on duty and left him struggling to breathe. Don’t demand this of me, Danu. Anything but this.

“O-officer?” she stammered, the last of her soft color fading under his scrutiny. “May I help you?”

Her voice, sultry as sin with a smooth burn like fine whiskey, rolled through him. He blinked slowly, fighting like mad to retrieve his scattered wits, and jerked his hand away. “Kennedy Jefferson?”

“Yes? That’s me.” She pressed her fist into her middle before absently gesturing to her companion. “This is Ethan. Ethan Kemp. He filed the report.”

Dylan looked him over, entertained to find himself being equally scrutinized. “And who is Mr. Kemp to you, Ms. Jefferson?”

“A friend.”

“Her best friend,” Ethan amended, eyes narrowing.

“The distinction is duly noted.” Dylan spread his feet and crossed his arms, ignoring the question.

“Your accent.” She rubbed her forehead. “Where are you from?”

“Ireland.” The admission was out before he thought about it. Control. This is about control. It seemed she’d wrested it away the moment she appeared. The idea that a woman could scramble his sensibilities with no effort galled him so badly, he forcibly pulled himself together with only brute strength of will. “I need to speak with you, Ms. Jefferson. In private.” He hadn’t intended to needle the other man. Had no interest in it, actually, as it would only waste effort and potentially complicate things, and Dylan was all about efficiency.

“You can speak to both of us since I’m the one who filed the report.” Steel underscored the man’s superficially congenial words. “Clearly it was a misunderstanding.”

Dylan shifted his cold gaze to meet Ethan’s heated one. “Then why was the report filed?”

“Like I said, it was a misunderstanding.”

“Not good enough. I’d like details.” He looked at the woman. “Do you want to give them to me, or shall I take my pound of flesh from your best friend?” Sure the exaggerated air quotes were another jab, but the guy was pissing him off.

“That won’t be necessary.” She ran a hand—a trembling hand—around the back of her neck.

Bingo. “Somewhere private, then.” He swept out an arm. “Shall we?”

“I’ll donate that pound of flesh. I filed the report, so I’ll answer your questions.” Ethan dropped an arm over the woman’s shoulders and steered her down the hallway, dipping his face toward hers. “My office or yours?”

The woman looked up at him, brows furrowed. “Mine, I guess.”

Dylan followed, silently weighing his options. There were several ways he could approach the situation, none of them ideal. Every scenario involved first dealing with her self-appointed guardian. Friend. Riiiiight. Best friend. He snorted.

She glanced back at him, teeth worrying her bottom lip.

He drew in a breath, opened his mouth to speak and stopped, jaw hanging open like an eejit’s. A soft brush of vanilla wafted around him. Lavender wove its way through the dominant scent until the two were indistinguishable. His mind shut down as lust settled into the driver’s seat. The click of her shoes on the tiled floors drew his gaze to her feet. “You always wear stilettos to work?” he asked softly.

“No.” The response, quick and unguarded, returned color to her cheeks. She looked so vital in that moment. Alive. Innocent.

His lips thinned. Can’t be my concern.

They took the elevator to the first floor. Tension wound around him as he followed the pair across the crowded lobby and through a lush and winding wing decorated with deep colors and saltwater fish tanks. The woman unlocked her office and stepped inside, Kemp hot on her heels. That left Dylan to follow on his own.

He did, letting the heavy door swing shut with an authoritative whump. Leaning against it, he surveyed the small room. The door was the only entrance. Or exit. Excellent.

Kemp pulled out the executive’s chair on the far side of the desk and saw the woman seated before squaring off with Dylan. “I filed the missing person report. Since Kennedy’s obviously not missing anymore, tell me what we need to do to close the file.”

Dylan zeroed in on one word—anymore. He crossed his ankles and casually studied the toes of his boots. “Where were you, Ms. Jefferson?”

“Call me Kennedy. Please.”

Not happening. Making this any more personal would destroy what little sense of self he retained. Lifting his chin, he peered at her through narrowed eyes. “Where’d you run off to...Ms. Jefferson?”

Her nostrils flared, eyes glittering. “I didn’t run—”

“Truth.” The barked command was all the louder for the heavy silence that followed.

A sultry laugh escaped her. “So demanding.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. The voice that had come out of her mouth wasn’t hers.

“Care to explain that little trick?” He watched her. Waited. When she didn’t answer, he pushed off the door and slipped a hand behind his back to grip his primary weapon. “I asked you a question, Ms. Jefferson.”

Those blue eyes were wide with undisguised fear. “I didn’t mean to...that is, I... I’m...sorry.” The last word was ground out.

“Accepted. Now, stop stalling and answer me.” His arched brow issued a silent challenge to her burgeoning temper.

Kemp stepped up beside her. “You’re badgering her like she’s guilty of something.”

Point to her BFF. He answered the man without looking away from the woman. “I won’t leave without carrying out my duty.”

Kemp dropped a hand on her shoulder and stared at him, considering. “I already told you the whole thing was a mistake. She was...”

“Sleeping,” the woman blurted out. “Heavily.”

Dylan knew his smile didn’t reach the cold void of his eyes. “Heavy enough you didn’t hear your phone when I called? My knocks at your door when I came by?”

She scrubbed her palms against her thighs. “Right.”

He blinked slowly. “Sounds odd. Unnatural, even.”

A raspy growl slipped between her lips.

Tightening his grip on his weapon, he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.

The woman pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. “Not me, not me, not me,” she whispered.

“Kennedy?” Running his hands down her arms, Kemp gripped her hands. “Talk to me, honey.”

Fool. “I’m ready to finish this.” Dylan knew the woman heard him when she darted a glance in his direction. Pupils enlarged, her chest heaved as he watched her fight to regain control.

“Noted,” she said in that odd voice, dipping her chin sharply.

So he waited. Seconds turned into minutes. At no point did he relax his grip on his weapon.

Kemp shot him a hard look. “I’d appreciate it if we could finish this later.”

Dylan’s free hand fisted. “She and I haven’t even started.”

The woman looked up again, the blue of her irises all but gone. She stood with exaggerated care. “Why are you here?”

Gods, that voice. It reeked of violent deeds done in the dark. He fought to squash the urge to claw at his skin and dislodge her words, words that stuck to his skin like poison-tipped cockleburs. Never had he heard anything like it.

Stepping closer, she smiled. “And now it seems I’ve asked you a question. Hesitation won’t be tolerated.”

Kemp reached for her, trying to pull her back.

“This is between the woman and me. It has nothing to do with you,” Dylan snapped. The man would back off or Dylan would be forced to divide his attentions, half on the woman and half on the Druidic arts to compel the man to leave. “If you have any sense of self-preservation, you’ll back off.”

“Back off, my ass.” Kemp put himself between them, the woman at his back. “She matters to me.”

May the gods save him from heroes. “More than your own life? Because if the answer’s ‘no’? Move. Now.” He shoved Kemp aside and stepped into the woman’s personal space. “I asked you to answer me, and more than once. I’m nigh done asking, woman.”

Sweat beaded along her upper lip. Shadows moved in her eyes. “Don’t...let me—” she bore down, panting through gritted teeth “—hurt anyone. Please.”

With that, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed.

Well, shit.

* * *

Head resting on her forearms, a safari-esque drumbeat pounded through Kennedy’s brain over and over, her mental MP3 stuck on Repeat. Her head felt too full. Ethan rubbed her back, his warm hands turning her bones to Silly Putty. The mental drumming wound down to sporadic solo bursts when those magic hands slipped up her neck to massage her scalp. He chanted, voice so low she couldn’t understand what he said. Twisting, she looked up to find his eyes closed and face totally relaxed. She took his hands in hers. Their warmth hadn’t been imagined. Far from it. They were almost hot to the touch. How? Why?

“Better?” Ethan asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She settled back into his office chair. “Yeah.” Digging an elastic band from her scrub pocket, she pulled her hair up into a thick, sloppy topknot. Her hands froze midway through the act. “Where’s the Neanderthal?”

“Waiting outside.”

“Think we can sneak out? I...” Fear strangled her and made her breath wheeze. “I need to talk to you. About what’s been going on.”

Ethan’s gaze narrowed. “I’m up for a little spontaneous dissidence if you are. Put your head back down and give me a second to get rid of him.” He slipped out the door.

Alone, her mind wandered. Thoughts crowded in, layering one over the other to form a collage of memories, some clear, others clouded. She poked at the unfamiliar images, trying to paint clearer pictures of places she thought she’d been, things she believed she’d done and, worse, violence she’d probably carried out.

Velvet-clad fingers swept through her mind, as visceral and malicious as anything she’d ever experienced. The intimate violation made her stomach knot up. Her vision fractured. Reality was suddenly painted with diluted watercolors. Squeezing her eyes closed and clutching her head, she gasped. Not okay. Not even remotely okay. “Stop it.”

Low, angry hisses wicked along her skull. Her scalp tried to crawl down her face and escape the infinite voices trapped in the sound.

“Stop it,” she repeated through gritted teeth.

“Stop what?”

The room snapped into focus. Somewhere nearby, a phone rang, the noise hammering her eardrums.

Ethan stood across the desk from her, a deep V carved between his brows. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing.” She swallowed the bile that blistered her throat. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah. Off to get you a glass of water from the cafeteria.”

A shaky breath escaped. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”

Ethan hesitated. “We’ll need to stay close. No way am I going to risk making this worse for you.”

“I can’t afford for things to get worse. We’ll just go across the street to The Daily Grind, talk there.”

“You’re not worried about being overheard?”

Absently working loose tendrils of hair into the topknot, Kennedy shook her head. “We’re regulars. I doubt anyone will pay us any attention.”

“Let’s go, then.” Ethan peered out into the hall before gesturing her forward.

They walked hand in hand through the lobby, out the front door and across the street. A rush of warm air brushed over them as they stepped inside the coffee shop favored by hospital staff. The smells of fresh bread, cinnamon and ground coffee beans swirled around them. Cashiers took orders and baristas called out names. Fire crackled in the fireplace. Conversation buzzed, giving the café a distinct hive feel.

Ethan pulled his wallet and handed her a few bills. “Get me my usual while I grab a sofa.” He took off, stalking the floor and looking for a group getting ready to bail. Kennedy watched him approach a couple packing their things. After a fast exchange, the couple left and Ethan flopped down on the leather seat. He sent her a thumbs-up and wide grin, making her smile absently in return.

“Lady, your order all ready?” The cashier, a small, short-tempered young woman cracked her gum as she waited on Kennedy to turn around.

“You’ll address me with respect,” Kennedy snarled.

The cashier popped her gum. “Your order, Your Highness.”

Peripheral vision diminishing, something foreign rose in her, shoving at her will. She raised a trembling hand to her temple and whispered, “Not right now.”

“Then step aside,” the cashier spat, leaning around Kennedy to motion forward the next person in line.

“Not you, you idiot.” The words were out before she could stop them. She lifted her gaze to the woman behind the counter and the woman gasped, stepping back a strong pace from the counter.

“I saw... I saw...” the woman sputtered.

“What? What did you see?” She ran her hands over her face, relieved to find nothing more than her own flesh and bone.

Still, the cashier kept backing away. She hit a rolling cart loaded with baked goods and sent it crashing into the wall. “Your eyes.”

Fear lashed Kennedy’s feet in place even as her pulse took flight. “Look, it was probably the light. Take my order and I’ll get out of your hair.” Kennedy’s gaze darted around the coffee shop. “I need two chocolate mocha lattes, heavy on the cream, topped with whipped cream, and two croissants, warmed, butter on the side.”

The cashier nodded and inched back to the register but still had to try three times to call the order as she rang it up.

Kennedy managed to pay without causing a scene, though the cashier refused to touch her when she handed over the money. Irrational anger flooded Kennedy. Who did the girl think she was to treat Kennedy like some type of pariah? She opened her mouth to demand an apology when the barista called her name. Spinning, she shouldered a stranger aside, grabbed the drinks and headed toward Ethan, desperation dogging her every step.

He’d understand. He’d help her get through this.

It seemed to take forever to reach him. Setting the cups on the little coffee table, she dropped onto the sofa and clutched her bag. The fine hairs on her neck stood up. Someone was watching her. She looked around but only saw curious glances in their direction. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Ethan grabbed his cup and blew across the lip. “What’s going on, Kennedy?”

“This stays between us.”

She could see a look of hurt tighten the corners of his eyes even as his brows drew down. “Always. It’s always been that way.”

“I know, I know.” She buried her face in her hands. “I just... I needed to say it this time. I need to hear the promise. Words have power.”

Ethan’s cup clattered against the saucer. “Where’d you get that last sentiment?”

“No idea.” She looked up. “Does it matter?”

“Depends. But I give you my solemn vow that I won’t repeat this conversation.” He watched her carefully, waiting for her to speak.

She let her attention drift to the fire. There was comfort in the blaze, something she’d never experienced before. Watching the gas flames as they rose and fell behind the fake logs seemed wrong, or inorganic at the very least.

Ethan broke her line of sight, and she shifted her attention back to him. Taking the cup he offered, she sipped. The drink was perfect, the bitterness of the coffee offsetting the sweet whipped cream and thick chocolate. Things like this made life seem better, even if only for the length of time it would take her to finish the drink.

“So spill it, Kennedy, and I’m not talking about the coffee.”

“Right.” She set the cup on the coffee table by her knee. “About six months ago, I started having blackouts. At first they were really rare but, as time passed, they became more frequent.” She waited for him to react, but he only nodded and gestured with his cup for her to continue. “Okay, so these blackouts have always been preceded by vision-reducing headaches.”

“How fast is onset?”

His clinical approach stopped the encroaching panic, forcing her to think past it and answer his questions. “It begins peripherally, narrowing to tunnel vision before I lose sight altogether. I retain the ability to hear for—I’m guessing—approximately two minutes. My heart rate accelerates, but I attribute it to stress. Something in me shifts, like I’m harboring a different...this sounds so crazy.” She shook her head and reached for her coffee cup, taking a scalding gulp.

“Don’t edit this, Kennedy. I need to know exactly what’s happening.” Ethan’s firm voice was more command than request.

“Look, this isn’t easy.” The heat from the cup seeped into her hands as she rolled it back and forth across her palms.

“Keep it clinical. If it’s unexplainable, just do your best.”

She snorted. “What, are you diagnosing me?”

“Consider this a free evaluation.” He bumped her knee with his. “Go on.”

Her voice dipped lower, and Ethan leaned in to listen. “When my hearing begins to fade, it’s as if my will is being superseded by something, and then that entity’s will pushes mine out of its way. I feel it, Ethan. I can tell my consciousness is being forced out of the way, but it’s unstoppable. My will is shoved aside, and then I’m gone. I wake up in the strangest places having done some of the most inappropriate things—dancing nearly topless on a bar top to ‘Tequila’ at a biker bar was my most recent fete.” She paused and looked up to gauge his reaction. When his face remained neutral, she let loose the craziest idea. “I don’t like light anymore. Darkness is more comfortable. I’ve even started living with my drapes closed all the time to avoid sunlight. I know it sounds crazy, but if I step into the shadows? It goes away. Ethan, I’ve got this creepy-ass feeling, like I’ve got some parasite sucking on me.”

He ran his fingers through his hair several times as he considered her. When he finally spoke, his voice was sharp, his words clipped. “You’re losing how much time per episode?”

Kennedy rolled her shoulders, trying to ignore the tension that had snuck back in. “It ranges. This last time was the worst. I lost days.” Her voice trembled and she hated it, hated that whatever was happening was breaking her. She chewed on her bottom lip and looked anywhere but at him. When he touched her knee, she startled and sloshed coffee over the rim of the cup. It coursed down both sides of her hand and she cursed out of habit, hurrying to set the cup down. Mid-motion, she froze and slid her gaze to Ethan. “It doesn’t burn.”

He reached for her hand, taking the cup from her and setting it down before examining her hand. Though slightly pink, the skin was neither burned nor blistered. Ethan looked at her, his face a blank mask. But behind it, she thought she saw both fear and awe.

Taking her hand back, she mopped up the mess the best she could. “What?” she finally demanded. “Why are you staring?”

“Just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Kennedy kept scrubbing at the table though the mess was long gone. “What makes you think there’s another shoe?”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Kennedy.”

Pausing, she looked around the coffee shop. No one was paying them any attention. Dropping the napkins, she clasped her hands together and leaned forward. “I had a second episode Friday night. It’s never happened before. I was in the cab and then, next thing I know, I’m standing in the hallway on the fourth floor wondering what day it is—today.” She lowered her voice even more. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I have this...this knowledge that I’m going to...” She swallowed hard and jumped when he took her hands.

“That you’re going to what?” he asked, low and hard.

“I’m going to be responsible for a lot of death, Ethan. More than you can imagine.”

Chapter 3

Dylan discreetly followed the pair across the lobby and briefly held off following them outside. Not once were they out of his line of sight. They might believe he was as gullible as a spring lamb born yesterday, but he knew the man, Ethan, had been looking to ditch him by sending him for a glass of water for the woman. The woman. She wasn’t simply the woman to him, but rather the foretold woman. Kennedy Jefferson. The key to his survival lay somewhere within her. A hard shudder worked through him, and his fingertips burned. It was reactionary to clinch his hands in order to hide the show of magicks he couldn’t regulate. Simply the thought of her challenged his control. Irritating, that particular tell, and not a small one at that. Made him feel like a fool on a righteous errand.

He watched as the two slipped inside the coffee shop before he stepped outside in silent pursuit. He stood in a group of strangers and waited for the crosswalk sign to turn. A wave of subtle power struck him, faint and scentless. If it had held a smell, or even a flavor, he’d have been able to identify the element to which it was bound, but the wave retreated far too quickly for him to gain a good hold on it.

Dylan moved quickly, undoing his cufflinks and pocketing them. The dirks up his sleeves and the gun at his back needed to be accessible without interference or delay. He hesitated—actually hesitated—outside the little coffee shop. Reconciling assignments where a gods-be-damned woman was the target had always been the hardest for him. But Kennedy Jefferson proved a whole different level of difficult. She’d haunted him for 300 years. Memories so clear they could have been recent versus centuries old swamped him. The goddess Danu’s warning, issued in a dim Scottish cave three centuries ago, rolled about his mind. She had come to him and spoken of finding some immeasurable truth that would save not only mankind but the Druidic race, as well. To fail would result in the release of the imprisoned gods.

He’d pleaded with her, begged for more to go on than that. She’d considered him carefully before issuing him a name. “Begin seeking her in what will be a new world to you, Dylan, for she is the only one who holds the truth. You must find Kennedy Jefferson before all is lost. She has within her the single truth you must reveal and accept.” And then Danu had disappeared.

The light changed, the crowd jostling him hard enough to knock some sense into him. He had no business bandying about with memories no more tangible than fairy tales. Instead, he searched the glass-fronted shop, located his target and shifted directions, slipping down first one side of the building, then around the back and up the other. There were exits fore and aft, as well as a handful of tiny windows. He couldn’t watch them all. Shouldn’t have to, though. She had no idea who he was or why he was here, so she wouldn’t likely run. Not yet, anyway. Not unless Cailleach took the wheel, because that bitch had definitely recognized him.

Another brush of power skated over his skin with blades as sharp as knives. It had to be coming from the woman. No one else could harness that kind of power and keep it secreted, not from the men who’d done the background check on this mission. Hell, Dylan knew things about Kennedy Jefferson she’d likely hate—that her mother committed suicide when Kennedy was thirteen. That her father remarried when Kennedy was twenty-two and died of a massive heart attack last year, just days after her twenty-ninth birthday. That she’d been a combat medic in the army and went to college on the GI bill.

The only explanation for the power surge painted her as the source. Still, he needed confirmation. If someone with such undiluted strength had glommed on to her, the playing field had just changed.

Grabbing a newspaper, he pulled up a seat to one side of the shop’s entrance. He could see her standing in line. Perfect.

The electric doors to the café swished open. Scents of coffee, baked goods and humanity were strong enough to mask all but the closest magicks, elemental or otherwise. Damn it. He needed to get a bead on the type of magick being wielded. Too many smells to contend with here. He’d have to step inside.

In the time it took him to dump his paper and move to the door, the woman had taken up with her companion on a sofa near the fire. Dark head bent forward, her lips moved rapidly. Every now and again she’d glance up, considering the man’s response before carrying on. She looked over her shoulder once, gaze roaming the room. Those dark blue eyes stole his breath.

Kemp touched her leg and regained her attention before her gaze found Dylan. Too bluidy bad. He’d quite like to go ahead and call her out, to draw her out and end this here and now.

Dylan’s power leaked inexplicably, coiling loosely around him. Before he could tamp it down, her companion’s chin whipped up and turned toward him. Dark gray eyes were like storm-lashed seas, and Dylan knew for certain where the power he’d felt had come from. He could smell it now, the loam of damp earth, and knew only one brand of magick with such a distinctive scent. Warlock.

“Oh, son, ye’ve toyed with the wrong man,” Dylan whispered, nodding his head in acknowledgment.

Kennedy’s companion nodded back, never faltering. She must have misunderstood his movement as a suggestion to look to the doorway, because she stopped speaking midsentence and turned. Her mouth fell open.

He arched a brow at her and grinned, mouthing the words, “Your office. Now.”

Her mouthed response had him smiling even wider.

The doors slid open and he stepped outside to wait. Over the years, he’d learned to pay attention to his instinct, and right now? That instinct was screaming she was about to take flight. The thrill of the chase had his blood pumping through his veins and, for the second time since he’d landed in Atlanta, he found himself feeling alive. It didn’t slip his notice that both times he’d felt so invigorated, it involved the woman he’d just ordered to heel.

No, it didn’t slip his notice at all.

* * *

“Hell,” Ethan snarled, eyes focused somewhere behind her.

“What?” Kennedy turned in the direction of his stare. Her skin heated at the same time she broke out in goose bumps.

Dylan O’Shea smiled the darkest, most seductive smile she’d ever seen and mouthed three words. “Your office. Now.”

“Oh, shit,” she whispered.

“Kennedy? Look at me.” Ethan reached out and grabbed her arm after Dylan left the building. When he tugged, she turned to face him. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

She reached for her coffee cup, her hand shaking so badly she abandoned the effort. “I can’t just leave, Ethan. The cop obviously knows we skipped out. I can only avoid his questions so long before he hauls me in for a more formal sit-down.”

“I’m not screwing around.” His voice struck her like a lash and made her flinch. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed hard enough she gasped. “And he’s not a cop. Not even close.”

“What’s with you? You’re hurting me.” She yanked on his grip, but he didn’t let go. “And what do you mean he’s not a cop?”

“Sorry. Look, I recognize him. I should have realized it before now. I...” He let her go and ran both hands through his hair. “He’s dangerous, Kennedy. More dangerous than you can possibly imagine.”

A quick glance around proved the man had disappeared. The way she struggled to sit still, the feeling of eyes boring into her back, said he was watching them. “What’s going on?”

“Have to get to my car.” Ethan stood and scanned the coffee shop. “It’s the only chance.” He stood and yanked her to her feet.

“Hey!”

“Quiet,” he whispered, gaze darting around.

Tension wound its way up her spine in lazy spirals, tightening and strangling as it went. “You’re scaring me.”

“Yeah? Good. Better scared and alive than naive and dead.”

Dead. “You’ve gone over the edge. The guy said he’s a cop.” Dread followed tension’s weaving pattern up her back. “What if I hurt someone, Ethan? What if I did something horrible and that’s why he’s here?”

“He never once said he was a cop, Kennedy. We assumed. But he’s not. He’s a...the...not a cop. Forget it. I’ve got to get you out of here.” Arm around her shoulders, he steered her to the back of the coffee shop.

“Get me out of here?” she parroted.

Ignoring her, he stopped outside the restroom and glanced around. “Go inside. Lock the door, count to thirty and then shimmy out the window. Head to your car. I want you to drive a hundred miles east, then a hundred miles south. Make credit card purchases. Call in a hotel reservation somewhere in North Carolina, somewhere you could get to today. Buy a plane ticket somewhere across country, but don’t go to the airport. He’ll be watching. Probably your house, too.” He pulled his hair. “Then I want you to come back here and meet me at my house at nine tonight. It’ll give me time to figure out how to get you out of this.”

“This? This what? You’re acting crazier than me. Why in the world do I have to leave through the bathroom window?” She looked back. “He’s not even here.”

“Yeah, he is. Just because you can’t see him doesn’t mean I can’t sense him.”

“I’m going to lose it if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

He pulled her to a stop outside the bathroom door. “I can’t. Not right now. Just...if you’ve ever trusted me, please do as I say. I’m going to redirect his attention, make him think I’m helping you out a different window. In the meantime, you crawl out this one and run. Get to your car and drive like the devil’s arrived and brought hell with him.”

Goose bumps stole over her skin and she shivered. “A little overdramatic, don’t you think?”

“No. I don’t.”

And with that, he pushed her into the bathroom and shut the door.

* * *

Kennedy stumbled into Ethan’s house a few minutes before nine, exhausted. Ethan had freaked her out. His fear had leeched straight through her, and she’d carried it with her everywhere she’d been today, from the outlet mall for clothes to the computer café to every gas station. That fear had eventually bled off, though, the adrenaline unsustainable. Now, wandering through his dark house, it was back. Tendrils wound around her legs like a thorny climbing rose. She wasn’t sure what to do. The sting of tears caught her off guard, and she blew out a hard breath.

“What’s happening to me?” she whispered in the darkness.

A hand clamped over her mouth tightly, and she was dragged back into a hard body.

She fought like a mad woman, biting, kicking, scratching—everything she’d learned in the army.

Just as she’d maneuvered to flip her assailant over her shoulder, he shouted, “Calm down!”

Nostrils alternately flaring and sucking almost closed as she struggled to get enough air, she stopped fighting.

“I’m letting you go.”

Hands slipped away and she spun, knee connecting with a denim-clad groin.

“Oompf!” Ethan doubled over and couldn’t contain the groan that escaped him. “Damn it, Kennedy. You just scrambled my eggs.”

Chest heaving, she took in the shadowy form of her best friend. “Damn you, Ethan! You leave me with directions to run and then return before shoving me into a freaking public restroom, show up here in the dark and finally, truly, scare the crap out of me. What’d you expect me to do? Say thanks?”

“Keep it down.” He propped his hands on his knees and slowly worked his way to standing.

She rubbed her lips, tasting blood. Mine or his? Spinning on her heel, she stalked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. “I decided I’m not doing this, going along with your apparent he’s dangerous theory just because I trust you. And I do. Trust you, that is. It’s just...

“This is out of control, Ethan. Climbing out public bathroom windows and dodging Dumpsters and one very large rat to get to my car isn’t reasonable. I’m bruised, scraped up and scared. Living like this isn’t an option. Personnel made it clear last time I missed work that my job was in jeopardy. After this latest stunt? No way. It’ll cost me, and being the director of nursing is who I am, Ethan. I’m not willing to give that up.”

He stepped close and wrapped her in his arms, the hug tight and long. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too, though I’m still not exactly sure what happened.” She tilted her head back and he kissed her on the forehead. “Thanks.”

“You’re my girl. How else would I greet you?”

“Want a beer?” She opened the fridge and retrieved a bottle, offering it over her shoulder.

“Nope. I’m driving.”

She twisted the top off the bottle and took a long pull, the hoppy flavor making her taste buds curl a little, before turning toward Ethan with slow deliberation. “Driving?”

“We’re getting out of here.”

“Clearly, you didn’t hear me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Ignoring her, he spun away and, wraith-like, slipped through the dark house.

She rolled her shoulders and leaned a hip against the counter. It took a minute for her to gather her wits about her before following him down the hall and into his bedroom. When she reached for the light, he grabbed her wrist.

“Lights need to stay out.”

“What? Why?”

“I would imagine we’re okay, but I don’t want to tempt the Fates. The, uh, guy from earlier could be around,” he muttered.

“The cop that’s apparently not a cop.” She considered him carefully. “You realize that every word out of your mouth makes you sound like you’re the one in need of the psych eval, right?”

The ensuing silence said volumes. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, hard in a way she’d never heard it before. “You’ll owe me an apology when this is all said and done.”

She knew she should say something to smooth ruffled feathers, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she carefully lowered herself to the floor and sipped her beer, watching as he packed a small bag.

“You have no idea how much trouble you’re in. Why is this guy gunning for you? What have you done?”

She coughed and sputtered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Gunning for me? You make me sound like I’m an animal and it’s open season. And as for what I’ve done? That would be a big, fat nothing. Not that I remember.”

Ethan shifted. A slight split in the curtains let in the glow from the streetlight and made his gray eyes appear nearly lifeless. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into with him.”

“Then explain it to me.” Derision dripped from each word, and while she wasn’t proud of herself, she really feared Ethan had experienced some kind of mental break.

His eyes narrowed. “I ought to, if only to prove you’re screwed. But I’m going to try to talk you into leaving first.”

“I told you—I’m not leaving.”

“You’ve got to get out of town. Your only chance is to start a new life somewhere else.”

“Not happening.” Tracing the rim of the bottle, she considered Ethan. “Who is he, E? I kept thinking about him this afternoon, and I have this feeling I’ve seen him before. It’s like part of me recognizes him, but it’s the part of me that isn’t me. Does that make any sense?”

Ethan stopped breathing.

Something was right on the edge of her consciousness, something big, but it wouldn’t materialize. The harder she chased it, the more like smoke it became, sifting through her fingers with every grab, spreading thinner and thinner until there was nothing left to seize. “I don’t know how else to explain it, but I know I’m not afraid of him.”

“Well, if there is some other part to you, she’s an idiot.”

A deep growl slipped through her lips.

She stood slowly, fighting an unexpected wave of vertigo. “No. I mean it. Explain.”

Ethan’s chin hitched up and his eyes darkened. A small smile played at one corner of his mouth, and he watched her with disturbing intensity. “You want to know? Think before you answer, because once you know? There’s no undoing it.”

She stared at the sliver of light, thinking. Several long minutes passed before she found her answer and was able to look up at him.

The glint of determination on Ethan’s face was so familiar she hardly considered it significant. He was a playful person, true, but he had a steel core almost everyone missed.

He crossed his arms. “Well?”

“I want to know.”

A strange quiet took hold of him as he settled into himself, and she watched it happen with growing anticipation.

“You’re sure?” he asked once more.

Tension spread through her in stops and starts, dragging frayed nerves along for the ride. “Just say it,” she snapped out.

“Fine,” he answered in kind. “I’m a warlock—magick-practicing and everything.”

She broke into a full grin. When he did nothing but stare at her with a totally straight face, her grin began to fade. “Ethan—”

“Nope. That’s not the end of it.” He dragged a hand down the front of his face. “I knew I’d seen Dylan O’Shea before but couldn’t remember where. He came to a coven I was involved in at the time, and he was looking for someone.”

“A coven, as in a bunch of witches with black cats and brooms and cauldrons.” Shaking her head, she tried not to laugh. “That’s rich, Ethan.”

“I’m not a—” He paused, trying to find a way to explain. “Dylan O’Shea is an actual living, breathing Druid. What’s worse? He’s their Assassin. And they only let that dog off the chain when they’ve got a real problem.”

“That’s not funny.” The words were filled with disbelief.

“No, it’s not.”

She shook her head. “You’re trying to scare me into compliance, but it’s not going to work.”

Ethan tapped his chin for a second then smiled, but it was far from a happy sight. “Trust me.” A command, not a question.

Kennedy opened her mouth to answer but could only wheeze. Her hand went to her throat in a panic.

“Easy, honey. I took your voice.”

He leaned forward, hand outstretched, and she scrambled back from him. The backs of her knees hit the bed and she dropped to the mattress, hand still at her throat. This isn’t real.

“Hey. It’s me. Same guy I’ve always been.”

When Ethan reached for her throat, she leaned back.

“It’s easier for me to return what I took if I’m touching you.”

Tension devolved to violent shaking, but she let him come closer.

He passed his hand down the column of her throat and whispered a few unintelligible words.

Her throat tickled for a second and she cleared it. “Holy shit,” she said softly, the curse filled with both fear and awe.

“That about sums it up.” Ethan didn’t look happy.

“I’m not saying you’re right, but if you are, why has Dylan been let off the chain?”

“I don’t know why, but he’s here—” His head snapped up. Sidling up to the window, he shifted the curtain aside. “Goddess preserve us. He really is. He’s here.”

Chapter 4

Dylan crouched in the bushes outside Ethan’s house. There were no lights on inside, but a red, new-model muscle car sat in the driveway. Given the earthy scent he picked up from the perimeter and the brush of power he’d felt moments ago, it had to be the warlock’s.

He rubbed his hands down cargo-clad thighs. His face paint was oily, his shoulder holsters chafed and his scalp was tight. Nothing felt right about this. The need to unfurl his own magick, to feel out the house, skated down his arms and burned his fingertips. Reality shifted, blurring his hands. What the hell? Something was messing with his control, ramping up his tenuous hold on the aether.

Ever volatile, his magick didn’t come only when called, like some elemental lapdog he commanded to heel. Aether demanded more recognition than that. If he didn’t exercise the magick regularly, it forced his hand. He’d leak power in a steady drip, drip, drip. Then he’d blow. Surroundings would be fundamentally changed. From the animate to the inanimate, nothing was safe.

The breeze shifted, and the woman’s scent flirted with his senses—lavender and vanilla. Yet underlying that was something dark, a faint smell as pungent as burned hair that tainted her natural fragrance. It hadn’t been there earlier. The warlock’s green, earthy smell confused things.

He refocused on the house as a shadow moved by a window, one that was decidedly too tall to be...her. His chest ached and he cursed long and low. She was his mark. Nothing more, nothing less. He’d carry out his duties as he always had—with cold precision.

The warlock scanned the bushes where Dylan hid.

He wondered for a moment if Ethan could sense his magick. If he could, he’d be more of a contender than Dylan had originally given him credit for. The Assassin in him almost wished for that. His need to take back the control he’d lost this morning in letting the woman get away made him slightly reckless.

The curtains shut abruptly, and he had the distinct sense his wish was about to come true. He did a quick physical inventory of his weapons—short sword, daggers, gun, taser, garrotes, injectable sedation, smoke grenades, tear gas, extra bullets, both plastic and steel cuffs. It was all there. Sidling up to the front door, he used the deep porch shadows to hide and wait.

No one emerged.

Slinking around the side of the house, he scaled the fence and dropped into the backyard. Dylan slipped closer to the house. French doors on the lower patio were the most logical means of entry, but he’d likely be forced to work his way upstairs at some point. Being trapped in a stairwell with a warlock flinging elemental magicks at him would put him on the defensive, and Dylan didn’t operate that way.

He took the steps to the deck, edging up to the glass slider. Going to one knee, he peered around the corner. Few adversaries expected a man his size to come in low.

Unfurling his magick, he let it flood the house like smoke, filling every crevice, nook and cranny. They were there. The feel of them tickled his overstimulated senses. Her scent moved through him, unleashing an altogether different kind of desire in him. Damn her. Damn her for mixing this up.

Need coiled in him like a giant snake, and he cursed her under his breath. It was as if she’d bewitched him. From the moment he’d seen her the first time in his dreams, he’d wanted her. The reality of the woman was far more potent, fueling an irrational desire that called to him to toss duty aside, go to her and forget both obligation and honor.

Dylan pulled back and thumped his temple hard with the heel of one hand. He’d never failed an assignment, and this wouldn’t be his first. Whatever truth he’d been warned so long ago to find in the woman would have to come second to his responsibilities and, if necessary, his life.

Shaking his head to clear the hazy craving that was her siren’s song, he reached slowly for the door handle. It unlocked with a simple mental push. The resounding snick in the oppressive, stormy atmosphere announced his location as effectively as if he’d rung the front bell.

He let the door whisper open.

The first attack came as he crossed the threshold. A short incantation followed by streams of light as bright as the sun. They struck him full in the chest and launched him backward so hard he hit the second-story deck railing. He nearly went over.

A short, female shout of alarm pulled him upright.

Then the damn warlock struck again.

This time Dylan did go over the rail. He managed to tuck and roll into the landing, missing the concrete pad by inches. Not that the grass was that much softer, but at least he didn’t break anything that would keep him out of the fight.

Dylan shoved to his feet and raced to the fence, vaulting it without slowing down. He rounded the house and smashed through the front door in time to see Ethan haul Kennedy down a long hallway. He started after them, his pace leisurely. He waved a hand at the front door. “Chomh luath agus a scoir, anois chuimhne. Oscailte do cheann ach mé.” Once an exit, now a memory. Where the door had been was now solid wall.

Casting a hand toward a window, he murmured, “Phána gloine balla bpríosún, beidh tú a oscailt le haghaidh aon cheann ach mé.” Glass pane to prison wall, you’ll open for none but me.

A slow smile spread across his face. His eyes grew hooded as he recalled the door downstairs had been glass, as well.

They were trapped.

The sound of Ethan’s vehement cursing reached him. “He’s blocked the windows.”

It might have been cruel, but Dylan chuckled. “You’re caught in a gambit of your own making, warlock. This ends now.”

“You can’t have her.” Ethan stepped into the hallway. A burst of black flame raced Dylan’s way.

Dylan let his power free, watched it roil in his palms. It consumed the blaze, changing it to water that splashed at his feet. He wiped his hands on his pants. “Playing dirty, is it not, using black fire against an enemy?”

Even in the poor light, Dylan could see Ethan’s face go ashen. “It’s not possible.”

“What’s not possible?”

“No one controls the aether.” The words were heavy. “It’s not predictable.”

Dylan shrugged. “Amend that to no one you’ve ever known, and you’ve got it right. And as for not being predictable? Neither am I.”

* * *

Dylan’s bitter, cold voice left a thick rime over Kennedy’s skin.

Ethan stepped back and pulled her behind his body. “You’re not taking her, you pile of Irish sheep shit.”

“No? Seems we’re not of an accord, then.” That silky voice, laced with promised violence and pain, bled through the dark.

Ethan shuffled backward, herding her toward the bedroom. “Go. Lock the door.”

“No.”

“What?” His hoarse whisper grated across the air.

Her voice was so steady it surprised her. “I’m not going down without at least throwing a punch.” Stepping around him, she faced Dylan.

Lightning illuminated the Assassin from behind. She might not have been able to pick him out of the dark without that blinding flash. When his eyes began to luminesce, she stepped toward him. “Don’t do this.”

He snorted. “You don’t think to plead, certainly.”

She swallowed so hard she knew he heard it. “If you’ll tell me what it is you think I’ve done, I’ll undo it.”

His lips thinned. “Ye canna undo this.”

“There has to be a way. I don’t even know why you’re here.” This is a nightmare. God, please let me wake up. She forced her legs, which were numb with fear, to move forward another step.

The planes and angles of Dylan’s face seemed harsher in the next lightning flash. He spread his feet and let his hands relax at his sides as he considered her. “It’s not my place to explain justice, only deliver it.”

“If you kill me, it’s murder, not justice.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her temples and shook her head before looking up at him, knowing her eyes were wild with desperation. “I’ve done nothing!”

He looked her up and down. “You’ve truly no idea,” he said softly.

“None,” she answered in kind.

Cursing in another language, he never took his eyes off her. “I’ll give you the truth. Nothing more. I’ve been sent to cast out the goddess, Cailleach, who possesses you, and rebind her to the Shadow Realm.”

A bark of crazed, near-hysterical laughter escaped. “Cast a goddess out? How?”

“The only way. I’ll be taking your head first, heart second, so she canna reincarnate.”

“No!” Ethan shouted, grabbing her arm and yanking her back.

Darkness pulled her under so fast she never had the chance to warn them. She fought to stay alert. Shoving, kicking, scrabbling, she managed to maintain a precarious foothold in the now. The moment she realized what she’d done, she stilled, terrified to disrupt her tenuous hold on reality.

The world looked different. She could see Dylan through the dark, though he still resembled her worst nightmare...and greatest temptation. Lust flooded her, and it took a moment to realize it wasn’t hers alone. What the... Whoever had a hold of her wanted him. Bad. Images and ideas, both hers and whatever consumed her, crashed through her mind. They collided and separated so quickly she struggled to keep from merging with those of her parasite. The creature’s—goddess’s?—thoughts were wild, unhinged, even.

Kennedy heard herself speak, words that weren’t hers breeching the darkness. “I grow tired of this byplay. We all know it will get us nowhere.” The voice was huskier than Kennedy’s, similar yet dissimilar.

“No one invited you to the party, you fruitcake.” Ethan sounded like he’d moved closer, but it was no longer a matter of turning around or reaching back to simply see.

She’d become a passenger in her own body.

“Kennedy, I know you can hear me. Get your ass back here.”

She saw her hand rise. Unintelligible words erupted from her mouth. With the flick of a hand, a huge crash sounded close behind her. Kennedy fought the urge to scream as her feet turned without her directive. She wanted to rail against the sycophant that had co-opted her body.

Ethan lay crumpled on the floor, the drywall at the end of the hall concave where he’d impacted. Blood ran through his blond hair and trailed down his forehead in a broad stripe.

Dylan’s voice drew her joint attentions. “Was that truly necessary, Cailleach?” He was casual, his brogue nearly absent. “He’s hardly worth the effort.”

Clearly, Cailleach didn’t feel the same. “He’s an annoyance the woman and I haven’t the time to deal with.”

Dylan’s left eye twitched. “Is she aware of you?”

Her hitchhiker waited silently. Kennedy experienced the being’s distinct interest—the kind of interest a woman has when the strongest motivator is desire for something or someone. A single word passed through Kennedy’s consciousness. Consort. Cailleach pushed against her, harder this time, and Kennedy held her ground. Her lips curled up even as she pressed a hand against her temple. “The little mortal thinks to fight me. Should I destroy her?”

Panic left an acrid taste hovering at the back of her throat. Her heart skipped a beat before taking up a rhythm appropriate for a fast, dirty salsa.

“She doesn’t believe you’re really here to kill us. Should I crush her hope now and explain who you are, what you’re capable of, Assassin? Or should I let you have the honors?”

This isn’t happening. None of this is happening.

The discordant voice chuckled, low and rough. “Oops. Seems she heard me.”

Dylan watched her with dispassionate eyes that gave away nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice made the hair on the back of her neck rise. “What she is or isn’t aware of means little so long as the assignment is carried out. Say what you will. All you’re doing is tormenting her before the inevitable end.”

In the stillness, Kennedy’s emotions began to fray. I’m just another kill. My blood on his hands means nothing to him.

True, answered Cailleach. The goddess seemed to take over her body and move it accordingly. She now mimicked Dylan’s position, leaning Kennedy’s body against the hallway wall.

Dylan’s phone buzzed in his pocket once then quit.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?” She smiled and traced fingers over Kennedy’s nipples, back and forth until they stood erect beneath her camisole. It was a ghostly sensation, wrong on every level. “No? Fine. I have an arrangement to propose. I’ll need a consort, Assassin. This body could be yours for the taking.” She held out her hand to him.

She’s pimping me out?

His lip curled. Leaning against the wall, he gave no indication of his intent. “I could do better with a Dublin streetwalker.”

“Bastun,” she spat out. “You desire her. I know you do.”

Dylan shoved off the wall and shouted, “De réir Danu, I éileamh an bhean is mo chuid féin!”

At the same time, Cailleach screamed, “Do chroí damanta go luaith!”

Power ripped through Kennedy with the force of a thousand joules. She screamed, strategically cleaved apart only to be slammed back together once the magick left Cailleach’s hands.

Hurled magicks collided midair, creating a burst of blue-black flames that wound together intimately, climbing to the ceiling and spreading out. A shockwave rocked the room and percussed their ears. The glass doors and windows held.

Dylan dove forward, knocking her to the ground.

Cailleach snarled. A brutal swipe to his wrist left it bleeding and his hand limp. Claws curled, she shredded his shirt and ripped a dagger from its sheath, the tip slicing into his forearm. Scrambling to her feet, she clasped the knife as she moved in to plunge it into Dylan’s back.

He rolled away at the last moment and Cailleach stumbled. Kennedy didn’t know whether to cheer or scream. Both emotions fought for a foothold on the tiny ledge where her remaining sanity perched.

Dylan drew his sword, the blade scraping against the scabbard with the hiss of metal against metal.

Magicks silently unfurled around them. His own softened and twisted everything it touched so he appeared to move through ever-shifting surroundings. Cailleach’s dark magick swirled around her feet, as dense as Dylan’s was fluid. The fine black mist widened even as it drifted up her legs, twining around them like some great cat.

Tendrils of the goddess’s magick bled through Kennedy’s consciousness. She struggled to dislodge the sticky, invasive tentacles that seemed determined to dismantle her, one painful, spearing jab at a time.

Cailleach laughed and began to retreat. “We’ll save this for another day. I find I enjoy sparring with you.”

Darkness threatened to swamp Kennedy, a pervasive sense of nothingness—an absolute void she was powerless against.

Cailleach faced the Assassin.

Kennedy watched as Dylan hesitated. The surety of a decision made skipped through his eyes just before he shoved his damaged hand in his pocket and pulled a syringe, flicking the cap off. He charged forward. Slamming into them, he drove them into the wall. They hit hard enough that Kennedy experienced the breathlessness of impact.

Dylan’s body pressed into hers. Their hearts thundered against each other, the stormy rhythm hammering her awareness. She experienced a brief connection with him, intimate in the silence of her mind.

His arms shoved under hers, the needle digging into the soft area between her collarbone and armpit. Dull, aching pain quickly spread as he dug the needle in all the way to the shank. He slid his short sword up between her breasts. The guard came to rest against her sternum as the tip pierced the soft underside of her jaw.

Kennedy arched her neck away from the threat and cracked her skull against his chin. A scream lodged in her throat, but she was too terrified to move as she found herself faced with two attackers—one a physical assailant, the other an emotional terrorist. The shock that he’d drawn blood, had actually acted against her without consideration that it was her—her body, her trapped inside—snipped her last thread of hope that this was all a bad dream.

“I can end this right now,” he said, panting in her ear.

“You won’t,” Cailleach purred. Every word drove that soft spot under her tongue onto his blade. “You may want to slay my mortal host, but you won’t. Not yet. You’ll seek to bind my immortal soul on Samhain, and your honor won’t settle for less.”

He kicked her feet apart, wrapping a foot around her ankle to keep her off balance. “You mean nothing to me, Crone.”

“No, but for some reason? She does.”

Kennedy’s heart stumbled, and she felt Cailleach’s smile.

“She’s the means to your end.” Dylan pressed the sword point deeper, splitting her skin wide. “You’d be an utter fool to bank your eternity on any more than that.”

And just like that, the goddess was gone, and Kennedy was falling against the sword with no idea what scared her more—the cut of the blade or the brutal emptiness of the Assassin’s words.

Chapter 5

Dylan depressed the syringe’s plunger hard and fast. It was the woman’s voice that cried out in pain even as the goddess tried to curse him, her words misshapen by the drug’s impact. Unfazed, he dropped his blade and rode her to her knees, holding her there with his good hand as the drug worked through her system.

Smoke boiled around him and filled his lungs. He looked up. Dagda’s balls. The collision of black magicks. Ethan’s house was burning down around them.

The calculating part of his mind said to leave the woman and let her be recorded as a casualty of the fire. There would be no inquiry.

But it was the other part of him, unfamiliar and unwelcome, that demanded he discover the truth about the woman. Smoke thickened around him as he looked at her, crumpled on the floor. Violence flooded him. He despised indecision, despised being cornered and forced to choose between two impossibilities. Throwing his head back, he roared his fury to the heavens. How could he, for even a moment, believe he had a choice?

What he was going to offer her was no kinder a fate, but he couldn’t leave her to die this way.

Sweeping her up, Dylan rushed to where the front door had been, flinging magicks ahead of him to fold the wall open. Racing across the lawn, he reached the warlock’s sports car and dumped her unceremoniously in the passenger side. Her eyes tried to track, but she couldn’t make them focus. With the dose he’d given her, she’d be out for hours.

Her mouth worked slowly, and she tried to speak around a tongue that felt too large for her mouth. “Muh...” She blinked slowly. “Muh...”

“Easy. You’ve a good while before your time comes.”

“Eth...an.” She licked her lips. “Get... Eth...”

Ethan. She was trying to say the warlock’s name.

Under any other circumstance he would have left the man as a casualty, yet it was clear she wanted him saved. Pain struck his chest hard and fast. He’d not be entering a burning building on the whim of his mark. Of course, the man might have knowledge the Order could use in managing the woman until Samhain.

Not like you to lie to yourself, his subconscious whispered. You go back in there, you’ll know exactly why you’re doing it and it’s not for information. It’s for the woman’s peace of mind.

Kennedy continued to fight to say the warlock’s name, the short sound coming further and further apart as she sunk into unconsciousness.

Danu’s prophecy was driving him mad, if he’d even think of returning to the house. It was the only logical reason he could accept that explained the connection he had with this woman, his concern for her well-being. She was his mark, not his heart mate. Yet inside, before she’d collapsed, he’d felt their hearts beat together, their rhythmic parallel a shock. He’d experienced the taste of her fear and known a moment of complete confusion. The combination of events had thrown him off so much that he’d discarded his blade for fear he’d inadvertently cut her.

Never, in his hundreds of years, had he experienced such need for a woman. Danu’s prophecy had said nothing of this, had spoken only of finding his truth in her, but not that it would cost him emotionally. He couldn’t afford to feel. A lifetime spent avoiding wasted emotion left him certain that wasn’t part of his personal absolution in this matter. Still...

With a low, heartfelt curse, he sprinted back across the lawn and into the blazing house. Finding the man and hoisting his unconscious form over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, Dylan ran for the car, slid the driver’s seat forward and hoisted Ethan into the backseat.

Kennedy had nearly rolled off the front seat, and he had to resituate her before he could get out of there. He leaned the seat back and buckled her in. A few words of simple magick and the engine rumbled to life and he roared out of the driveway.

Sirens sounded in the distance. Neighbors were in their yards, no doubt initially drawn by the epic boom he and Cailleach had caused when their curses collided. One of his ears was still bleeding, and he needed to get the pilot on the phone.

He and Cailleach... He hadn’t cursed her. No, he’d claimed rights to the woman when he’d yelled, “De réir Danu, I éileamh an bhean is mo chuid féin!” By Danu, I claim the woman as my own! So foolish. But he couldn’t ignore the thrill that heated his blood at the ancient declaration. Yet she’s not only mortal and bound to die, she’s also bound to do so by my hand. Dylan pounded his fist on the steering wheel. Danu had charged him with finding some critical truth that would save the world from the course it was on. What could he possibly learn in eleven days?

Because that was all the time he had left before the Order would rebind Cailleach. And it was Kennedy’s lifeblood Dylan would spill to seal the wards.

Kennedy. He couldn’t think of her in terms of a name, only an assignment. Anything more would tear at the fragile sense he had that she was somehow more, that Danu had entrusted her to him not as a means to the Council’s end, but as the only means to prevent his own.

He tore down the street, unconcerned with witnesses at this point. If he had to wipe minds, he’d wipe minds, but getting to the airport was his primary priority. He grabbed the facial wipes he’d stuck in one pocket and began scrubbing the black grease paint off his face. There was a franticness to his motions he didn’t initially recognize. When he did, he threw the fouled wipe onto the floor with a curse. An adrenaline cocktail with a straight anxiety chaser. Ever since the woman had opened the door at the hospital, the mix had been a steady rush through his veins. Not once in his history as the Order’s Assassin had he doubted his ability to carry out a job. But tonight, for the first time in his long life, he’d hesitated.

Fire trucks and police cars raced by as he made his way out of the neighborhood. No one looked at him twice with the fire’s fascinating devastation.

Dylan turned onto the highway and accelerated as fast as he dared. Digging out his cell, he called Gareth. The phone rang four times before the other man answered.

“H’lo?” He yawned, then grunted as he presumably stretched.

“Get up.”

His voice changed from sleepy to alert in an instant. “Dylan? What have you got?”

“I’ve got a heavily sedated woman and a wounded warlock in a stolen car. I’m headed to the airport. Call ahead and tell them I’m coming. I’ve ruptured my right eardrum, can’t hear well enough to ensure they repeat the orders right.”

“I’ve got a pen. Go ahead.”

Dylan relaxed a fraction. “I can’t have a flight plan filed, so grease those wheels. Send two of the local lads down to the hangar to...help. The warlock will be at the airport, so—”

“The hell I will,” Ethan slurred from the backseat, forcing himself to sit up. He tipped over, hit his head on the door panel and was out again.

“The warlock?” Gareth prompted.

“Make sure someone looks at him. He needs medical care and will undoubtedly need more before this is over. Stubborn Yank.” Dylan looked at the woman slumped in her seat. “Have Flaugherty meet us at the other end. Riordan, too. The woman is going to need a bit of medical attention herself.”

“You knock her around?”

“Piss off.” The possessive snarl crawled out like a beast from a dark cave. Gods be damned. He needed to be done with this job, done with her. “Just do your job, Gareth. No questions.”

“Sure, though you seem a wee bit protective over a woman you’re going to eliminate.” He paused. “Wait. You’re bringing her here? To the Nest?”

Dylan’s shoulders tightened until he thought his skin might split. Ignoring Gareth’s questioning prod, Dylan said, “You’re not to tell Aylish I’m returning with her. I’ll handle that myself.”

Gareth’s silence was heavy despite the miles between the men.

“Your vow, Gareth.”

“You’re asking me to go against the Council.” He muttered something unflattering. “You’re my best friend, mate, and I trust you with my back in any war. I figure this is just that. You’ve got my silence.” The sound of Gareth rubbing his morning whiskers reached Dylan’s less damaged ear. “Gotta ask it, though, man. Is it worth it?” He paused. “Is she?”

“She’s the one, Gareth. She’s the one Danu foretold.” Dylan answered Gareth the only way he knew how. With the truth. The man had been with him when Danu had appeared, though the other man had been fast asleep. He alone knew of the prophecy and Dylan’s charge.

“Fecking hell.” Not even the mediocre cell connection could hide Gareth’s quiet concern.

Dylan drove in silence, the other man content to wait until the Assassin chose to speak. What an amazing fool and even better friend. “I’ve got no clue what to do with her, but I’ll need her close to discern the goddess’s truth.”

“Would be bloody lovely if the gods would see fit to give you a bit more time, no?” Gareth spat. “I’ll make the arrangements at the airport. Call if you need me.”

He thumbed his phone off. There were so many things he needed to do to make this next step possible, but likely the first on the agenda was to notify Aylish. Steeling himself for the conversation was harder than Dylan had imagined.

His fingers were stiff as he dialed, forcing him to make corrections more than once. He didn’t want Aylish to hear anything from him that might betray his confusion. The weight of that long-suppressed emotion was like a fist around his lungs. He forced himself to slow his breathing. What did he have to hide? He’d done nothing the Order hadn’t charged him to do, pulling the goddess closer and restraining her by any means necessary. Of course, he highly doubted Aylish would agree that any means necessary included securing Cailleach in the heart of the Order’s operations. What Dylan least wanted to discuss was his hesitation in the use of additional force against the woman when the goddess betrayed her accelerating strengths. Aylish was no fool. He’d demand an accounting for the Assassin’s hesitation.

He hit Call and waited a while for the overseas connection.

It was six in the morning there, but Aylish still answered, sounding as if he’d expected Dylan’s call. “Assassin. What news?”

“Cailleach is both weaker and stronger than we anticipated. She rose tonight, and we had our second conversation and first true confrontation, this one involving black magick. She’s not a rival to underestimate, not in any way, prior to Samhain.” He waited. When Aylish remained silent, he went on. “She claims she can rise enough to engage in the host’s activities and be aware of her surroundings, without fully manifesting.”

“You allowed that to happen without taking appropriate defensive measures?” Aylish’s brusque tone betrayed both his disapproval and his fury with admirable efficiency.

Dylan’s mind fell through time, and he was suddenly a child again. He’d longed for this man’s approval, craved it like a drowning man would air—desperate, hungry, fierce—but it never came. He’d learned to steel himself against the disappointments. Centuries. He’d had centuries to stop blindly and foolishly expecting even one word of recognition. Yet the wanting never abated. It galled the hell out of him that he was reduced to enforcing the same emotional safeguards now that he had then.

“Assassin? Has the connection been lost?”

Almost permanently. Assassin, and never son. Dylan forced himself to relax his grip on the phone before answering. “The connection is fine. I was thinking.”

“I’ll be calling another meeting with the Elders today. Is there anything else you feel I should pass on?”

The urge to consult him about Danu’s ages-old dream pounded at him, but pride kept him silent. He’d not go running to his father now if he hadn’t then. “Yes. When Cailleach possessed the host today, she partially manifested, changing the host’s hands into her own.”

Aylish interrupted, cursing violently enough that Dylan raised his brows. “Kill the woman now. We cannot risk Cailleach regaining additional strengths in this plane.”

Dylan gripped the phone case so hard the plastic and metal creaked in protest. “If we kill her now, we’ll have little time to find her new host before Samhain. We’ll have better luck securing the current host and controlling the outcome on Samhain per our original plan.”

“Your orders are to end her now. I will call the Elders together and prepare the ritual to identify Cailleach’s next host. The moment she rises, we’ll dispatch you. Return home and await your next orders.”

The disconnecting click was sharp. Silence yawned in the absence of conversation. Kill her now. A glance at the woman revealed her eyes were only partially closed, her breaths a bit shallow.

Realization dawned on him, a sort of sunrise of consciousness. Danu had told him this woman held his single hope to survive. He need only find this mysterious truth. And if identifying that truth would save his life, greedy as it seemed, he had good reason not to kill her yet. Until his blade fell, nothing was decided.

Gods save me, am I truly taking her home? And after that directive from Aylish?

Yes. Yes, he was.

Dylan took the off-ramp to the airport’s private runway entrance and mindlessly followed the dark road. A right turn pointed him toward the airport’s private hangars. He slowed his approach to the gated entrance. The magickal push it took to wake Ethan was second nature, and Dylan watched as the man’s eyes fluttered open.

“Ow,” Ethan groaned, gripping his head.

Dylan didn’t bother to hide his grin in the rearview mirror. “Sit up. You’re going to help keep your best friend from being questioned.”

He watched the warlock grip his head, hands coming away bloodied. “What happened?”

“Cailleach. I explained what she’d do if she rose, but apparently you’re more a visual, hands-on learner.” He reached over and sat Kennedy upright. “I want you to lean her seat back and wad that jacket up. Prop her head on it against the frame.”

The reply from the backseat was surly at best, disrespectful at worst. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to tell the guard she’s sleeping, and you’re going to go along.”

“Why?”

“Do you really want to do this right now?” Silence. “Lean the damned seat back. Now.” The whir of the electric motor buzzed, a low-level hum of angry insects against his damaged ear.

Ethan placed the jacket between her head and the car, gently arranging her hair. “Close your eyes, find some rest,” he murmured, laying his fingers against her temple.

The tingle of magick in the car was the only thing odd about her closing her unfocused eyes with a sigh.

Dylan’s heart lurched at the sight of her so relaxed. With skin like alabaster, hair as dark as night and a mouth made for sin, she looked like a fallen angel. He couldn’t stop glancing at her as he drove. His body quickened against his will.

“Damn it to the ninth level of hell!” He pounded the steering wheel with his fist. “Not only am I caught in an emotional bog, but I’m maudlin with it, as well. Might as well retire and take up competitive knitting.”

“You knit?”

“Piss off, warlock.” Dylan rolled the window down and tried not to glare at the gate guard.

The standard night watchman, a burly fellow who took his job seriously if his starched uniform and buzz cut were any indicators, lumbered out of the gatehouse. “You have a pilot ID or flight plan?” The portly man hitched up his belt and retrieved his flashlight, shining it into the car. “Lady got a problem?” His gaze skipped back and forth between Dylan and the warlock so fast Dylan wondered if the man observed any detail at all.

“No problem other than she’s sleeping.” Dylan’s quiet resonance commanded the man’s attention. “I’m running late, so if you don’t mind...” He jerked his chin toward the gate arm in an attempt to get the man to move away.

“She don’t look like she’s sleeping.” He shone the light into Kennedy’s face.

Dylan snapped. Grabbing the flashlight, he removed it from the man’s pudgy fingers in one deft move. “She won’t be if you keep harassing her.” He removed the batteries and handed the light back. “Open the gate before I call the tower for your supervisor’s name.” For effect, he pulled out his cell.

“Asshole.”

The muttered insult only made Dylan grin. “It won’t be the last time I’m called that and worse.” Staring at the man, he murmured, “De réir mo uacht, tú nach cuimhin liom.” By my will, you remember me not.

The security guard’s face went blank.

Dylan pulled straight into hangar C-1. A midsized Learjet sat, the pilot lounging against the step railing as he chatted up a brunette flight attendant. Parking at the base of the stairs, passenger side to the plane, Dylan met Ethan’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Scoot over.”

Ethan opened his eyes and whistled, long and low. “Your people know how to travel.”

“You need to stay here.” Dylan shut the car off and got out, not surprised when the warlock did the same. “I said ‘stay.’”

“I’m not your lapdog, Assassin.”

“That’s fair.” He opened the passenger door and undid the woman’s seat belt. He pulled her out of the car and settled her over one shoulder, her dangling hands gently brushing his ass. With her settled, he turned back to Ethan. “I asked, and you’d have fared better if you’d listened.”

Ethan opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when Dylan grinned. “What?”

Dylan raised a hand, his fingers blurring before he called fire to their tips. “I’ll not kill you, because it would...distress her.” It irritated him to realize his actions were, in large part, due to what she would likely think of him. “But you’re not coming with us.” He saw the moment it all clicked for the man.

Ethan’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “You aren’t taking her, you sheep-loving, skirt-wearing, mud-drinking son of a bitch.”

“Now that’s a fair curse,” Dylan said, smiling.

Ethan reclaimed that step and more as he rushed Dylan.

The murmur of his voice disappeared in the depth of the hangar. “Bí go fóill.” Be still.

The warlock froze, teetering precariously midstep.

“Duillín ar shiúl, titim níos tapúla. Lig codladh éilíonn tú go dtí go bhriseann an ghrian a slumber.” Slip away, fall faster. Let sleep claim you until the sun breaks her slumber.

The warlock crumpled, his head bouncing off the concrete.

“Poor bloke. That’s going to leave a wee bit of a mark, I’d imagine.” Dylan toed Ethan and flipped him over, wincing at the knot already forming on the man’s forehead. “You’ll have a wicked headache, no doubt. You shouldna have disparaged the Guinness.”

Turning, he carried Kennedy to the plane. Looking back, he watched as the warlock’s car—driven by his men, the backseat once again occupied by the warlock—pulled away from the hangar.

Something in the cabin chirped, and Paul jogged up the steps, sliding past Dylan and into the cockpit to slip on his headset. “L1-DEC, Captain Duffy.” He glanced back into the cabin, his gaze landing on Dylan’s. He pulled the headset off. “We need to get in the air, sir. Immediately.” Paul called out for his cocaptain, Angus, with a sharp shout as he began to fire up the plane. “The FAA seems to have noticed our abrupt change in flight plans.”

“Meaning?” Dylan asked as he slid Kennedy into a seat.

“Our fuel order was flagged because it came in after our flight plan was canceled.”

Could nothing go easily tonight?

Buckling his sedated companion in, Dylan pulled the steps up as the two men put the plan in motion. The flight attendant had stepped to an office across the hangar for some unknown reason and started running toward the plane. “Leave her,” Dylan ordered as he shut and locked the door.

The plane started out of the hangar as the security patrol pulled in, lights flashing.

Dylan peered out the front window. “Faster, mates. Those flashing lights don’t mean you’ve won a prize at bingo.”

Accelerating, Paul and Angus didn’t flinch when the FAA officers moved their cars into the plane’s path in an effort to block it. Instead, the pilots powered forward, forcing a standoff. Security pulled out of the way, and the jet continued to gain momentum.

“Have a seat, sir. We’re jumping the line.”

The cabin pressurized, and Dylan’s ruptured eardrum screamed.

“This is L1-DEC requesting an open runway immediately.” Paul listened and grinned. “We’ll be making our way straight ahead. Many thanks, Tower.”

The jet accelerated, never slowing as it took a slight turn. The engines opened up. Dylan was thrown to the floor as they raced down the runway and took to the air. He pulled himself up to the window’s edge and looked down on the FAA’s security patrol, their strobe lights growing smaller and smaller before disappearing as the plane climbed into the cloud cover.

Dylan gained his feet and moved into the chair next to Kennedy. “Let’s hit international airspace as fast as possible, gents.” He looked over at her. The snakes that had been roiling in his gut settled. He’d made it out of the country with her, but one question loomed.

What now?

Chapter 6

Kennedy’s head rang like church bells prior to Mass. But instead of ringing fifteen times, they just kept gonging. Then she opened her eyes to the setting sun’s brilliant kaleidoscope. It seared her eyes, and the largest bell in her head boomed its objection. “I’m gonna puke.”

The car came to a quick stop, her seat belt locking up and pressing against her throat. It only hurried the process along. She fumbled for the door handle and fell out, landing on her knees in wet grass. Hands held her hair back as she retched until she knew there was nothing left in her except those things that were permanently attached. Eyes closed, she shook in the damp, chilly air. Her clinical mind told her she shouldn’t be so weak.

“Are ye done, then? We’ve a ways to go yet.”

Trembling muscles locked up with fear. Everything moved with a hazy, slow-motion effect as she turned her head.

Dylan O’Shea knelt on one knee beside her, her dark hair fisted in his grip. “Did you hear me?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” The words were raspy, her throat raw. Grabbing her hair, she pulled. Hard.

He let go.

She toppled over, landing in the very edge of her vomit. Rolling away, she kicked back, knocking him off balance enough that he was forced to grab the car or land on his ass. She scrambled to her feet like a drunk, weaving before she fell forward. Gravel dug into her palms and knees. Nothing would move right, though, including her thoughts. Drugged. I’ve been drugged. It might have helped to shake her head, but she had no desire to strike up the church bells again. And struggling to rise was pointless. Even if she got up, she clearly couldn’t run. Her best effort had been as effective as using cooked noodles for stilts.

Hot hands grabbed her by the upper arms and hauled her against a rock-solid abdomen. His grip tightened briefly and then she was off her feet, tucked up close to that hard chest. She curled into him, the smell of salt-heavy air and a faint hint of smoke unfurling around her like an invisible cloak.

“Warm.”

His arms tightened. “Aye, I suppose I am. Particularly to you.”

She pushed against him until he relaxed his hold. Then she allowed her fuzzy mind a breather. Reality softened, overlaid with a dreamlike quality she quite preferred.

When he slid her across the backseat, she listed into the door and propped herself in the small space between the door and seat. A slamming door sounded far away. Then the car’s engine came to life, followed almost immediately by small bumps and a gentle hum. They were on their way again. “You’re waking up a wee bit too much for my tastes. I’ll go easier on you this time.” Dylan’s warm, heavy arm wrapped around her, and he snugged her up tight to his hard body.

A sharp stick made her flinch. “Thamn ith,” she slurred.

“This will help you relax and enjoy the last—”

His words grew distorted like a record playing at the wrong speed. Darkness crept in, pulling her under. Fear dug icy fingers into her chest, and she grabbed blindly for his hand.

* * *

Dylan grasped the proffered forearm and slid his grasp down to instead hold her hand. Boneless, she slid into his side, and he caught her as she tipped forward. Intent on setting her back in her seat and fixing her seat belt, he couldn’t hide his surprise when she wouldn’t let go of his hand. Even heavily sedated, she had a death grip on him. Her soft but capable hand looked so small in his. He held on to her as tightly as she did him.

A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Bluidy hell. Next stop for you really is competitive knitting, man.”

He let his head fall back and simply watched the world pass by. Home. He was home.

The weather had turned colder even in the short time he’d been gone. A sliver of the volatile gray sea could be seen to his right. The wind blowing off the tempestuous waters was frigid. He’d known he was home when his bollocks had drawn up into his throat with the first gust of wind. There was no place like Ireland.

Time warped and slowed, until he sat, fully aware of his surroundings and the fact nothing, and no one but him, seemed to breathe. He slid one hand toward his boot but was quickly rebuked with a soft “tsk.” Dylan whipped toward the noise and found Danu, goddess and mother of the Tuatha De, sitting with Kennedy’s feet in her lap. He wanted to snap at the goddess, to demand she account for withholding her counsel until it was nigh time to carry out his duties. But when he opened his mouth, only air escaped.

“It seemed reasonable I remove your voice, lest you allow your heart to overrule your mind in conversational regards and say something you’d come to regret.” The goddess ran one hand up and down Kennedy’s shin. “I know you’re angry with me, Dylan.” She blinked slowly at the fury he felt displayed on his face. “Perhaps I should have rendered you vegetative, for your face speaks volumes.”

His nostrils flared.

She grinned. “I’ve no idea why this amuses me so. Apologies.” With a wave of her hand, his throat relaxed.

“You would come to me now, when time works against my every effort, and what? Advise me on the invisible truth this mortal woman holds for me?” The bite of his words echoed throughout the car. “I’ve sought your wisdom again and again, yet you’ve left me with nothing but vagueness and the burden of incomprehensible knowledge.”

“Mind yourself.” The warning couldn’t have been clearer. “She is, indeed, your burden.” The goddess looked at his mark, the woman slumbering so heavily across the backseat. “She, however, is also your only chance at salvation. Obviously you felt strong enough in my warning that you elected to withhold her dispatch. In doing so, you elected to bring the Crone into the heart of the Order and put them at risk to the last man. Where is the wisdom in that?” Danu’s gaze burned into his as she awaited his answer. When he offered no response, she closed her eyes and gave a short nod. “I’ll have the truth from you. What did you seek to gain in delaying what you’ve already deemed inevitable?”

Possibilities.

The one-word answer was thrown forward by his subconscious without consideration.

Danu’s face softened from that of warrior goddess to mother and nurturer. “You find it a flaw that you seek to exhaust all options to reveal the truth instead of steadfastly carrying out your assignment. I, however, find hope in you for the first time in many years. You are more than the sum of your deeds, Dylan O’Shea. I leave you this—do not allow perceived transgressions to create blinders where none need exist.”

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