The Immortal's Redemption

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.”