The Immortal's Redemption. Kelli Ireland
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?
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.