The Immortal's Redemption. Kelli Ireland
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