Kelli Ireland - The Immortal's Redemption

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.”