Kelli Ireland - The Immortal's Redemption

“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.