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.”
“Oh.” Kennedy cleared her throat and, focusing, looked around. “So, I’m at the hospital?” Shaking her head, she held up a hand. “Sorry. I know I’m at the hospital. I work here. I mean, I’m here to work. As the director of nurses.” She closed her eyes and tried again. “You seem shocked to see me.”
The petite woman’s shoes squeaked against recently waxed floors. “You didn’t show up for drinks Saturday night, and you missed work yesterday.”
Kennedy’s eyes shot open. Denial burned across her tongue. “Not possible.”
“No one’s been able to reach you for something like three days.” She yanked Kennedy into a fierce hug.
Three days. “I’m sick.” The hoarse admission raked her throat with sharp tines. No. Not sick. Worse than that.
The nurse stepped back and tilted her chin up to accommodate the height difference between the two. “Seriously? Are you okay?”
There was that question again. Kennedy couldn’t answer because she had no idea what had happened or what she’d done, no idea where she’d been. She hadn’t had another blackout since... Friday night played through her mind. There’d been a bar. With bikers. A fight of some sort and she’d left in a cab. The cab. She’d been in the cab when she’d slipped off the precipice of consciousness.
The memory made her shiver. Hard.
“I need to get to work.” The beep of monitors, calls of patients and steady rush of feet up and down the hall punctuated the soft words.
A tiny V formed between the other woman’s brows. “I’m not sure you need to hit the floor if—”
“I
