Shoving off the wall, he dropped his hand to the door latch when a whiff of citrus and heavy spice tickled his nose, the long-forgotten scent called up from memory with the same gut-churning effect as a roller coaster’s first radical drop. Dylan froze. Rain still ran in rivers down his face, but the pelting he’d been taking faded. Uneasy, his free hand drifted to his dirk, fisting the handle.
“I would think you’d willingly, and wisely, speak to me without violence, Assassin.” The musical lilt of her voice hadn’t changed, not in three hundred years.
“You use my title but expect me to behave peaceably?” He let go of the door handle and turned toward the woman who stood untouched by the rain.
“And you, you won’t use my name.” She tucked long-fingered hands into the bell sleeves of her robes; at the same time she cocked her head to the side, openly considering him. It was the equivalent of calling him a coward, and he would suffer a lot of shit, but not that.
“A gracious welcome to you, Danu, Mother of All Things.” Dylan’s numb lips struggled with the formal greeting. His belly tightened, and he absently rubbed it as he considered the goddess. She hadn’t shown herself to him other than that one night three centuries ago when she’d changed the course of his life.
Danu reached for him, dropping her hand when he stepped back. “You are still angry with me for delivering your solemn responsibility at such a young age.”
Dylan’s mouth opened and closed, his ability to speak lost in a turbulent sea of emotions. Barking out a laugh, he shook his head. “I’ve spent my life wondering if I’d dreamed the whole conversation, thinking myself mad at best.”
“Yet you acted with faith, preparing yourself for the inevitability of death.” She closed in on him, laying a hand against his near-frozen arm.
All he could think was that she was neither hot nor cold. Odd that he’d handled meeting her as a lad much better than he was handling this moment. “So I’ll die, then, the last of your direct line to hold the position of Assassin, to wield justice as deemed fit by the gods.”
Danu stroked his cheek. “It does not have to be so. You must find the truth of which I spoke that night and stop the goddess Cailleach from breaking the chains that bind. Until you have found the truth and made your decision, nothing is guaranteed.” She smiled gently. “Man’s free will is a factor that tends to skew even the gods’ predictions.”
Cailleach. The anger that always simmered so close to the surface of his consciousness flared. “Free will, is it? Then I’d have you go back and return mine to me. For I’m nothing if not a man. I’d be something other than what I’ve become because of your blessed intervention. You 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
