* * *
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.”
“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