The Immortal's Redemption. Kelli Ireland

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      Dylan’s heart lurched at the sight of her so relaxed. With skin like alabaster, hair as dark as night and a mouth made for sin, she looked like a fallen angel. He couldn’t stop glancing at her as he drove. His body quickened against his will.

      “Damn it to the ninth level of hell!” He pounded the steering wheel with his fist. “Not only am I caught in an emotional bog, but I’m maudlin with it, as well. Might as well retire and take up competitive knitting.”

      “You knit?”

      “Piss off, warlock.” Dylan rolled the window down and tried not to glare at the gate guard.

      The standard night watchman, a burly fellow who took his job seriously if his starched uniform and buzz cut were any indicators, lumbered out of the gatehouse. “You have a pilot ID or flight plan?” The portly man hitched up his belt and retrieved his flashlight, shining it into the car. “Lady got a problem?” His gaze skipped back and forth between Dylan and the warlock so fast Dylan wondered if the man observed any detail at all.

      “No problem other than she’s sleeping.” Dylan’s quiet resonance commanded the man’s attention. “I’m running late, so if you don’t mind...” He jerked his chin toward the gate arm in an attempt to get the man to move away.

      “She don’t look like she’s sleeping.” He shone the light into Kennedy’s face.

      Dylan snapped. Grabbing the flashlight, he removed it from the man’s pudgy fingers in one deft move. “She won’t be if you keep harassing her.” He removed the batteries and handed the light back. “Open the gate before I call the tower for your supervisor’s name.” For effect, he pulled out his cell.

      “Asshole.”

      The muttered insult only made Dylan grin. “It won’t be the last time I’m called that and worse.” Staring at the man, he murmured, “De réir mo uacht, tú nach cuimhin liom.” By my will, you remember me not.

      The security guard’s face went blank.

      Dylan pulled straight into hangar C-1. A midsized Learjet sat, the pilot lounging against the step railing as he chatted up a brunette flight attendant. Parking at the base of the stairs, passenger side to the plane, Dylan met Ethan’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Scoot over.”

      Ethan opened his eyes and whistled, long and low. “Your people know how to travel.”

      “You need to stay here.” Dylan shut the car off and got out, not surprised when the warlock did the same. “I said ‘stay.’”

      “I’m not your lapdog, Assassin.”

      “That’s fair.” He opened the passenger door and undid the woman’s seat belt. He pulled her out of the car and settled her over one shoulder, her dangling hands gently brushing his ass. With her settled, he turned back to Ethan. “I asked, and you’d have fared better if you’d listened.”

      Ethan opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when Dylan grinned. “What?”

      Dylan raised a hand, his fingers blurring before he called fire to their tips. “I’ll not kill you, because it would...distress her.” It irritated him to realize his actions were, in large part, due to what she would likely think of him. “But you’re not coming with us.” He saw the moment it all clicked for the man.

      Ethan’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “You aren’t taking her, you sheep-loving, skirt-wearing, mud-drinking son of a bitch.”

      “Now that’s a fair curse,” Dylan said, smiling.

      Ethan reclaimed that step and more as he rushed Dylan.

      The murmur of his voice disappeared in the depth of the hangar. “Bí go fóill.” Be still.

      The warlock froze, teetering precariously midstep.

      “Duillín ar shiúl, titim níos tapúla. Lig codladh éilíonn tú go dtí go bhriseann an ghrian a slumber.” Slip away, fall faster. Let sleep claim you until the sun breaks her slumber.

      The warlock crumpled, his head bouncing off the concrete.

      “Poor bloke. That’s going to leave a wee bit of a mark, I’d imagine.” Dylan toed Ethan and flipped him over, wincing at the knot already forming on the man’s forehead. “You’ll have a wicked headache, no doubt. You shouldna have disparaged the Guinness.”

      Turning, he carried Kennedy to the plane. Looking back, he watched as the warlock’s car—driven by his men, the backseat once again occupied by the warlock—pulled away from the hangar.

      Something in the cabin chirped, and Paul jogged up the steps, sliding past Dylan and into the cockpit to slip on his headset. “L1-DEC, Captain Duffy.” He glanced back into the cabin, his gaze landing on Dylan’s. He pulled the headset off. “We need to get in the air, sir. Immediately.” Paul called out for his cocaptain, Angus, with a sharp shout as he began to fire up the plane. “The FAA seems to have noticed our abrupt change in flight plans.”

      “Meaning?” Dylan asked as he slid Kennedy into a seat.

      “Our fuel order was flagged because it came in after our flight plan was canceled.”

       Could nothing go easily tonight?

      Buckling his sedated companion in, Dylan pulled the steps up as the two men put the plan in motion. The flight attendant had stepped to an office across the hangar for some unknown reason and started running toward the plane. “Leave her,” Dylan ordered as he shut and locked the door.

      The plane started out of the hangar as the security patrol pulled in, lights flashing.

      Dylan peered out the front window. “Faster, mates. Those flashing lights don’t mean you’ve won a prize at bingo.”

      Accelerating, Paul and Angus didn’t flinch when the FAA officers moved their cars into the plane’s path in an effort to block it. Instead, the pilots powered forward, forcing a standoff. Security pulled out of the way, and the jet continued to gain momentum.

      “Have a seat, sir. We’re jumping the line.”

      The cabin pressurized, and Dylan’s ruptured eardrum screamed.

      “This is L1-DEC requesting an open runway immediately.” Paul listened and grinned. “We’ll be making our way straight ahead. Many thanks, Tower.”

      The jet accelerated, never slowing as it took a slight turn. The engines opened up. Dylan was thrown to the floor as they raced down the runway and took to the air. He pulled himself up to the window’s edge and looked down on the FAA’s security patrol, their strobe lights growing smaller and smaller before disappearing as the plane climbed into the cloud cover.

      Dylan gained his feet and moved into the chair next to Kennedy. “Let’s hit international airspace as fast as possible, gents.” He looked over at her. The snakes that had been roiling in his gut settled. He’d made it out of the country with her, but one question loomed.

       What now?

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