The Immortal's Redemption. Kelli Ireland

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      “Yeah.” Adrenaline mixed with anxiety to form a wicked cocktail that spread through her with immediate effect. Breaths came faster. Heart pounded. Sweat prickled her nape. “I haven’t been this screwed up since losing my dad and finding myself both devastated that he was gone but also horrifyingly relieved I could stop trying to please him while forever failing.”

      Ethan stood and moved behind her, laying a palm between her shoulders and rubbing tiny, soothing circles. “Slow down.”

      Panic folded in on itself and left her hollow, her skin too loose, her clothes too tight.

      He gradually widened the circle. Heat emanated from his hand and spread through her at a lethargic pace.

      Pervasive calm soothed the raw edges of her psyche. Her chin dipped forward. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but don’t stop.”

      “It’s nothing, really. Just touch.”

      “Whatever. I swear you’ve got magic hands.”

      His touch slowed further then stilled. “Tell me what’s going on. You fell off the face of the earth. Didn’t call. Didn’t answer your cell. Scared me bad.” Tense silence stretched between them, fragile as spun sugar.

      If my life had a soundtrack, this moment would cue the dramatic orchestra piece.

      Ethan pulled his hand away. “Something bad happened.”

      “What are you, psychic?” She twisted to look at him. “Because if you are, you should give all this up for the glamour of your own nine-hundred number.”

      He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll cut you a good deal on my by-the-minute plan. Now stop trying to redirect the conversation and answer me. Where’ve you been?”

      It was impossible to meet his open stare. “I don’t know.”

      Fingers tightened against her jaw. “Come again?”

      “I’m having blackouts.” The words, nothing more than a whisper, yowled through her mind in desperation.

      “You mean blackouts as in passing out and waking up, or episodes of fugue?”

      “It’s worse than fugue. I... I lose time, but always in short periods. Hours at most. Until last Friday anyway.” Wrapping her arms around her middle, she gripped her elbows and pulled tight. “I’m having violent thoughts, might even be getting violent while I’m out of it. I don’t know.” She forced herself to look at him.

      His mouth worked wordlessly. He grabbed the soda and took a huge swallow. And choked. Waving her off, he wiped at his streaming eyes. “Violent how? Like temper tantrum violent, or I’ll cut you seventy-three different ways before I castrate you with a spork violent?”

      The hiss of the door’s hydraulics saved her having to answer.

      Kennedy shoved out of her seat and faced the nurse who hovered half in, half out of the break room. “You need me?”

      “No. I mean, yes,” he stammered. “A guy’s out here asking for you.”

      “Asking for me?” Her stomach plummeted, hitting bottom hard enough to bounce.

      Ethan cleared his throat. “Is he a cop?”

      Glaring at him, she fought against the invisible vise tightening around her chest. “Why would you think he’s a cop?”

      “I, uh, sort of filed a missing person report.”

      “Oh, man. Okay.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’ll be right out.”

      The nurse said something over his shoulder as he left.

      A deep, unfamiliar voice answered.

      “I can’t believe you involved the cops,” she whispered, the words low and harsh.

      Familiar, warm hands rested on her shoulders. “I’ll explain that it was a simple misunderstanding.”

      “Sure.” Yanking the door open, Kennedy stepped into the hallway only to stop so abruptly Ethan slammed into her. She hardly noticed.

      The smell of the sea, with its salt-saturated air and rain-fueled storms, washed over her the moment she met the burning green gaze of the man waiting for her.

       Chapter 2

      Dylan O’Shea stopped breathing the moment the woman came into view. White noise wiped out all but the thundering sound of his heart in his ears as he felt every ounce of blood drain from his face. He hadn’t been prepared. Not now. Not after so long spent looking for one face among millions over the centuries. He’d given up faith, and that’s when the gods, with their arbitrary natures and impossible demands, struck.

      Wide blue eyes were fringed in black lashes. Long hair, glossy as a raven’s wing, curled loosely to the middle of her back. Porcelain skin flushed prettily. Tall but fine-boned, she couldn’t weigh nine stone.

      She pulled up short only to be driven several steps closer when the man following behind crashed into her.

      Dylan hardly spared the guy a glance. Instead, with need flowing through his system like spirits after a night of revelry, he reached for her. He had to touch her, to know with certainty she was real. His hand cupped one side of her neck. One thumb moved of its own volition and tenderly stroked her jaw. Never in all his years had he wanted anything as badly as he craved this woman, body and soul. Desire choked on duty and left him struggling to breathe. Don’t demand this of me, Danu. Anything but this.

      “O-officer?” she stammered, the last of her soft color fading under his scrutiny. “May I help you?”

      Her voice, sultry as sin with a smooth burn like fine whiskey, rolled through him. He blinked slowly, fighting like mad to retrieve his scattered wits, and jerked his hand away. “Kennedy Jefferson?”

      “Yes? That’s me.” She pressed her fist into her middle before absently gesturing to her companion. “This is Ethan. Ethan Kemp. He filed the report.”

      Dylan looked him over, entertained to find himself being equally scrutinized. “And who is Mr. Kemp to you, Ms. Jefferson?”

      “A friend.”

      “Her best friend,” Ethan amended, eyes narrowing.

      “The distinction is duly noted.” Dylan spread his feet and crossed his arms, ignoring the question.

      “Your accent.” She rubbed her forehead. “Where are you from?”

      “Ireland.” The admission was out before he thought about it. Control. This is about control. It seemed she’d wrested it away the moment she appeared. The idea that a woman could scramble his sensibilities with no effort galled him so badly, he forcibly pulled himself together with only brute strength of will. “I need to speak with you, Ms. Jefferson. In private.” He hadn’t СКАЧАТЬ