Prologue

A t least no one had died.

It was a low bar for most people, but for a medic it was the mark of a good shift. Bryn was patting himself on the back as he tied his jaw-length hair into a ponytail and prepared to set off for home. There was a close call with a heart attack but Bryn had pulled the father of three high school-aged kids back from the brink. The man had too much life left in him and his soul was nice and light so Bryn had fought like hell to save him.

"Are you sure you don't want a ride?" Mercy asked, eyeing Bryn's reflective yellow spandex tank and shorts appreciatively over the roof of her Subaru.

"Why do you keep offering? I like boys and we both know I'm not your type," he replied cheekily, earning a hard snort from his favorite coworker.

"I'd make an exception for you, B. Goddamn, your little running outfits leave nothing to the imagination. Mmm! That ass," she said as she lowered into the driver's seat. "But, seriously, who runs at night? Every night ? If I didn't know you, I'd think you had a death wish or were some kind of demon," she added with a tickled giggle, closing the door and waving as she pulled out of her spot and left him.

"Something like that," Bryn said with a chuckle, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stretched each arm across his chest. "I've got that dog in me," he murmured and grabbed the pouch over his pec, making sure his phone, wallet, and keys were in there instead of inside his locker, then took off at a sprint.

Not that it would be the first time he'd reached his front door and had to turn around and sprint right back to the hospital to get something. As smart as Bryn was, he'd forget his ass if it wasn't attached to his lower back.

Six miles was a lot for most runners and his friends and coworkers always boggled when they learned about his commute. But it barely took the edge off for Bryn, he could run to Annwn and back and still be restless.

He often was after such trips so his dash through two subdivisions and the edge of a state park wasn't just therapeutic, it was practical considering the driving time could be close to half an hour with traffic on 581.

It was a gorgeous night and Bryn's spirits were high when he ran over a bridge and spotted the silhouette of a smallish teenager or young man on the sidewalk, about a mile ahead. Bryn's route usually took him off the path and through the neighborhood on the other side of the overpass, but he sped up, concerned he had found a lost child. To Bryn's relief, a streetlight revealed that he was not following a child, but a man in his mid-twenties.

Set to head home, Bryn paused when the petite young man tripped and stumbled, covering his head as he fell to the ground. Instead of recovering and getting back to his feet, the young man remained down, guarding his head. Bryn took off, shouting that help was on the way, but skidded to halt when he saw what looked like a flock of giant black birds swarming above the man.

But Bryn knew better.

"What the hell are those doing here?" he said, looking around to see if any other pedestrians or cars were within sight. The lights of the nearest houses were obscured by a thicket of barren branches as cars sped past them on the highway on the other side of the billboards. "Get away from him!" Bryn shouted, his face pulling into a snarl as he sped up and ran at the faded, tattered phantoms harassing the man on the sidewalk.

Their anguished screeches swirled around Bryn as he leaped at them, transforming from human into spectral hound as he passed through the metaphysical film that separated the fast, warm mortal world, and the cold, dark slow of the Nothing—the spirit world. There was a thunderous crack, announcing his arrival as he landed on the foggy, frosty plane. He lashed at the sluagh with mighty, razor-sharp claws and fearsome fangs, scattering them as their warped, echoing shrieks, carried through the dreary, soupy night. There were so many of them though, three or four dozen, circling overhead when Bryn reached the other man's soul.

There were no trees or cars in the Nothing, just the vast, frozen emptiness of the realm between the living and Annwn—the glorious home of all souls. Only souls and the occasional demon or sluagh—the leftover uncanny, horror of a sold, mangled soul—passed through the Nothing. It was Bryn's duty to safely ferry souls to Annwn, to protect them from the sluagh, but he had never encountered this many at once.

They were circling and waiting, aware that the man's spirit was hanging on by a wisp. For a moment, Bryn was captivated by the delicate soul swirling in the murky ether, a bright ice blue cirrus cloud, glowing in the cold darkness. It was luminous and pure, but it was shrinking and about to let go.

It did. There was a resigned sigh as the man died and his soul was caught in the inky, dragging current. "Not so fast! Not your time yet," Bryn growled out, snatching a downy blue foot between his smokey fangs. He held on, dragging it back to the spot where its physical body was waiting in the material world.

There was another loud, sharp crack! and Bryn felt and sensed both worlds chilling around him. A slender shadow appeared, stretching and spreading like a spill but there was no one in the void with Bryn. He was usually alone, when he ventured into the Nothing to chase after a soul that had become untethered. That was why he and his twin brother, Arawn, called it the Nothing . He had encountered the occasional sluagh or lost soul and had even sparred with a few demons. But a swarm of sluagh and a…whatever this was had Bryn's hackles fully standing.

"Who goes there?" Bryn called and the shadow laughed back, a menacing ripple rolling toward him through the gloom.

"You have something of mine."

Bryn ignored the whiffs of confusion and panic, squinting and shaking his head. "Don't think so. It's a free country out there. And as far as I can tell, it's not his time and you sure as hell aren't his fate," he said with a belligerent snarl. He swelled until he was as large and dark as he could muster, his red eyes glowing through the haze as he searched for his new nemesis. "Who the fuck are you?" he shouted, receiving another amused chuckle.

"Hand him over, hound," the voice ordered as the spilling shadow drew closer, but Bryn shook his head.

"That's not how this works." Bryn widened his stance, his claws digging into the frosty pavement, glowing as hard and as fiercely as he was capable of while hanging onto the dying man's soul.

"Is that so?"

Bryn would have mimicked or mocked the voice but he was hit, a frigid blast slamming into him as his strength was sapped. "Get off!" he roared, frightened but also furious. "Where do you get the fuckin' nerve?" He shook it off, reigniting and standing his ground. His strength and his purpose came from Annwn. No demon or whatever this mess was, was going to snatch a soul away from Bryn or convince him to hand it over.

"Where do I get it?" The wicked purr made Bryn's skin crawl. Or, it would have if Bryn had been wearing it. He was pretty shaken, though, as the shadow loomed over him and the dying man's soul. "I get it from the lord of the neamh-mairbh, I am Abhartach, and I am the new father."

"Not my father," Bryn replied, flinging the man's soul behind him before diving at the shadow with a mighty howl. He collided with a wave of frigid cold, slashing with his claws at the dark thick mist. There was a deafening hiss as Bryn was thrown back, his fear cresting as the black shadow stretched over him and reached for the dead man's soul. "Get back!" Bryn roared and lunged at the darkness, causing another loud crack as he pierced the other side of the veil.

"Out!" the other voice ordered, indignant as Bryn slashed and snarled, straining to see through the smoke and shadows. He could barely make out a boy or a very young man wearing glasses and leaning on a cane before he was shoved back into the Nothing.

Bryn was alone again and could see the sluagh retreating through the haze. He turned and swore as he hunted for the waif's soul, then set off at a gallop when he spotted a faint flash of soft blue glowing in the distance. He caught up to it and dragged it back to where Bryn had left his body.

Just as he was about to leap back through and reunite them, Bryn heard the man whisper "Let me go."

"Not on your life," Bryn replied, shaking his spectral head in disbelief at the dead man. Who was he to tell Bryn how to do his job and how dare he give up? But, mostly, who was he, Bryn wondered as he tugged the soul back to its body, nuzzling it into place. Why had a swarm of sluagh attacked him and why was that shadow…thing willing to fight Bryn for him?

Bryn passed back through to the world of the living, returning to his human form as he hunkered over the smaller man's body. And he was small . Not just short, but all of his features were a touch smaller in scale than they should have been. Bryn sucked in a startled gasp when he turned the man's face toward the light, stunned by its boyish, angelic beauty.

Bryn was relieved when he found a pulse, but it was weak and he had no luck reviving his new friend. Aside from some cuts, bruises, and a busted eye, there were no major injuries, as far as Bryn could tell. He carefully patted him down, searching for broken bones or ribs, and checked his skull for bumps or wounds, but there was nothing to explain why the otherwise healthy young man remained limp and nearly lifeless.

"Who are you?" Bryn asked, gently sweeping the wild, dirty blond hair away, groaning at how lost and innocent he looked. His thick eyelashes fanned across his cheeks and his soft pink lips were turned down into a pout. "Why won't you wake up?" Bryn whispered, tracing a cheekbone and cradling his jaw.

Bryn frowned as he noted the dark shadows under the young man's eyes and the tear stains on his cheeks. He didn't appear to be unhoused, but he clearly hadn't bathed or shaved in a few days and wasn't taking very good care of himself, judging by his tangled hair, juice and soda-stained T-shirt, sagging jeans, and unlaced sneakers.

A distant shriek had Bryn turning and searching and he spotted another cluster of sluagh. "We gotta go," he said and easily lifted the other man up and over one shoulder, then took off for home.