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Dylan froze in his seat looking like I’d slapped him.

I lifted an eyebrow as I sat in the chair across from him. “Why would the offer of a place to lay yer head make ya look at me like an animal caught in someone’s headlights? Ya’re making me think I’m not the only one needing a friend.”

“You aren’t,” Dylan whispered. “And I’d like to stay here. First, though, I need to tell you my story.”

The headache I had from dealing with Rasmus was gone. I picked up my plate and dug in before a new one could bloom out of my worry for Dylan. The nurturing thing I did instinctually needed to stop. Helping everyone I met was wearing me out.

“Eat, Dylan. Yer life can’t be any crazier than mine.”

“Are you sure? Because my parents disowned me.”

My fork full of food stopped halfway to my mouth. “Why?Ya did exactly what they told ya to do.”

Dylan waved my praise away and picked up his plate. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. Thank you for feeding me. I haven’t felt like eating since I argued with them.”

My fork found its way to my mouth again. I resumed my starved shoveling until my plate was empty. Dylan ate much slower but finished his as well.

I busied myself making us tea while I waited for him to collect his thoughts.

“Do ya still take honey and milk in yer tea?” I asked.

Dylan nodded as he ate his last forkful. He set his now empty plate on the cart next to mine.

“Before ya get into the details, I have one burning question to ask first. Am I going to need a shot of Jamieson’s to hear this without getting angry?”

Dylan tilted his head as he studied me. “I don’t know. What is it?”

“Jamieson’s is the best Irish whiskey in the world,” I said with a smile.

“Well, that’s appropriate. You’re sounding very Irish today. But I still don’t know how to answer that question.”

Laughter loosened the tightness in my chest. “Some people think me sounding too Irish is a bad sign.”

“You’re the first I’ve heard that wasn’t on television. I like the way you talk.”

“Thank ya,” I said with a grin as I handed Dylan his tea. “Alright. So what happened with yer parents? I figured ya’d return home to a hero’s welcome.”

Dylan snorted. “Yes, I thought I would as well. It was why I hurried there as soon as I dropped off the snake shifter at the zoo. Instead, my parents were upset that the angel gifted me with powers. They also weren’t happy that the artifact played dead whenever they touched it. I tried to explain it wasn’t anything I was doing on purpose but they didn’t believe me.”

“My daughter is the guard of a relic as well. Because of that responsibility, she’s saddled with that wicked angel as a magick teacher. I don’t like the situation but there is nothing I can change. Guarding the relic is Fiona’s destiny. Maybe working with yer relic is yours. Ya have a kind soul, Dylan.”

“I’m not even sure it chose me, Aran. Thatangel—if he truly was one—didn’t give the artifact much choice.”

“Does it still talk to ya?” I asked.

Dylan nodded.

“And do ya get a sense that it’s happy with yer actions in using it?”

My second question barely got a shrug. I’d seen him communicating with the relic his family had been charged with guarding all those years. What he did with it pleased an angel, for Goddess sake. His parents should have been nothing but proud of their child. I had half a mind to look them up and tell them so, but Dylan needed to embrace his role enough to defend it.

I set my tea on the tiny side table between our chairs. “If yer relic didn’t want to work with ya, it would go silent and that would be the end. Ya can trust me on that one. I babysat Fiona’s relic for a while. It talked to me because it found me entertaining, but I had no control over what it did. If yer animal stone works with ya, Dylan, that means it’s chosen ya. Now ya need to choose it back.”

“Do you think my parents will ever accept that?”

I picked up my tea again and held the cup for comfort. “I don’t know. Nobody can judge ya quite like a person ya’re related to.”

He nodded vigorously at that.