Carwyn threw an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t. I’ll check on her. I’ll make sure everything’s safe.”
“Thanks, Father.”
Dublin, Ireland
There was a wry smile on her face when she entered the Ha’Penny Bridge Inn and slid into the booth across from him.
“Feeling sentimental? Or wanting to remind me of my sordid past?” she asked, but didn’t truly seem annoyed.
“I like the beer here.”
“You can get Guinness anywhere, Carwyn.”
“True, I suppose. Drink?”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “Whatever you’re having.”
He stood and walked to the bar. In truth, he couldn’t pass the pub in Dublin anymore without thinking of her. She looked good. Healthy. Her skin was fair, but she looked like she’d been getting some sun. Her hair was still a natural dark brown with no purple streaks in sight, but she was back wearing jeans and an old T-shirt with The Clash on the front instead of her stiff, professional wardrobe.
He ordered two drinks and walked back to the bar, sliding the whiskey toward her. Her eyes lit up, and he caught the smile.
“You’re a contrary one, aren’t you?” she said.
“I thought you liked whiskey.”
Her smile broadened. Still no laugh.
“I do. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. How’s life?”
There was an odd expression in her eyes. “Checking up on me again?”
He frowned. “No. Not… not like that. I was just a bit worried—”
“You were worried about me?”
Yes. “Deirdre and Ioan were worried. And I was, too, of course. Not about the drugs or anything, just life. I know you’re doing the security work for Murphy now.”
She nodded silently, then took a sip of her drink. An odd smile crossed her face, and he frowned. Humans still boggled his mind at times. What was the woman thinking with that smile on her face? She almost looked disappointed. Did she have other plans that Friday night?
“You had plans, didn’t you?” he asked.
Her face reddened immediately, and he felt a quickening in his blood.
“No. No, I didn’t. I usually work weekends. That’s the most active time for… well, you know. Clubs. Parties. That kind of thing. I usually go with Jack, and we try to identify—”
“Who’s Jack?” He was surprised by the harshness of his voice. “Is that someone you work with?”
She curled her lip, and Carwyn felt his heart give a quiet thump.
“Unfortunately. He’s a pain in the arse, but he’s good protection. And he’s good-looking enough that any girls are easy marks for information. As for the men—”
“What men?”
She scowled at him. “Did Ioan and Deirdre say I was being irresponsible? I’m very careful, Carwyn. Very conscious of their position, and what it means to be given this job. I would never be irresponsible or see someone socially that would reflect poorly on them. So if you’re worried about that—”
“I’m—they’re worried about your safety, that’s all.” He leaned closer to her. “Ioan seemed to have some suspicion that whoever is responsible for the increase in drug use in Dublin might be immortal.”
She leaned across the table, propping her elbows on the edge of the scarred wood. He caught a hint of her scent. Dark, sweet. No hint of chemical remained. He took a deep breath. Then another.
“You know, it’s really creepy when your sort do the sniffing thing.”
He blinked. “What?”
She rolled her eyes, and his hand lifted immediately to her face. He put his large hand on her cheek and slid a thumb along the delicate ridge under her eyebrow. He could hear her breath catch.
“You know, it’s really annoying when your sort do the eye-rolling thing.”
Her mouth hung open slightly, and Carwyn stared at her cheek where his hand still rested. “Why the eye-rolling, Brigid?”
“I’m not using drugs anymore; you don’t need to sniff me.”
“I didn’t think you were using drugs.” Her cheek was cool under his hand, her skin still chilly from the brisk wind outside.
“Oh.”
He frowned a little. Her cheek was heating up. Why was she blushing?
“Why are you blushing?”
“Why is your hand still on my face?”
He blinked and pulled it away. “Your cheek was cold.”
“So are my ears, Carwyn. It’s cold outside.”
He smiled and reached both hands over to cup her ears. “Better?”
The laugh was trying to escape. It was just behind her lips, but Brigid still held it in as he held his hands in the ridiculous pose.
“You’re crazy, aren’t you?”
He chuckled and lowered his hands. Then he lifted his drink and threw back the whiskey, making a face. “I still don’t like that stuff.”
She cocked her head at a curious angle, then shook it and looked down at his hands, which were folded on the table in front of him. She took a sip of her whiskey. “Your skin is warm.”
He winked. “It’s only the water boys who run cold, Brigid. Our kind are very warm-blooded.”
“And fire, of course.”
“Of course.”
She finished her whiskey in a few more sips, her tongue catching the edge of her lip to catch the last drop.
“So, what you’re working on… it’s safe, isn’t it?”
Brigid nodded. “Yes, truly. I’m very well protected. And Murphy’s very keen to keep me alive.”
“Is he?”
She snorted. “Can you imagine Murphy letting Ioan and Deirdre’s pet human get in trouble?”
Carwyn scowled. “You’re not a pet. You’re family.”
“It’s just an expression.”
“Well, it’s not one I like. I’ve never liked it. We’re all children of God. Mortal. Immortal. That makes us equal, in my opinion. Always has been.”
A smile flickered across her lips. “Good to know, but really, don’t worry. I’m quite protected.”
“Good.”
“Carwyn?”
“Brigid?”
She looked up into his eyes, and his heart thumped. Then it thumped again. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then asked, “Can I ask you something? It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask for a while.”
He leaned forward. “Of course.”
Her voice was a whisper. “That night… when you and Ioan came for me, did you intend to kill Richard?”
Carwyn’s heart crashed in his chest and terrified brown eyes leapt to his memory. In that moment, he felt like the monster he had been that night. Angry. Vengeful. Full of wrath for the man with no thought for the child.
“I—I didn’t, Brigid. I know… I shouldn’t have done that in front of a child; there’s no excuse. I was in a rage when I saw him—”
He broke off when she waved a hand in front of her face. “No, no. You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m sorry I asked. I just… I’ve wondered for years, and Anne said that I should just ask. So I did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not sorry he’s dead, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He kept silent so she would talk. “I’m rather sorry that I didn’t get to do it myself.”
He paused. “I understand what you’re saying. And I might even be sorry that I took your revenge from you, but…”
“What?”
“The woman may have wanted the vengeance. But I think… I think the child needed to know that she was worth avenging.”
Her eyes were glassy when she spoke again. “I’m sorry you had to see that. That you had to be involved.”
“I’m not. Why else has God given me this strength if not to protect the innocent?”
She took another sip of her drink. “I’m still sorry.”
“Why?”
Brigid’s mouth hung open, as if the words struggled to find a voice. “I just am. I don’t like thinking about that part of
my life.”
“It’s a part of you.”
“Part, yes. But not the whole. Never the whole of me.”
He frowned. “Of course it isn’t. I know that. Do you?”
“Of course.”
Carwyn wondered if she really did, or if some wounds could only be healed with time. Suddenly, his heart thundered with the mad hope that she would have time. Far more of it than her human life would allow. He smothered the impulse to embrace her and deliberately turned the conversation to more pleasant topics.
They spoke of friends and family. Amusing stories about her co-workers. Music, which they had surprisingly similar tastes in. And Carwyn almost made her laugh three times, but she was stubborn.
When the pub closed, he could have continued talking to her for hours, but Brigid was yawning, so they decided to call it a night.
“I still don’t know who to believe about the wrestling thing. Ioan and Sinead both swear that you watch it.”
“Professional wrestling?” he scoffed. “Lies. Who would watch that ridiculous sport?”
“It’s not even a sport, really.”
“Of course not. They’re teasing you.” He bit his tongue and glanced at her, catching the exhaustion in her eyes as they walked out. “You’re knackered. We’re a ways from your building, aren’t we? Should I call a cab?”
“I’ll walk. I’m a country girl, after all.”
Carwyn chuckled. “I’ll see you back.”
“You don’t need to.”
He shrugged. “It’s no problem.”
The walk back to Murphy’s building was quiet. The streets were deserted and Brigid’s eyes were drooping. She stumbled on the sidewalk more than once.
“Watch yourself. How much did you have to drink, woman?”
“Quiet, vampire.”
Carwyn laughed and put a hand on her waist to steady her. Brigid’s scent filled his nose. He felt the soft brush of her skin. She leaned into him a little and his heart thumped again.
Shit. He cursed internally at the swift realization.
He was attracted to Brigid.
She squinted up at him. “What?”
Really attracted to her. He shook his head. “Nothing. Are we almost there?”
“Just a few more blocks.”
He needed to escape. He had the mad urge to run like hell and plaster himself to her side, all at the same time. Suddenly, every breath Brigid took, every mumbled word tempted him.
Shit.
Though Carwyn had admired beautiful women for over a thousand years, had flirted and played with their attentions, even slipped in his own strict discipline more than once, he kept very careful rein on his own appetites. He enjoyed women as a rule, but was careful, choosing to avoid even a hint of true attraction when he was able.
Shit.
And Brigid wasn’t a flirtation in passing. She wasn’t a joke or a fancy.
She was Brigid.
Suddenly, the thought of kissing her was the only thing he could think about. Her lips would be soft. Warm. He could hold a hand to her neck and feel her pulse pounding against his skin. He almost cried in relief when Murphy’s atrocious glass and metal building appeared. He escorted her to the door and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Well, bye then.”
She frowned at his abrupt good-bye. “Forget something back at the pub, Father?”
His shoulders tensed. “Don’t call me ‘Father.’”
Brigid blinked with wide, exhausted eyes. “It was just a joke.”
Her lips were parted, and her whiskey-colored eyes glowed gold. Her soft body tempted him. The curve of her neck…
Carwyn couldn’t hold back. He bent down and brushed his lips along her cheek, pausing only a second to inhale the scent of her skin. He closed his eyes and the sweet smell of her blood rolled over him. He gritted his teeth when his fangs fell down and his throat burned. Then, just as suddenly, he pulled back and began to walk away.
“Hey!”
He paused and turned. The poor woman was confused. Irritated, and with good reason. He knew he was acting like a fickle boy. Her lip curled up in disdain, and for some reason, he took perverse pleasure in her scowl.
“What?” he managed to growl.
She paused, confused. “I… good night.”
What must she be thinking of him? “Good night, Brigid. I’ll make sure to let Ioan and Deirdre know that you’re doing well.” He was an ass.
“Right.” Brigid took a step forward, then shook her head. “Ioan and Deirdre. Right.” She turned back to the door, which the guard was holding for her.
“Brigid.”
She turned. “What?”
He tried to talk past the lump in his throat at the thought of leaving her alone in the cold night. “Please, take care of yourself.”
Her rueful smile pierced his heart. “I always do.”
Chapter Ten
Dublin, Ireland
November 2009
The alley behind the pub was deserted at three in the morning, but Brigid kept her hand in her pocket, gripping the handle of her nine millimeter as Jack questioned the dealer. Her thumb rested on the safety, flicking it up and down as voices rose and fell on the city streets. Dublin was a relatively safe city, but no alley was all that safe at three a.m. After all, who would be out except vampires and people looking for trouble?
“Me, apparently,” she mumbled.
Jack’s head whipped around. “What?”
“Nothing. You done? I’m freezing my arse off.”
Jack snorted. “Human.”
“Bloodsucker.”
She glanced at the dealer. Jack hadn’t needed much help to question him. The man had followed her out into the alley with no argument, eager for the promise of sex in exchange for a small bag of heroin. Once there, Jack took over immediately, grabbing him by the neck and questioning him while he manipulated the dealer’s mind.
The dealer was an idiot, like most of them. He loved the new, purer drugs he was getting from his supplier, but had no idea where they were coming from. Of course he didn’t.
Brigid had become frustrated. She felt like they were constantly putting out small fires and forgetting to look for the source of the ignition. Murphy’s security team may have been effective enforcers and damn good at controlling the city, but they were piss poor investigators. Not that the only human on the team was going to tell them that.
A locker at Connolly Station was all the lead they got. The dealer left the money one afternoon; the next night the drugs were there. He had no idea who was supplying them, but at least Jack and Brigid could get the number of the locker.
A few drunk voices started down the alley. Jack turned to her. “Take care of them.”
Brigid pulled her hood up, kept her head down, and headed toward the mouth of the alley. As she approached, she could hear the drunks jostling each other while one took a piss against the wall and the other peered down the alley where Jack and the dealer were talking.
“Oy, what’s this?” he called out with a grin. “Someone to keep us company tonight?”
She scanned them quickly. Not a threat. Both men were in their late twenties, but she guessed they were boys from the country and not looking for any trouble out of the ordinary sort.
“Hello, lads.” She gave them a tight smile as she approached. “Out a bit late, aren’t you?”
“Just looking for some fun. Do you have something?”
Brigid shook her head. “No, and you should leave, both of you.”
The one pissing on the wall pulled up his pants and swaggered toward her. “Oh? And why’s that?”
“Bad sort down this way.” She gripped the gun in her pocket and flicked the safety off. “Not a good idea.”
The first man looked slightly less scuttered than his friend. His eyes flicked over Brigid’s shoulder, squinting into the shadows where the sound of Jack scuffling with the dealer drifted out. Brigid rolled her eyes. Jack just couldn’t pass up an easy meal. Particularly an i
ntoxicated one. He said the drugs gave the blood a nice bite.
‘How about the hepatitis?’
‘Shut up, Brigid.’
The less-drunk one looked back at her cautiously. “Hey, Donal, let’s scatter, eh?”
“What are you talking about? She looks fun.” The man’s breath almost knocked her out as he stumbled toward her.
She was seconds away from drawing her weapon when the first man pulled his friend back. His wary eyes darted from her calm expression, down to the hand in her pocket, then back to the smile she let turn up the corner of her mouth.
“Let’s go.”
He pulled the drunk from the alley only seconds before she heard Jack speed to her side. The dealer was not with him, and Brigid decided not to ask. Jack’s cheeks were flushed, and he was eyeing her with bright eyes and a lusty grin.
“Need any help?”
She rolled her eyes and tugged on his collar, dragging it over to wipe a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Need a napkin?”
“Mmm, messy as always.” He chuckled, and Brigid saw his fangs still hanging low in his mouth. It no longer gave her the shivers as it had the first few months they’d worked together.
Typical Jack. She shook her head. “He taken care of?”
Jack patted his flat stomach and grinned. He was a lusty one. He liked his blood, and he liked his women. Luckily, the canny water vampire knew the only workout he’d be getting from Brigid was at the gym.
“Can you check that locker at Connolly tomorrow?”
“Just write down the number for me. I’ll go by the station tomorrow, see if anyone’s watching it.”
“It’s not likely that all of the business would be out of one locker.”
No, really? “Still worth checking out. I’ll have to quit around three, though. I have plans tomorrow night, and I’ll need some sleep.”
“What’s this?” Jack tried throwing a companionable arm over her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. He continued, undeterred. “Does our fair Brigid have a lad?”
“Just a party with friends. Some of your sort, as a fact.”
“Who?” He frowned for a moment. “Still the Swedish fellow with Em?”