Murphy’s eyes narrowed. “How can I help you, Father?”
“I want to know if you’ve made any headway with the local connection. Brigid seemed very certain there was a vampire other than Lorenzo involved in Ioan’s death.”
“I know her theories, though I’m not sure what she’s basing them on. Our own investigation is ongoing.”
“The party she went to that Lorenzo hosted. She went with a friend of hers, didn’t she?”
“Yes, not her normal scene, but her friend was—is—seeing a vampire socially.”
His instincts triggered. “Who?”
Murphy shook his head. “Something of a local. He’s Scandinavian. Not very old. And not very smart. Hardly someone Lorenzo would depend on. We’ve looked into him, but we don’t think he’s worth pursuing.”
“What’s his name?”
The water vampire narrowed his eyes. “We’ve looked into him. Not a likely suspect.”
Carwyn shifted in his seat. He’d only ask one more time before things became… interesting. “His name, Murphy.”
The two vampires measured each other. Murphy had people. People surrounding him who were loyal. He was strong and ambitious. But his few hundred years were nothing compared to Carwyn’s strength. Or his vast network of family connections. If Carwyn wanted to rule Ireland, it wouldn’t be much of a fight. He could take Murphy out with one battle and a few well-timed telephone calls. He may not even need the battle.
And Patrick Murphy knew it.
“His name is Axel Anderson,” he finally said. “False, I’m sure, but that’s what he goes by. No idea who his sire is. He’s lived in Dublin for around twenty years. Does a little shipping. Has traded in some recreational drugs like Ecstasy and marijuana, but I put a stop to that after I found out he was the one supplying Brigid in college. She doesn’t know that, by the way. I’d like your discretion. The vampire is dating one of the few friends she has in town, and I’d hate to see her lose that.”
That information was going to piss Brigid off royally when he told her, which he had every intention of doing. “We’ll see,” he said as he rose. The other vampire stepped out from behind the desk. Carwyn said, “I want to be kept informed. Send messages by way of Deirdre if I’m out of town. Things are a bit unpredictable for me right now, but I’ll be around more.”
Murphy did not look pleased. “The Father has left his flock? I thought you liked your quiet mountains, Carwyn.”
He shrugged, and a slight smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “I like all sorts of things. And I protect what’s important to me.” He stepped a bit closer. “Don’t make the mistake of forgetting that.”
Murphy’s face was blank. “I don’t forget much.”
“Good.” Carwyn thought for a moment, weighing the intrinsic value of information against the possible threat against innocent mortals and immortals under Murphy’s aegis and territory. The innocents won. “There’s another drug you should be aware of. Something that may have just resurfaced. I’m still gathering information, but it’s targeted at immortals.”
Murphy said, “A drug for vampires? Careful, Father, things like that are what urban legends are made of.”
He snorted. “Like I said, I’m still getting information. I’m working with Giovanni Vecchio and his wife on the research. I’m sure you know their reputations.”
The mention of the famed fire vampire and scholar halted the amusement on Murphy’s face. “Of course.”
“I’ll keep you updated, particularly since it seems to be related to Ioan’s death. In the meantime, if you see any immortals who are acting out of character… seem to have increased strength or aren’t feeding as much, let me know.”
Murphy gave a slow nod. “You can be sure of it.”
Carwyn walked toward the door and turned. “So Brigid still wants to work for you?”
“January. She’ll be coming back in the new year.”
He cocked an eyebrow at Murphy. “You’re a lucky…” boy. “…employer, Murphy. To have her on your team.”
“I know it.”
Carwyn smirked before he strode out the door. “Just don’t forget it.”
Chapter Eighteen
Scotland
June 2011
Brigid held her hand up, a single flame hovering over one finger, as she sang in the misty night. Madoc watched with disapproving brown eyes.
“Happy death day to me, happy death day to me, happy death day, dear Brigid… happy death day to me.” She stared at the single flame for another minute before blowing it out and turning to the wolfhound. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s an odd kind of thing to celebrate.” She stood and brushed the grass from her leggings. Brigid had been at a bit of a loss for what to do to mark the one-year anniversary of her new life. A life, she had to admit, she grew to like more and more as her control grew. Cathy and Max were in Edinburgh. Anne was still out of the country. Tavish was the only one who acknowledged the date at all.
“Hasn’t it been about a year now?”
“Yes.”
“Killed anyone? Max isn’t here; you can tell me.”
“Nope. Though that annoying man that lurks around the pub in town has been tempting.”
“Can’t blame you for that. Still, more trouble than it’s worth. Probably.”
And that had been the extent of Tavish’s words of wisdom.
Brigid strolled through the grounds with Madoc following her. In the months that Carwyn had left the beast in her care, the dog had wormed its way into her heart, following her around the property when she walked or ran, chasing after the deer with her when she could hunt, and curling at the foot of her bed as she slept. She knew that her room was secure. Knew that even if anyone managed to break in, the dog wouldn’t be able to wake her. Still, for the first time in her life, Brigid had rested easy with another living creature in close proximity. Madoc’s gentle presence had been soothing instead of nerve-wracking. Brigid was grateful for the company and proud of her trust in the gentle beast.
She walked along the edge of the lake, stripping off her sweater to play with the gold fire that had become her companion. Like the dog, its presence had become soothing. Fire was her armor. Her protector. She felt its residence under her skin like a familiar, if volatile, friend. Brigid let the amnis run down the back of her neck, over her shoulders and arms, until it bloomed in her hands. She pushed it away from herself, letting the twin globes of fire hang over the water and reflect in the dark ripples of the lake. Madoc grew excited as she played, yipping and dancing in circles like the overgrown puppy he was.
She focused on the flames as the dog’s excited barks grew. Soon, he was circling a rise in the hill, jumping and dancing in the moonlight.
“Madoc?” What was he on about? He never reacted like this when Tavish was approaching. “What is it, you mad beast?”
The fire drifted away, and Brigid’s heart began to pick up a slow beat as she saw the ground shift under Madoc’s feet. What the—
The ground burst open with a shout as Madoc pounced. Brigid ran over, her arms lit, ready to burn whatever had attacked her dog. She immediately halted when she heard the familiar laugh and the loud voice.
“I heard you barking from twenty feet below, you mad hound! Haven’t you ever heard of the element of surprise? I’ll not be taking you on any missions of stealth, you can be sure of that.”
His dark red hair was flaked with dirt, and his skin was black with mud, but when Carwyn turned to her, there was no mistaking his vivid blue eyes. She broke into a smile just as he rose to his feet. She started toward him, but he only held up a finger.
“One moment,” he said with a grin. Then he stripped off his shirt, tossed it onto grass and dove into the water with glee. Madoc barked along the edge of the lake, waiting for his master to emerge.
He was back.
Her heart was racing now. Did he remember it had been a year? Did he come back for her?
She banished the thought from her
mind. Of course he didn’t come back for her. Not like that. He was watching out for her. Like… a priest. Or a friend. Which he was. A priest. A friendly priest.
Then he rose from the lake, the water scattering from his arms as he pushed back his unruly wet hair. Rivulets ran over the dark freckles on his shoulders and down his torso. Thick muscles flexed as the cool moon reflected off the solid planes of his chest. Dark red hair ran in a line down his flat stomach and into dripping wet trousers that covered his hips and muscular legs. Brigid was struck again by his size. Carwyn was enormous. Tall as a small tree and solid as the earth he controlled. He should have been intimidating. But he wasn’t.
He was back.
Damn it.
Priest! Her mind yelled. But Father Jacob didn’t look anything like that. Had Carwyn always had so many muscles? There seemed to be more than the last time she had seen him. Did that happen with vampires? Had he been… working out? He strode toward her with a smile.
“Surprised to see me? Despite this mutt’s warning?”
“Um…” Wasn’t there some rule that priests had to be thin and academic?
“Brigid?”
Or fat and jolly? Safe and approachable?
Carwyn was standing in front of her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m… fine!” she squeaked.
“Are you sure? Sorry I gave you a start.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Father Carwyn ap Bryn was approachable, all right, but not for any reasons the pope would approve of. She could feel the heat rising along her neck. Her heart thumped in her chest and her skin prickled as her eyes landed on a thick cord of muscle at the side of Carwyn’s neck. Her fangs fell down in sudden, passionate awareness as she imagined sinking her teeth into his neck, sucking on the sweet, hot blood that would run—
Oh, she was going to hell.
Just then, her eyes landed on the red outline of a palm on Carwyn’s chest and she froze. Her fangs retracted. Her heart stilled.
A small hand had branded him, searing away the scattered hair that covered his chest, raising an angry red welt. It had healed smooth, but the mark was still there.
“I did that,” she whispered, staring at the scars that marred his skin.
His voice dropped. “Brigid—”
“I did that.” She spread her hand and placed it over the burn. “I burned you. I hurt you.”
“It’s nothing,” he said in a hoarse voice. He pressed his hand over hers and held it there. She could feel the calm thump of his heart and her eyes rose to his. “It’s nothing, Brigid. A wound that has already healed. Please, don’t—”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
Their eyes locked and Brigid knew he was telling the truth, but she still wondered, had every touch hurt him? Her eyes raced over his skin, and a gasp tore from her throat. A red band from her arm. Fingerprints on his neck where she’d clutched him as he carried her. She felt strong fingers grasp her chin as Carwyn forced her to meet his eyes.
“Don’t you dare! I won’t have you blame yourself. You allowed me to help you when you wouldn’t let others.” His voice caught. “It was an honor. That’s all these scars mean to me. No blame, Brigid. I won’t allow it.”
She blinked back the tears that threatened her eyes. “You’re not my boss.”
A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. Now give me a hug and welcome me back, you brat. You’ve spoiled my jovial entrance with your Irish guilt.”
A reluctant smile worked its way over her face, then Brigid lifted her arms and wrapped them around his huge shoulders and she held. To his goodness. His kindness. The unexpected comfort of his touch. She could feel the laugh rumbling in his chest when he picked her up and swung her around.
“A year immortal and no slips, am I right? That ironclad discipline won’t allow it.” He held her around the waist, her feet dangling in the air, but she wasn’t afraid to fall. She knew he would hold her. Madoc danced around them, yipping and bouncing in excitement.
“No slips. No kills anyway. I can’t stand the all-beef diet you, Tavish, and Max adhere to, so I have been going into town to drink. Cathy’s been teaching me how to do it safely.”
“It’s not for everyone, love. You make your own choices.” He still held her against his chest, and Brigid began to grow more and more heated. Her fingertips sizzled against the wet skin of his neck as the water dripped from his hair.
‘Love.’ He called her ‘love.’ He did that with lots of people, didn’t he? It was just a friendly endearment.
She asked, “Are you going to set me down anytime soon?”
“I haven’t decided yet. You’re very tiny. Have you always been this tiny, or has immortality caused you to shrink?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I know. Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Carwyn finally set her at her feet and stepped back. Her eyes were drawn to his chest again as she examined the scars in the dark.
She had marked him. She had. Her fangs fell again, and a strange, instinctive reaction welled up inside her. It wasn’t guilt.
Mine.
Madoc’s shove against her legs sent her stumbling back, breaking the spell the burns seemed to have on her. Carwyn grabbed her arm with a laugh and tugged the dog by the scruff of the neck affectionately.
“How have you put up with this beast? I’m pleasantly surprised to find him still groomed and fed, by the way. I thought for sure you’d have run him off to live with the sheep by now.”
“I’m not cruel, Carwyn. I wouldn’t put him at Tavish’s mercy.”
She watched him lean over and pick up his shirt. And wasn’t the back view just as nice as the front?
Oh yes, she was definitely going to hell.
Immortality suddenly seemed like a particularly fine idea if it meant she didn’t have to face eternal damnation for being attracted to a priest. Carwyn slung the shirt over his damp shoulder and whistled for Madoc to follow them up to the castle. He slowed his long strides to match hers as they walked and the dog danced around them.
“I thought you didn’t like animals,” he said.
She cleared her throat. “Well, sometimes you get attached to the ridiculous ones.”
Tavish greeted them at the door with his typical grunt, then disappeared to the basement. Carwyn gave an affectionate smile as he watched his youngest ‘child’ wander away. “Where are Cathy and Max?” he asked.
“Edinburgh. Cathy’s boss had some interview she needed to be there for. Max tagged along.”
“You prepared for that kind of thing?” Carwyn eyed her warily. “The kind of security work that Cathy does—that you’ll be expected to do—it’s different than what you did as a human.”
She nodded and led him to the kitchen. “I know. I’m prepared for that. I’ve been practicing questioning people with amnis in the village with Cathy. Using my power in more offensive, as well as defensive, ways. It’s fascinating, really.”
Carwyn looked amused. “Questioning people, eh? How’s that going?”
She cocked an eyebrow as she opened the refrigerator door. “It might be a good thing you’re here, Father. These people need to confess to someone more proper than me.”
That seemed particularly amusing to him for some reason. He sat down and watched as she prepared a sandwich.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She turned to see his eyes dart away from her and over to the radio, which was playing some news program. “Roast beef all right?”
“Fine, thanks. Finally feeling at home here?”
“Hard not to with the Mackenzie clan. After the first month or so, they expect you to fend for yourself. I can make a mean mutton stew now, too.”
“Aren’t you the domestic one?”
“Ha!” She shook her head. “Actually, I learned how to set a formal table at age eight. I could probably still throw a dinner party in my sleep after seeing my mother host so man
y. I just don’t like company all that much.” He was so silent she turned to look at him. “What?”
“I’ve never heard you talk about her.”
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
Brigid shrugged and turned back to slice the bread that Max had baked and frozen the week before. “I’ve been told that it’s not healthy to pretend the first ten years of my life didn’t exist.”
Another pause. “Where’s Anne?”
“Galway.” Brigid smiled at him over her shoulder. “I’m not her only basket case, you know.”
“Don’t talk about yourself that way.”
“I’m joking. Aren’t you the one who never takes things seriously?”
His voice was sharp. “Is that what you think?”
Brigid smirked. “I’m not—”
“I take things seriously when they need to be.”
Her eyebrows raised as she examined him. The look in his eyes was unfamiliar. Raw. Vulnerable, in a way. “I know you do, Carwyn.”
He blinked and looked away, then rose to come stand beside her. “Can I help?”
“Why do men always offer to help when the job is almost finished?”
He grinned and grabbed two plates. “We’re smart that way. Why ruin the rare pleasure of watching a woman see to your needs?”
Now why did that make her skin heat? He was talking about food. Wasn’t he? Brigid shoved back the other images that sprang to her mind.
Wasn’t he?
She was definitely going to hell.
Carwyn leaned over her shoulder and took a deep breath.
“Smells fantastic, Brigid. Thank you.” She was frozen when he grabbed the two sandwiches and put them on the plates. Brigid turned around and watched him carry everything to the small table in the corner of the kitchen. He set them down and asked, “What would you like to drink, love? I’ll get it.”
Her eyes flicked to his neck a moment before she turned back to the counter to put away the plate of beef.
“Whiskey,” she said in a strangled voice. “Please.”