Building From Ashes

  “Carwyn?” she whispered to him hours later.

  “Yes, love?”

  “Can I ask you to do something for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “When Anne gets back next month… When she comes back, I need you to leave again.”

  His arms tightened around her and his voice was hoarse when he said, “Why?”

  She steeled her resolve and picked her head up. “You know why.”

  His brows furrowed together and he placed a hand on her cheek. “I want to help you.”

  “But you know there are some things I have to do myself. You know this.”

  She could see the resignation on his face, but his eyes still argued with her.

  Brigid said, “I need to make myself better. For me. For you. For my future. I need to work on myself, so I’m not such a mess. So I can be good for you.” She saw him begin to argue, so she put a quick hand to his lips. “And for me. I have this new life stretched in front of me and a pit of human problems I need to sort out. I need to not worry that I’m going to hurt you in the process. So, what I’m asking for…” She leaned forward and placed soft lips over his heart. “Is time. If you love me, please give me time. We have it. An eternity of it, if you want. I’m only asking for a few months.”

  He tilted her chin up so their eyes met. “Months?”

  “I’ll be back in Dublin in January. Give me till then?”

  “If you give me this month. Till Anne gets back in August, give me this month with you?”

  She smiled. “If you’re willing to risk the fire.”

  A fierce light flared in his eyes, and he grasped her around the waist, pulling her hard against his body as his mouth descended on hers. A keen edge came to his lips as they pressed against her own and a soft whimper escaped her throat as her temperature soared. Carwyn pulled back, panting, and placed his forehead against her own.

  He whispered, “Love is as strong as fire.”

  Book Three: The Seal

  Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm;

  for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyeilding as the grave.

  It burns like a blazing fire, like a mighty flame.

  Song of Solomon 8:6

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dublin

  March 2012

  The news from Murphy was world-changing.

  “We don’t know its name, but it is a drug targeted at immortals. We’re still learning more, but this could change everything if it does what it seems. I’m on the phone with every contact I have, but keep your ears tuned. I want to know what you’re hearing on the street. In the clubs. Everywhere that vampires gather.” Murphy’s voice was grim as he addressed the group. Tom, Declan, Jack, and Brigid were gathered in his office, having been called into a surprise visit as soon as they’d all arrived at the office that evening. None of the humans—not even Angie—were present.

  Tom’s voice was quiet and calm. “What does it do, Murphy? What are the effects?”

  “It seems to quell bloodlust.”

  Brigid could see Declan sit up straight. “What, completely?” he asked.

  “According to reports.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “What else?”

  Declan said, “What else does there need to be?”

  “There’s something else,” Brigid murmured. “There’s always something else.” A drug that would kill bloodlust and allow her to live more normally? As much as she liked the taste of human blood, a cure was ferociously attractive. Even as she’d gained control, it was a constant battle. A gust of wind passing by a human’s warm neck and she was right back to the mindless hunger of a newborn; even if she reined it in, it was there. Always. Calling her. Making her blood boil and her fangs drop. The idea of not feeling that hunger again was more seductive than the blissful oblivion heroin once provided.

  Murphy said, “We’re not sure what else it does. It’s something that’s given to humans. Puts them in amazing health, from all reports. A kind of miracle cure. Heals wounds. Cures disease. And once a human takes it, the vampire feeds from them.”

  Tom said, “And then?”

  “Reports are saying that the vampire has no hunger but the human kind. Normal food and liquid intake. There’s an increase in elemental power. Surge of strength—”

  “Forget battling it,” Declan said. “How can we import it?”

  Tom’s voice was a warning. “Declan…”

  “Come on!” The usually pragmatic immortal’s voice hummed with excitement. “Murphy, this is an opportunity. This isn’t like the self-destructive shit that humans take. This doesn’t sound like a drug at all. It sounds like the answer to a bloody problem.”

  “Literally,” Jack said.

  “The problem”—Murphy held up a hand—“is that the source of this drug is a ninth century manuscript that Lorenzo stole. We all know Lorenzo. We’re not talking about a humanitarian, gentlemen. If he wants it, there’s another side to the story.”

  The four men began arguing, but Brigid sat back in her chair and let her mind drift.

  So, this was the book that Carwyn had told her about. The book his friends, Giovanni Vecchio and Beatrice De Novo, had lost. Carwyn’s old enemy, Lorenzo, had stolen it. Killed innocents for it. And it contained the formula for the drug that Ioan had wondered about. A drug that could affect immortals. Change them. But how? Brigid had to agree with Murphy; there was another side to this story.

  Murphy was still talking. “I’m talking about pragmatism, boys. I’m talking about looking out for the greater good and not letting our enthusiasm run away with us. The bastard killed the most respected vampire in Ireland to get information about this drug. And the reports I’m getting—”

  “What are these reports you keep talking about?” Brigid broke in quietly, and the whole room turned to her with guarded eyes. “Where are you getting them? What’s the source of the information, Murphy? Can we trust it?”

  A quick glance between Murphy and Tom roused her suspicions. “I received a call from Deirdre earlier this afternoon.”

  “Deirdre?” Her sire. Why was Deirdre calling Murphy instead of her?

  They’d come to an uneasy truce, her immortal mother and herself. Yes, Deirdre had sired Brigid without her consent, but with Anne’s help and the gift of time and distance, Brigid had found peace about her new life. She hadn’t wanted to die and was grateful that Deirdre had saved her. She had things to look forward to now. She had friends. A future. She had—

  “Carwyn has been in Wicklow looking through the remains of Ioan’s library with Deirdre. Apparently, there are missing papers regarding blood research, but he has no idea what is gone.”

  Carwyn? Brigid’s brain locked up.

  “Carwyn ap Bryn?” Declan asked with evident respect. “The priest? I thought he’d gone back to Wales. He’s here?”

  Carwyn was in Ireland? But…

  Murphy’s eyes darted toward hers. “Yes, he’s been here for a number of months now. In Wicklow with his family.”

  And not with her. Brigid quashed the rush of heat that tried to overtake her. The fire simmered just under her skin, prickling and dancing as she inwardly fumed.

  He was in Wicklow?

  Three months she’d been in Dublin. The first month, she settled, knowing that he had been spending the Christmas holidays in South America with family and friends. He’d told her before he left in August that he’d be gone. That he’d be back. How could he not? After their month together, the perfect month they’d spent talking and laughing. Kissing like sweethearts and holding hands. He’d never pushed her. He said that he could be patient. That she was worth the wait. There was still so much to work out. But they had time, he said. And she agreed.

  But she’d missed him when he didn’t show up the first month. Then the second month came and there was no word. Then the third. And Brigid didn’t know what to think.

  She slid back into work as if she had never been gone, the only d
ifference being hours and the set of hands that Murphy had hired for her. The ‘hands’ were named Sara and belonged to a very nice human girl whose parents, like Emily’s, had worked for Murphy since she was born. She was a quick, no-nonsense twenty-four-year-old Trinity graduate who did her work efficiently and seemed completely unimpressed with Jack’s flirtations.

  Brigid had liked her almost immediately.

  Seven months had passed with no sign of him, and a crack had formed in the delicate trust they’d built. Brigid blinked and tried to focus on what Murphy was saying.

  “Until we know more about this drug, about its effects and the long-term ramifications, I want all of you to be very, very careful. We know he intends to produce it, but we don’t know where. We don’t know if it’s even detectable in humans, so be very careful whom you drink from. And if you see any of the usual humans who like being bitten seem to have a surge in health or activity, beware. Our first priority is still finding local connections Lorenzo might have used when he was distributing heroin here. Logic says that he’ll use the same connections with this new drug as the old, so keep up with your investigations. Now that Brigid is back”—He grinned and winked at her—“those who kick up a fuss have more incentive to cooperate.”

  “Just call me Miss Incentive,” Brigid muttered and snapped her fingers, immediately tossing the two glowing balls of red fire in her hands.

  “Jesus, Connor, don’t scare the lads.” Tom chuckled as Jack inched away from her and Declan’s eyes darted away.

  Oh yes, they were all scared of her now. Tom and Murphy not as much as the rest. Part of her reveled in it, loving the power. The other part missed the easy acceptance she’d become accustomed to in Scotland. Normal immortal society had a very different attitude toward fire vampires than the Mackenzie clan. She was feared. Always set just a bit apart. Even with Deirdre, she could see the hint of caution every time they spoke.

  She missed Cathy. Missed Anne, who was back in Galway. Missed Max and his easy manner. She even missed Tavish’s gruff bossiness. He’d never feared her, even when she singed his eyebrows off for the fourth time.

  And, oh, she missed Carwyn.

  She ignored the ache in her chest as Murphy finished the meeting. She was tucking her notes into her messenger bag when she heard her boss’s voice.

  “Brigid? A word before you leave?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Unlike Carwyn, Murphy had been making his interest in her more than clear. He sent her flowers when she’d moved into her new house in Ringsend. Had arranged movers for her things, which had laid untouched in her apartment in his building the entire year and a half she’d been away. He’d never let anyone into her space. He’d asked her for a drink. Then dinner. He’d asked her to concerts and clubs. He was polite, but friendly. He seemed to take nothing for granted.

  So far, she’d been able to resist. But Patrick Murphy was like a modern day James Bond, with more class and a meaner right hook. If Brigid started to get hungry, he was there to escort her to the kitchen or the donor rooms where some humans in Murphy’s employ offered their blood in exchange for a bump in salary.

  If she was looking for a file on Angie’s desk, he was there a moment before her, offering it with a smile.

  Handkerchief? He had one tucked in his front pocket.

  Cup of tea? He knew exactly how much milk she liked.

  Brigid had the feeling if she asked for a breath mint, he’d have a tin of them in his perfectly pressed suit. She was glaring at his suit pocket in suspicion as he approached.

  “Brigid?”

  She blinked and looked up. Oh yes, he’d wanted a word. And probably not about breath mints.

  “Yes?”

  He hesitated, and it was such an unusual expression on him that Brigid stood up. “What’s up, Murphy?”

  He grinned, disarming her with his smile and that damn dimple. “Will you ever call me Patrick?”

  “Not at work.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “So, how about after work?” He stepped a bit closer. “I have theater tickets for tomorrow evening. I’d love to take you.”

  She kept turning him down. Politely. He was more than attractive, but she’d considered herself… well, if not committed, then at least… unavailable? But Carwyn had been in Wicklow three months. Three months, and he hadn’t even called her.

  Brigid stuttered. “I—I don’t know, Murphy.”

  Sensing an opening, he stepped closer. “It’s a wonderful play, and I have the extra ticket. The seat would just be empty if you didn’t join me.”

  She scoffed, thinking of the scores of willing women who made themselves available to the immortal ruler of Dublin at any time of his choosing. “I don’t think you’d have trouble finding someone to fill the seat.”

  He stepped even closer, and she could feel the heat rise on her body. He smelled amazing. Cool and crisp like the ocean. “I don’t want just anyone to fill the seat, Brigid. I want you.” She forced herself to raise her eyes, despite the rush of blood that started in her veins and the instinct to escape. “I’ve been trying to make that clear.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Surely you can see what a match we’d make, Brigid. With our power and connections combined, we’d be unstoppable. And I’ve always—always—found you very attractive.”

  Her heart was pounding now. “Murphy—”

  “Patrick.” He cut her off and leaned down slowly. Brigid gulped nervously. He was going to kiss her. She should stop it. It wasn’t right. She closed her eyes and Carwyn’s face floated in her mind. There had to be an explanation. He wouldn’t have just—

  “Stop,” she whispered, putting a hand to Murphy’s chest. The suit was crisp under her fingers, and he halted immediately. His eyes ducked down to meet hers. “I can’t.”

  “Why, Brigid? Is it the priest?” Murphy whispered. “Is there something between you? I thought when he came to see me last year, but… He’s been back in the country for months, and he hasn’t been to town. I’d know if he had. So what’s stopping you?”

  “I—I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t find you attractive, Patrick. You know I do, but—”

  “But what?”

  “Carwyn—” She broke off when she heard the crack of Murphy’s office door as it slammed open. “Is here.” Brigid groaned. “Of all the moments to show up…”

  Carwyn rushed into the room. In the blink of an eye, the enraged immortal had Murphy lifted in a chokehold and pushed against the far wall. Murphy was powerful, but nothing compared to Carwyn. At over a thousand years, the Welsh vampire had the strength of a mountain. A mountain that was currently furious. His amnis whipped over his body. She could feel it pulse in the air. Angie’s voice rose out in the hallway and she heard the rush of feet as Murphy’s men ran toward their leader. Her mind raced. This could end very badly.

  Brigid yelled, “Carwyn, stop!”

  He snarled and did not release the vampire. Murphy’s feet dangled in the air, but he hung still, staring into Carwyn’s face with a kind of detached calm. Brigid pulled at his shoulder, but she might as well have pushed against a cliff, for all the good it did.

  Brigid whirled to the door, where Tom, Declan, and Jack were poised and ready to strike.

  She brought flames to her hands and her eyes burned. “Stop! Everyone, just stop right now!”

  Finally, Carwyn growled, “Your heart. I heard your heart racing. Who scared you? What did he do?”

  She took a deep breath. “I wasn’t scared, Carwyn.”

  “But—”

  “It wasn’t fear that made my heart race.”

  Carwyn’s eyes flickered toward hers for a minute, confused. Slowly, he set Murphy on his feet, not releasing his neck. Nevertheless, Murphy glanced over at Tom and nodded toward the door; Brigid heard the three vampires slowly back away.

  “Father, if you could release my neck, I’d be most appreciative,” Murphy spoke evenly, and Brigid could tell he was carefully restrai
ning his ire. Murphy was being smart, but she could tell he was furious. He glared at Carwyn, but the earth immortal didn’t spare him a glance. He only had eyes for Brigid.

  She stood silently, meeting his glare without fear. Finally, Carwyn released Murphy and walked toward her.

  “Not fear?” he growled around his fangs. He looked brutal. Feral and wild in a way she had never seen before. Her temperature spiked, but she tried to keep her voice steady and her eyes on him.

  “Murphy was not threatening me.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Not fear?”

  His head ducked down to her neck, inhaling a deep breath, testing her scent. Whatever was there made him growl even lower and she caught a glimpse of his fangs. Long, thick. Shining in his mouth like blades. Carwyn’s head whipped around to Murphy’s and he snarled at him in Welsh. She didn’t catch it; she’d never understood the language, despite the lessons Ioan had tried to give her.

  Carwyn ducked down as if to kiss her, but pulled away with a blistering anger in his eyes. Murphy stepped toward them and Carwyn’s hand shot out, grabbed Murphy by the throat again and threw him across the room before he stormed away.

  Brigid was still holding her breath when Murphy walked toward her, dusting plaster from his shoulders where he’d slammed into a wall. The look in his eyes was amused. “So, nothing going on there, I take it.”

  She gulped. “Murphy—”

  “Do me a small favor and go after him, Brigid. I’d prefer not to do further repairs to my city if at all possible.”

  “Sorry about that,” she muttered before she sped from the room.

  Well, that certainly wasn’t how she’d imagined their reunion.

  Carwyn had growled at the Dubliner like an animal.

  ‘My woman.’