Building From Ashes (6 page)

He grabbed their drinks, walked back to the table, and slid in across from her. She looked up with a droll expression. “Thanks ever so much for the whiskey.”

Carwyn grinned. “You’re very welcome. How’s life?”

She shrugged. “Busy. Classes. Friends. Lots going on.”

“Who’s the boyfriend?”

“Just a lad I met out with friends.”

“Is it serious? Going to take him home to meet…” He caught himself before he said ‘mum and dad.’ Carwyn cleared his throat and smiled at the cool eyebrow she raised in his direction. “Take him home to meet your aunt?”

“Sinead? Probably not. I’m not that serious about him.”

“So why waste your time?”

She just blinked at him, and for the first time since he’d seen her, Carwyn caught the vulnerability in her eyes. In that moment, he remembered the small girl at the mercy of a monster, and his heart softened. “None of my business, Brigid,” he said in a softer voice. “He seems like a nice enough boy.”

The hard shell fell over her face again. “He’s fine. He doesn’t interfere with school.”

He grinned. “Well, that’s good. So, you’re going to be in the
Garda
, are you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe Irish police. Maybe something international. Always wanted to travel.”

“You have?” From what he’d remembered Ioan telling him, the girl had trouble leaving the house to attend the village school.

She curled her lip. “Yeah. I have.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thanks. Are we done talking now?”

He pointed to her pint. “Drink up. It won’t bite.”

“Unlike some things at the table.”

He laughed. “Well, that’s true, I suppose.”

Brigid rolled her eyes again, and Carwyn wondered if there was some sort of human medical procedure to keep her from repeating the annoying gesture.

“So—”

“You really don’t have to do this.”

“What?”

“Check up on me for them. I’m fine, Father.”

For some inexplicable reason, Brigid calling him “Father” annoyed him. Perhaps because she said it with such clear disdain. He lowered his glass and leaned across the table. “Look here, Brigid Connor. Get rid of the attitude.” He reached out and wrapped a hand around her tiny wrist, but softened it when he felt the flinch. He rubbed one thumb over her knuckles. “You and I both know that I could make you tell me anything I wanted if I used my amnis. I’m trying to be pleasant. I’m trying to do a favor for Ioan and Deirdre and your Aunt Sinead, who I happen to like more than most humans. So why don’t you—?”

He broke off when the door opened and a gust of wind blew in. The cool air slid into the room and slipped over Brigid’s neck, drifting to his keen nose. His eyes narrowed, and his grip on her wrist tightened slightly. The fangs grew long in his mouth and his heart began to pound.

What the hell?

He brought her hand up to his nose and inhaled the sweet scent of her blood. Thick, rich, human blood along with a hint of something distinctly chemical. Carwyn slid out of the booth and tugged the girl out of the pub and down the street, finding a quiet alley to shove her into before he released her and began to pace.

“What the hell?” he muttered. “The hell, girl.” He turned on her. “What are you doing?”

He caught a hint of fear before a disdainful mask fell over her face. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t.”

He could tell by the look on her face that she did, but she had mastered the arrogance of youth. Carwyn shook his head. “Ioan said to have faith in you. To trust that you were a smart girl. He told everyone not to worry so much.”

“I
am
smart. I know what I’m doing.”

“Really?” He stalked toward her, boxing her against the wall with his thick arms. The girl looked up defiantly. “Why don’t you fill me in, then? Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing?”

“I’m taking care of things. I’m making myself better.”

“What the hell are you talking about, you idiot? I’m asking what drugs you’re using! I can smell more than one, and you’d better tell me.”

“Read my lips, Carwyn. It is none of your business. I’m not under your aegis, and I never will be. I don’t answer to you or anyone else, so piss off and mind your own—”

She broke off when he slapped his hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened in fury, but he ignored her. “It is my business because Ioan and Deirdre are my business, and they love you. You know either of them would tear off their own arm for you, so knowing you’re putting poison in your body would absolutely kill them.”

Brigid narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, sinking her little human teeth into the heel of his hand. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Carwyn had to stifle a laugh. He pulled his hand away and blinked when he realized she had drawn blood.

“Careful now,” he said. “Drinking vampire blood will make you sick.”

She rolled her eyes again and Carwyn ground his fangs. Why did she keep doing that?

“Listen,” she said in an utterly reasonable voice. “What I’m doing is nothing more than what people do when they go to the doctor and get medications to deal with their problems. I have symptoms. I know how to help myself now. If I was taking prescription medications, you wouldn’t—”

“Say anything? No, because you’d be under the care of a physician, Brigid. That’s a bit different than doping yourself up to deal with things, isn’t it?”

She only glared at him. “You’re not my father or my priest…
Father
.”

“No, but I thought I could be a friend. Obviously, I gave you too much credit.” He wiped the smear of blood on his jeans and glanced at her from the corner of his eye when she didn’t think he was looking. The girl looked young and scared. She may have talked big, but Brigid didn’t know what she was doing. His heart broke just a little in that moment.

“Brigid—”

“Are you going to tell them?” Her voice had lost its disdainful tone, and she was staring at the cobblestones in the alley.

“I’m on a boat tomorrow night for New York. I’ll be ten days; then I’ll call them when I get to America, Brigid. Tell them first. This isn’t going to be our secret.”

“Fine.” She nodded and started toward the mouth of the alley.

“Brigid?” he called. She stopped but didn’t turn around. “Take care of yourself.”

Carwyn thought he heard a rueful laugh before she turned the corner, disappearing into the bustle of the city.

Malibu, California

July 2005

“Brilliant tradition. Excellent use of explosives.”

He and Beatrice were leaning against a pile of rocks he’d formed to create a kind of shelter from the wind that whipped down the California coast. They were roasting marshmallows on the deserted beach, enjoying the bonfire, and watching the distant fireworks that marked American Independence Day.

Beatrice said, “It is fitting, isn’t it? We do like our violent celebrations.”

“You do. Is this better than the fireworks in Houston?”

“Oh yeah. Rich people put on a great show.”

Carwyn snorted, enjoying the fact his friend didn’t lump herself in with the rich, despite the rather massive fortune she’d stolen the year before from a vicious water vampire who had kidnapped her. Lorenzo was the estranged son of his friend, Giovanni, and a villain at the core. Carwyn, Giovanni, and their friend Tenzin had attacked his compound in Greece and rescued Beatrice the year before, driving Lorenzo underground—or underwater, as the case may have been—but Carwyn knew he was still lurking. He also knew that, since helping his friends, he had become a target.

It didn’t concern him. Another hundred years, another enemy to watch out for. When you lived as long as he did, it was inevitable.

He saw Beatrice glancing at the ocean as the tide came in. Few would notice how the waves still made her tense, but she deliberately turned back to the fire and ignored them.

“Too much?” he asked, catching her eye and gesturing toward the ocean. “We can always take the bike farther up the coast. Plenty of dark left. We can just keep riding if you don’t want to listen to the water.”

She shook her head. “No, this is good. I’m good. I need to get over it, you know? Otherwise…”

“What?”

She smiled at him. “Sometimes, life hands you things you think you won’t survive. You probably know that better than me.”

He shrugged. “Despite my years, sometimes I feel as if I’ve lived a very charmed life. My family, for the most part, has been safe.”

“But still, things happen. There’s no such thing as complete safety.”

He thought of a dark room and a helpless little girl. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“So when life breaks, you pick up the pieces and keep moving. Otherwise, you stay broken. And instead of being a survivor, you’re always a victim.” Beatrice leaned toward the fire and crossed her arms over her chest. “And I don’t want to be known for what happened to me. I want to be known for me.”

“Look at you, wise girl.” He winked at her. “You can handle anything, can’t you?”

“A good friend. A warm fire. I can’t handle everything, but I can handle the waves for a bit.”

He smiled. “Just let me know when you want to go.”

“I will.”

“B?”

“Yeah?”

His thoughts drifted back to a frightened young woman in Dublin, and the mingled bravery and fear he’d seen in her eyes. “I know when your dad first showed up again, after he’d turned and you didn’t know…” He paused. “Gio didn’t tell me much, but I know you thought… that you thought—”

“I was crazy?” He looked up, and Beatrice was smiling at him.

He chuckled a little. “Yes.”

“Well… yeah. Dad dies only to show up years later looking like an emaciated monster? You could say that messed with my head.”

“Did you ever—when things were bad—did you ever try drugs? Not the prescription kind.”

She cocked her head at him. “Should I ask why you’re wondering?”

“You don’t have to answer.”

Beatrice said, “It’s all right. And no. I drank some. Okay, a lot sometimes, but to tell the truth, drugs always scared the shit out of me. Plus, I just knew my grandma and grandpa would find out. There are some things you can’t hide.”

“I know.”

“Can I ask?”

He shook his head and thought of the difficult call he’d had to make to Ioan when he’d arrived in New York. “Just a friend. She had a rough childhood. I’m sure you can relate.”

“Not really.” He looked up in surprise, and Beatrice shrugged. “I mean, I lost my dad, and I had a really bad time when I was a teenager, but basically, I had it pretty good. I always knew my family loved me. And that’s the most important thing.”

“Me, too. I had a wonderful family.”

“Really?” She grinned. “Your human family? You hardly ever talk about them.”

“Oh, my parents were wonderful. And my sisters. I had four sisters. It was a very close family. Extended family, as well. When Efa and I married—our parents were dear friends, so it was arranged. Pure chance we loved each other. But it was a very close community.” He nodded. “That’s what saved me after I turned. I knew my children would be looked after, even though I couldn’t see them and their mother was gone.”

“You never talk about her.”

“Who, Efa?” Carwyn smiled when he thought about his gentle young wife. He’d been crazy in love with the demure girl. He could still remember their wedding night. Both of them young, fumbling. So eager and overwhelmed with love and excitement. Losing her years later had pierced Carwyn’s heart with a pain he hadn’t thought he’d be able to live through. But he had. And he’d survived without her for over a thousand years. “She was a very loving girl. I wonder, sometimes, if we would have fallen in love if we hadn’t been meant for each other. We were very different.”

“What would she think of you now? Do you ever wonder?”

He frowned. “Not really. It was so long ago. I think she would appreciate my faith and devotion to my family. Family was very important to both of us. But I was much more serious when I was young.”

“Really?” Beatrice laughed. “Isn’t it usually the opposite?”

“Not if you live long enough.” A sudden pain swept over him. “After about five hundred years or so, you have to laugh at yourself or you’d go mad.” He looked into the fire again, contemplating his human love, who had become such a faint memory. “Efa was a beautiful wife. Wonderful mother. Quiet. I wonder if she’d even recognize me now.”

“Quiet, huh?” Beatrice grinned at him. “That’s probably only because she couldn’t get a word in around you, blabbermouth.”

Carwyn’s sudden melancholy lifted and his laugh filled the quiet beach. “You’re probably right! I can only imagine.”

“When you were gone, she probably had plenty to say.”

“Tales of putting up with my obnoxious young self. Poor thing.” He smiled again and threw an arm over Beatrice’s shoulders.

“Why haven’t you ever married again? You’re a good-looking guy. And you have one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever known.”

He winked. “Besides the obvious, collar-type reasons?”

“I don’t think God would get pissed off at this point. You’ve worked for him for a long time.”

“And I’ll work for him until the day I leave this earth.” He squeezed her shoulders. “I don’t know. Just never found the right woman, I suppose.”

“Ah.”

“And who would put up with me, honestly?”

“You can be pretty charming when you want to be.”

He looked down and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Oh, really?”

Beatrice burst into laughter and tugged at the collar of his garish Hawaiian shirt. “Yep, you’re a regular knight in flowered armor. You just need to find your damsel.”

“Oh,” he groaned. “I don’t know. I’ve never really seen the appeal of the ‘damsel-in-distress,’ to be totally honest. I’m not really the damsel type.”

“Well, maybe you need to find a knight, then.”

He grimaced. “
Definitely
never seen the appeal of those.”

Beatrice leaned into his shoulder. “You’ll find the right one someday. I have faith.”