“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.