Within five moves, Brigid had put Anne in check. The water vampire smiled. “I can’t believe how good you are now.”
“I didn’t believe Ioan, not really, but I am smarter. It’s a bit startling. That’ll come in handy when I can go back to work.”
“See? And your hair will grow back.” Anne’s eyes twinkled. “Not a bad trade-off, really. And no wrinkles. You’re determined to go back to Dublin?”
“If Murphy’ll have me back after I leave work for over a year.”
“A fire vampire on his security team? He’d be a fool to pass that up. And Patrick is anything but a fool.”
Brigid took a deep breath and fingered the silk scarf that covered her head. She hoped her hair grew back by the time she returned to work. She could only imagine the jokes Jack would make. She looked like a cancer patient. Or a skinhead. Luckily, her eyebrows and her eyelashes had already started to grow. Anne said her hair would grow more slowly than it did when she had been human, but it would still grow. Her skin was pale and smooth; her body was quicker. She was strong, so strong that she often felt clumsy with it. But her eyes were what bothered her the most. How would she ever pass as human with them? She knew they looked awful, no matter what Carwyn said.
Carwyn, Anne, and Deirdre had spent a month teaching Brigid the basics of immortal life and trying to decide what to do with her for her first, most volatile, year. Brigid knew that returning to Dublin wasn’t an option for some time. Even the scent of the humans a quarter mile from Anne’s home made her growl with hunger. She needed to be somewhere deserted, and currently, Carwyn’s sons’ castle in the highlands of Scotland seemed the best option.
Brigid caught her new reflection in the mirror and quickly glanced away. “I can’t get used to them.”
“Your eyes? They’re actually quite lovely. Very unusual.”
Brigid muttered, “There’s a lot unusual about me now. Fire. I had to become a fire vampire…”
Anne took a sip of wine. “There’s always been something very special about you, Brigid. It’s not a bad thing. A challenge, but you’ve overcome greater ones.”
Brigid tasted the cup of blood that Deirdre had heated for her at nightfall. It was some kind of animal; she didn’t ask what. It did not taste as good as the human blood Anne had provided the first few nights, but Anne, at over two hundred years old, didn’t need to drink nearly as often as Brigid, so she didn’t keep much extra around. Carwyn was going into the town every evening and getting blood from the local butcher for her. Brigid was trying to be grateful.
She curled her lip. “How do they drink this stuff?”
“Don’t ask me. I think animal blood is vile. But most of Carwyn’s clan follows his example. You know, he was likely a vegetarian in his human life. The church in Wales during the late medieval period…”
Carwyn.
Brigid glanced down the hall again. Who was he to her now?
Friend. Protector? Something else entirely more complicated?
Her feelings for him had always been so mixed. He’d danced on the edges of her world. A mythic figure to the child. A brief, unrequited crush to the teenager. He hadn’t registered in a real way until he’d broken down the carefully built wall of secrecy she’d built in college. She’d been so angry with him then… but it wasn’t all anger. And later?
He flirted with her, but then, he flirted with everyone. Brigid couldn’t deny she’d enjoyed it. Then the Catholic in her felt guilty because he was a priest. But it wasn’t as if Carwyn was like any other priest she’d ever met. How did he see her? How did she see him? She wasn’t certain anymore. Nothing was certain. Her whole world, all her plans, all her routines, had been burned as surely as the old farmhouse in Wicklow.
“Brigid?” She looked up to see Anne giving her a guarded look.
“What?”
“You’re heating up again. I can feel it. Try the breathing exercises.”
Brigid nodded and began the slow, meditative breathing that Anne had practiced with her in the previous weeks. In. Out. In. Out. She closed her eyes.
“Hold on to me, Brigid.”
Her heart sped as she remembered the careful way he lifted her from the ground and carried her out of the mountain. Gently. As if she was precious.
“I’ve got you. Don’t let go.”
But did he really want her to? Holding on to Carwyn at this point was liable to get him burned. Literally.
“There’s one big thing you need to think about, Brigid. We made progress in treatment. A lot. You’ve come to terms with many things about your past, but you put off dealing with your anger, and it’s never gone away.” Anne spoke in a calm, soothing voice, but the words still pierced the hollow in Brigid’s chest. “I knew it. You knew it. But I thought you’d have time to come to terms with it on your own. Then you lost Ioan. And now you’ve lost your mortal life.”
In. Out. Slow, steady breaths. She felt a cool mist blow across her from Anne’s raised fingers.
She asked, “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying that you can’t put off dealing with your anger any longer. Putting it off could mean your death.”
Brigid snorted. As if that meant anything to—
“Or the death of someone close to you,” Anne said softly. “Someone you care about.”
From the corner of her eye, Brigid could see Carwyn down the hall, leaning against one of Anne’s kitchen counters as he and Deirdre talked. His red hair was mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. His forehead was furrowed in thought and his arms—the arms that had held her so carefully—were crossed across his chest in a stubborn pose. His eyes rose and caught her glance; he let a crooked smile curve the corner of his mouth.