Building From Ashes (49 page)

“Oh yes.”

She glared as he grinned and flexed his massive arms. “No.”

“Yes.”

Carwyn grabbed her and tossed her onto his back. “I was hoping you had an alternate form of transport,” she whined. “There’s rocks and leafy bits and dirt
everywhere
. I’ll be even more filthy than I am now.”

He pulled her legs tighter around his waist and squeezed her right knee. “I’ll just have to clean you up later. Consider it my reward for doing all the hard work getting us home.”

“I’ll never understand why you like to travel like this.”

“Just hold tight and close your eyes,” he said with a grin. “This gets dirty.”

Brigid squeezed her eyes shut and ducked down as the ground opened up beneath them.

The following night, Carwyn tried to pull her to sit on his lap in Murphy’s office, but Brigid remained irritatingly professional. He winked at her, subtly licking his lips to remind her of how she’d woken at twilight. Then he laughed internally as she kicked his shin and scowled at him. He tried to rein in his good humor—it really wasn’t appropriate considering the circumstances—but ever since the woman had married him, he felt as if he’d been floating.

Well, that and he remembered how much he
really
enjoyed sex.

Murphy called the meeting to order with a quiet voice. “I’m sure we’ve all figured out the basics at this point, but let’s have some specifics. Tom?”

“Jack, needless to say, didn’t keep records. And most of his people were burned in that boat when Brigid went up in flames.”

Declan coughed and muttered, “Well done, Welshman.”

There was a smattering of amused grunts as Brigid elbowed him. Carwyn thought he might like the serious Irishman after all. “Thank you, Declan. It’s nice to be recognized for my—”

“Idiocy?” Brigid said. “Recklessness?”

“I was going to say ‘strategic brilliance,’ my love.”

Tom continued. “We did find a rather princely cache of gold at his house early yesterday morning after we recovered what we could from the ship.”

Brigid asked, “Did he have stockpiles of Elixir?”

Tom shook his head. “No. There were a few boxes that we’ve already destroyed according to the directions that Carwyn gave us, but nothing substantial. We can assume, as grandiose as Jack’s ambitions were, he was a middleman. He’d already distributed his supplies. Was probably waiting for more.”

“That’s what he said on the boat. That his ‘associate’ was going to trade us for more Elixir.” Carwyn said, “Could have been lying. But we knew the drug wasn’t being produced here. So far, the locations we have discovered are Bulgaria, which has been shut down, and Brigid suspects Germany. There may be a connection in India, as well.”

“Why?” Declan asked. “Germany, I mean? Why do you think German?”

“Emily,” said Brigid. “She said that Axel was speaking German on the phone with someone.”

Tom asked, “Did she speak the language?”

“No, but she recognized it. It was the only thing that stood out to her.”

“She could have been mistaken, as well,” Murphy said. “I’m not saying she was lying, Brigid, but she could have misheard. Especially if she’d been taking Elixir for some time.”

She nodded. “That’s true. We’ll have to investigate more.”

“We’ll have to investigate a lot more if we’re going to get any kind of control over this.”

“This is bigger than Dublin,” Carwyn said quietly. “Bigger than Ireland.” The whole room fell silent, and Carwyn took a deep breath.

“I know sharing information does not come easily to any of us.” He paused until every eye was focused on him. “But I have lived a thousand years and have not seen a threat to our way of life like this in all that time.”

Murphy’s eyes narrowed, watching him.

Carwyn continued. “I have contacts, friends. A thousand years of favors owed to me. And I now have time that I didn’t before. My son was killed because he knew something about this drug. My friends have risked their lives. My own wife has been attacked and is losing a friend to this disease. I
know
,” he repeated, “that sharing information does not come easily to any of us, but if we have any chance of controlling this, we must begin to coordinate our efforts.”

Declan and Tom’s eyes were riveted on their sire, and Brigid glanced between all of them.

Murphy crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “What do you propose?”

“I spoke to Terrance Ramsey in London early this evening. He asked that I share some information with you and requested that I keep him informed about things going on here, as well. With your permission.”

Carwyn eyed the Dubliner. Terry and Gemma had their own spies in Ireland, just like they did in most major cities in Europe. Just as Murphy did for his own intelligence gathering. But coordination could not come from spies. Coordination could only come from allies. Would Murphy’s pride allow him to accept the help? The vampire was charming, but wasn’t known as a team player, except for a very few, one of whom had just proven to be a traitor.

Would he be willing to trust again?

After a long tension-filled minute, Murphy nodded. “What do Terry and Gemma know?”

He heard Brigid let out a long breath, and he smiled. The first bridge had been built. “We know quite a bit. Brigid?”

Brigid launched into what they had found two nights before. “Most important right now, we think we know how to detect it in humans who have taken the drug. There’s a distinctive scent that more than one vampire has noticed…”

Carwyn leaned back and let her lead. He would share the knowledge that he’d gleaned from the Vatican and from his daughter. And he and Brigid would find more. The Father might have given up the collar, but he felt the stirring of a new mission in his heart. And that night, the first stones were laid in a foundation that he hoped would rise to meet this new threat.

Hundreds of allies around the world. Years of friendship and favors. What else had it prepared him for but to protect those he cared about? To protect the woman he loved and the family he had nurtured? And in doing so, Carwyn knew that he and Brigid could protect innocent humans and vampires everywhere from falling prey to this madness.

Looking at the passionate woman next to him—who had already thrown herself into the struggle—Carwyn knew he could not have chosen a more perfect mate.

Wicklow Mountains

June 2013

Brigid ran her hands along the spines of the books. Some were familiar. Most were new. A few had been recovered from Ioan’s original library, shielded by the falling rocks that had collapsed in on them when Carwyn had pulled the mountain over her. She saw a few she remembered from childhood that remained curiously unmarred.

“Those were sent from Lucien,” Carwyn said.

She turned to see him leaning against the doorframe. “Ioan’s friend?”

“Yes. He’s somewhere in Africa right now, but I received a package from him several months ago with all the papers and books on vampire blood that Ioan had sent him to look over.”

“Anything helpful in there?”

Carwyn shrugged. “It’ll take someone more scientifically minded than me to tell you that. B’s friend, Dez, has been looking into a few human scientists in the States who she’d like to consult. It’s just a matter of finding the right person.”

Brigid shook her head and continued walking around the cozy room. “I’ll leave that one for the academics.”

“And I’ll agree with you. I’ve been told by my daughter that it’s always the right thing to do, agreeing with one’s wife.”

She laughed as he sat on the plush sofa in front of the fire. After a few more minutes of wandering, Brigid came to sit next to him. He wrapped an arm around her and quickly pulled her into his lap.

“You’re always dragging me about, Carwyn.”

“Well, you fit better on my lap than next to me.”

She smiled. “Because I’m so much smaller?”

“No.” He ducked down. “Because I can use you as a shield should someone try to attack me. You’re far more frightening than this old man, love.”

Brigid giggled as she grabbed his hands and wrapped them around her waist. Then she laid against his chest and nestled under the scruff of his jaw where he hadn’t shaved in months. Some things never did change.

“I love you, crazy man.”

“I love to hear you laugh,” he said quietly. “It’s my own addiction. I fall in love again every time you laugh.”

“Sweet man,” she murmured as she kissed his cheek. “I can’t laugh at that.”

She fell quiet for a moment as she reveled in the memories of Ioan’s library. Many were sad, like the night she had woken in pain as a new vampire, but most were happy. Memories of jokes by the fire and books shared by lamplight. Cookies stolen and eaten in the company of a good story. A safe place to rest when sleep eluded her.

“When I was a girl,” she said, “this was the safest place in the world. Nothing bad could happen here. It was magic.” She felt his arms tighten around her, but she continued. “But then, inevitably, life
does
happen. And you realize one day that no place is truly safe. And no one is truly untouchable.”

“And even things you love can burn you,” he whispered.

“But then…” Brigid began to smile. “You grow up a little more and realize that whatever happens, if you have love and love has you, you can build again.”

Carwyn rested his chin on her shoulder and they both looked into the fire. “And we did.” He glanced around at the walls of books. The wall where a painting of his lost son hung next to a picture they’d taken one Christmas with Tavish and Max. “I told you we’d build again, Brigid. It’s not exactly the same, but almost.”

Brigid smiled. “No, it’s not the same. It’s better.”

Epilogue

Dublin, Ireland

October 2013

Brigid walked through the door of the carriage house around midnight, waving at the human driver who lived in the small village near the estate. She wouldn’t see him until nightfall on Monday when he came to pick her up for the eighteen-mile trek back to Murphy’s offices in the city. After a long week, and an even more exhausting evening, the weekend was her own to spend at home. Their home. As her husband would say with a teasing laugh, Carwyn and Brigid’s little country cottage.

When Carwyn had said ‘fairly large house,’ what he actually meant was an estate won from a drunk baron in a game of cards sometime in the 1890s.

“Details,” she muttered, tossing her purse on the table and kicking the uncomfortable heels into the laundry room near the kitchen door. “Very sketchy on the details, that man.”

Carwyn had asked her if she wanted to live in the main house, but Brigid refused. The one maid that kept up the small carriage house was enough domestic help for her. There was a full-time staff that kept up the main house, but she didn’t want to be tripping over them in her bathrobe.

“Carwyn?” she called into the silence. “Hmm…”

She wandered through the rooms, but he was nowhere to be found. She heard Madoc lope down the stairs. “Where’s the man, Madoc? Upstairs?” But her senses told her he wasn’t anywhere near. She could only feel a trace of old energy in the usually lively rooms. Suddenly, she smiled softly. Brigid knew exactly where he was. She gave the dog a pat and slipped on some boots before she wandered out into the pebbled courtyard between the carriage house and the main.

The estate may have been too grand for either Carwyn or Brigid, but the main house did have one feature that had become dear to them both. Tucked into the back corner was a private chapel that the previous owners—a family of questionable devotion, but abundant funds—had built. Covered in ivy, its windows were lit with a warm glow that called her as she walked through the misty night. She pulled open the door to see her husband kneeling at the front of the chapel, his head bent in prayer before the two lit candles. She walked toward him, lifting her own small votive to light and place next to his. Then she knelt down beside him and Carwyn put his arm around her waist.

“How was the service?” he asked quietly.

She sighed and stared into the three flames. “It was nice. Sad, of course, but the mass was well said. The music was lovely.”

“She’d have liked that?”

“Yes, Emily always liked music. Went to concerts all the time.”

He pulled her a little closer into his side and she laid her head against his shoulder. “I’m glad they had it at night so you could go. Was Murphy there? And the boys?”

She nodded. “Angie, too. Even though they didn’t know her.”

“They knew her parents. They knew you. She was under their aegis. It was right. I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you.” He pulled her up and they both quickly crossed themselves before they sat in the old wooden pews that filled the chapel.

“It’s fine. How was the meeting in Wicklow?”

He put an arm around her shoulders as Brigid continued to stare at the small altar in the front of the room. “Productive. Gemma and I discussed what she and Terry are doing in London. Deirdre received another letter from Lucien. He seems to be much improved after drinking his sire’s blood, so that cure seems to work as well as we’d hoped. Still no progress on any cure for humans who’ve taken it, but that seems to be where he’s turning his attention next.”

“Any news from Russia?”

“Not yet. We may have to send someone. We’ll see.”

They both fell silent as they watched the candles flicker. An intricately painted depiction of the Good Shepherd decorated the back wall and warm brass sconces lit the room. The chapel was one of the most peaceful places on the grounds, and she often found Carwyn sitting in it, praying, reading, or writing in his journal. She was glad he had it; she knew he missed his church in Wales, no matter how often he claimed he didn’t.