Building From Ashes
Page 92
He decided it was amusing to watch Terry fuss over Gemma. The vampire paced the room, yelling at Gemma at the top of his lungs with some of the most inventive swearing Carwyn had heard in some time.
“—bloody, mule-headed woman, Gem! When I tell you to take guards, fucking take guards. These bastards owe me their fucking loyalty for a reason and if I tell them to hold your fucking handbag and paint your toenails, they’ll bloody do it!” He spun at the guard who was standing silently by the door. “If any of you ever paint her toenails, I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Yes, boss,” he murmured before Terry started pacing again, running a frustrated hand over his close-cropped buzz cut.
Gemma’s fiancé, who was considerably younger than his daughter, was a handsome man in a rough, lantern-jawed way. A bruiser in his human years, the water vampire still carried the look of the streets about him, but had one of the keenest strategic minds Carwyn had ever met. He also had more than enough confidence in Gemma, which meant that this fussing meant Terry was genuinely worried.
That worried Carwyn.
“All of you bastards get the fuck out,” Terry said. “And Roger?”
Terry’s lieutenant stepped forward. “Yes, boss?”
“Get that slimy French bastard ready for me to question and send another team to the docks. Carwyn, you’re sure they were water?”
“Fairly safe bet.”
“I’m still here, you know.” Gemma rolled her eyes. “Feel free to ask me, as well. I know I’m not a big strapping man, but I might just stumble through it.”
Terry glared at her and pointed at the door. All his men left in a blur. Then Terry rushed to Gemma, pulled her up, and landed a furious kiss on her mouth. Carwyn smiled when he saw Gemma’s knees buckle, ever so slightly. Then Terry’s angry kiss turned into something far more tender, and he cradled his mate’s head in his hands and whispered into her ear.
“You scared me, luv. I don’t appreciate being scared. See to that, will you? Take the guards.”
Gemma spoke quietly. “I was never in any danger, Terry. Especially with Father there.”
Terry turned to him and gave him a piercing stare. He pulled Gemma onto his knee while he sat across from Carwyn on the couch.
“Ever since that Italian friend of yours was here last year, there’ve been problems. I’m not withdrawing my support. Giovanni Vecchio is a good ally to have, but this business with finding some old books is not just about bloody books.”
Carwyn said, “That seems to be the consensus, yes.”
“Something’s stirring, Father. Something much bigger than a personal quest about an old library. I’ve talked to Murphy. Been in contact with Jean Desmarais on the French coast. Been speaking with Leanor in Spain, too. Things are happening. All my allies—those with serious power—are being felt out. Like someone’s out there is taking jabs to see who squeals the quickest. Nothing big, just little things. Annoyances, if they weren’t all happening at the same time.”
“You think it’s coordinated?”
“Yes, I do. And whoever is behind it is testing for weaknesses.”
Carwyn paused and thought. “To what end?”
Gemma shrugged. “We’re not sure yet, but if there is some sort of power shift like what happened in the eighteenth century, we need to be prepared. And maybe more interesting is who is not being tested. Germany is quiet. As are most of the Scandinavian countries. Russia? Well, it’s always hard to know, but no reports so far. North Africa is surprisingly steady. Northern France and the Low Countries are peaceful, though with their tendency toward neutrality, that’s hardly surprising.”
A suspicion tickled the back of his mind. There had been one very notable exception. “And Rome? What about Rome?”
Terry growled and his fangs descended. “Silent as a bloody tomb.”
London
April 27, 2012
Dear Brigid,
I love you.
Just thought I’d mention that. I’m going to Rome tomorrow. Well, actually, I’m going to Le Havre, where I will catch a ride on a freighter to Genoa, and then I will go to Rome. I hope the food is tolerable. I’m going to help Gio and Beatrice. I’ve told you about them, haven’t I? Gio’s one of my oldest friends. The fire vampire. Nice chap. Rather stuffy in a very Italian, academic way. His wife’s a dear friend and far more fun. They’ve stumbled across something. And I think it’s something bad. The book I was talking about before. I think it may all be a thing together, Brigid. Ioan’s death. The book. The drugs.
I hate being away from you. It’s harder than I expected.
Take care of yourself. This is bigger than us. Bigger than my friends. There’s a pattern to the threats. Watch out for small things. Things that seem minor, because they might not be. I don’t know how much you should tell Murphy, but if there’s danger, go to Deirdre. If Ireland’s not safe, go to Max and Tavish. I know you’re capable, but this is different than an open challenge. Dublin may not know how to handle it. Be smart. If it comes down to it, trust family and yourself. No one else.
And be careful, Brigid. You’re holding my heart.
Carwyn
P.S. Don’t go out with Murphy.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dublin
May 2012
Brigid sipped her tea and read the letter from Carwyn.
And be careful, Brigid. You’re holding my heart.
Among the grating routine of her nights, the sentiment of his words melted her.
“—bloody, mule-headed woman, Gem! When I tell you to take guards, fucking take guards. These bastards owe me their fucking loyalty for a reason and if I tell them to hold your fucking handbag and paint your toenails, they’ll bloody do it!” He spun at the guard who was standing silently by the door. “If any of you ever paint her toenails, I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Yes, boss,” he murmured before Terry started pacing again, running a frustrated hand over his close-cropped buzz cut.
Gemma’s fiancé, who was considerably younger than his daughter, was a handsome man in a rough, lantern-jawed way. A bruiser in his human years, the water vampire still carried the look of the streets about him, but had one of the keenest strategic minds Carwyn had ever met. He also had more than enough confidence in Gemma, which meant that this fussing meant Terry was genuinely worried.
That worried Carwyn.
“All of you bastards get the fuck out,” Terry said. “And Roger?”
Terry’s lieutenant stepped forward. “Yes, boss?”
“Get that slimy French bastard ready for me to question and send another team to the docks. Carwyn, you’re sure they were water?”
“Fairly safe bet.”
“I’m still here, you know.” Gemma rolled her eyes. “Feel free to ask me, as well. I know I’m not a big strapping man, but I might just stumble through it.”
Terry glared at her and pointed at the door. All his men left in a blur. Then Terry rushed to Gemma, pulled her up, and landed a furious kiss on her mouth. Carwyn smiled when he saw Gemma’s knees buckle, ever so slightly. Then Terry’s angry kiss turned into something far more tender, and he cradled his mate’s head in his hands and whispered into her ear.
“You scared me, luv. I don’t appreciate being scared. See to that, will you? Take the guards.”
Gemma spoke quietly. “I was never in any danger, Terry. Especially with Father there.”
Terry turned to him and gave him a piercing stare. He pulled Gemma onto his knee while he sat across from Carwyn on the couch.
“Ever since that Italian friend of yours was here last year, there’ve been problems. I’m not withdrawing my support. Giovanni Vecchio is a good ally to have, but this business with finding some old books is not just about bloody books.”
Carwyn said, “That seems to be the consensus, yes.”
“Something’s stirring, Father. Something much bigger than a personal quest about an old library. I’ve talked to Murphy. Been in contact with Jean Desmarais on the French coast. Been speaking with Leanor in Spain, too. Things are happening. All my allies—those with serious power—are being felt out. Like someone’s out there is taking jabs to see who squeals the quickest. Nothing big, just little things. Annoyances, if they weren’t all happening at the same time.”
“You think it’s coordinated?”
“Yes, I do. And whoever is behind it is testing for weaknesses.”
Carwyn paused and thought. “To what end?”
Gemma shrugged. “We’re not sure yet, but if there is some sort of power shift like what happened in the eighteenth century, we need to be prepared. And maybe more interesting is who is not being tested. Germany is quiet. As are most of the Scandinavian countries. Russia? Well, it’s always hard to know, but no reports so far. North Africa is surprisingly steady. Northern France and the Low Countries are peaceful, though with their tendency toward neutrality, that’s hardly surprising.”
A suspicion tickled the back of his mind. There had been one very notable exception. “And Rome? What about Rome?”
Terry growled and his fangs descended. “Silent as a bloody tomb.”
London
April 27, 2012
Dear Brigid,
I love you.
Just thought I’d mention that. I’m going to Rome tomorrow. Well, actually, I’m going to Le Havre, where I will catch a ride on a freighter to Genoa, and then I will go to Rome. I hope the food is tolerable. I’m going to help Gio and Beatrice. I’ve told you about them, haven’t I? Gio’s one of my oldest friends. The fire vampire. Nice chap. Rather stuffy in a very Italian, academic way. His wife’s a dear friend and far more fun. They’ve stumbled across something. And I think it’s something bad. The book I was talking about before. I think it may all be a thing together, Brigid. Ioan’s death. The book. The drugs.
I hate being away from you. It’s harder than I expected.
Take care of yourself. This is bigger than us. Bigger than my friends. There’s a pattern to the threats. Watch out for small things. Things that seem minor, because they might not be. I don’t know how much you should tell Murphy, but if there’s danger, go to Deirdre. If Ireland’s not safe, go to Max and Tavish. I know you’re capable, but this is different than an open challenge. Dublin may not know how to handle it. Be smart. If it comes down to it, trust family and yourself. No one else.
And be careful, Brigid. You’re holding my heart.
Carwyn
P.S. Don’t go out with Murphy.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dublin
May 2012
Brigid sipped her tea and read the letter from Carwyn.
And be careful, Brigid. You’re holding my heart.
Among the grating routine of her nights, the sentiment of his words melted her.
