“You’re back from Rome.”

“I am.”

Deirdre had been called away months before to help Carwyn and his friends in Rome. She’d been back for weeks, but had stopped in London and Wicklow before coming to Dublin.

A smile lifted the corner of Deirdre’s mouth as she angled past Brigid and slipped down the hallway. “Thanks for inviting me in.”

“So, you got the letter from Murphy?” She turned to watch Deirdre standing in her small living room, examining it. For some reason, the perusal of her sire made her nervous. It was the first time Deirdre had been to her home. “The letter, did you get it?”

“I did. That’s why I came back from Italy.” Then she muttered under her breath, “That, and an annoying Scot.”

Brigid frowned. “Is there any—?”

“No news.” Deirdre turned and looked with haunted eyes. “Nothing since Istanbul.”

Brigid nodded. For months, she’d received letters from Carwyn. Silly letters with stories to make her laugh. Serious letters filled with warnings and information about the drug they were investigating. Long, loving letters filled with sweet words that made her sigh. And every letter just made her fall further in love with him.

Brigid bit her lip nervously. “My last letter was from Istanbul, too.”

Deirdre cocked her head and smiled. “He’ll be fine. He’s with Gio, and no one’s more dangerous when his friends or family are threatened.”

“So I’ve heard.” Still didn’t make her feel much better. She’d rather be the one starting fires.

Deirdre roamed about the room, examining her books and the art on the walls. “Father’s very close-mouthed about your relationship. I have to confess to being very curious.”

“We’re…” In love. Involved. Dating was too silly a word and it wasn’t as if they’d gone out for drinks and a show. What did Carwyn call it again?

Brigid cleared her throat. “He says he’s ‘courting’ me. I don’t really know what that means, but I’m fairly certain the church would frown on it.”

Deirdre looked like she was about to burst out laughing. “Is that so? Well, good luck to him. I very much doubt the church is going to have much say in the matter, so the next time you see him, tell him—as your sire—I’m demanding at least two dozen sheep for you and a stout draft horse.”

Brigid narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure whether I should be flattered by that or not.”

“Considering he won’t be getting any fine, strong sons from your fertile loins, he’ll probably consider it a bargain.”

She rolled her eyes and fought the urge to burst out laughing. “You did come from medieval times, didn’t you?”

“Not me, but he did.” Deirdre walked past, patting her shoulder as she continued exploring the house. “Literally. Medieval.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“So was Ioan. Luckily, the Welsh of that age were unusually progressive. They make excellent husbands, if you can find them.” She smiled sadly as she touched a picture of Ioan and Brigid that was tucked onto the shelf of one bookcase. “He was such a fine husband.”

“I miss him every day. Well… night.” Brigid blinked back the tears that came to her eyes. “You know, growing up I always thought…”

“What?”

Her voice was almost a whisper. “If I could find anyone to love me like Ioan loved you, I’d be the luckiest girl in the world.”

Within seconds, Brigid was squeezed in a tight embrace. “He does. Carwyn does love you like that. And if you return it, then you’re both the lucky ones.”

And in another instant, she was gone, standing in front of the refrigerator with the door hanging open.

“What do you have to drink?”

Brigid heated the pig’s blood she’d bought from the butcher. Since the word had spread through Murphy’s offices—by way of Carwyn’s letters to her—most of the staff had begun to drink animal blood. No one liked it, and after several months, Brigid had noticed that she felt weaker and was sleeping more. Less strength, far less tasty, but safer until they could learn how to avoid the elixir. She heated the cold bag in the simmering water before she snipped the corner and poured it into a mug for Deirdre.

“Cheers.” She clinked her cup with the other vampire’s as she sat down.

“Is everyone drinking animal now?”

“Mostly those on staff. Murphy’s being cautious about not causing a panic until we know more. I think Jack still takes a nip from the girls every now and then, though.”

Deirdre shook her head and took a sip. “Playing with fire.”

“No.” She grinned. “That’s me.”

Deirdre laughed as Brigid tossed a small flame toward a candle in the center of the table.

“Really though…” Deirdre fell serious. “It’s not a joke. This drug is incredibly damaging. One of Ioan’s oldest friends has drunk elixired blood. He’s far older than Carwyn, and his sire is one of the ancients of our kind. Still, one drink from a human who had taken it has weakened him dangerously.”

“There has to be some way to detect it. No one would create something like this without putting in some kind of—of marker, or sign, or something. And humans must have some noticeable symptoms. Maybe not at first, but—”