“You have?” From what he’d remembered Ioan telling him, the girl had trouble leaving the house to attend the village school.

She curled her lip. “Yeah. I have.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thanks. Are we done talking now?”

He pointed to her pint. “Drink up. It won’t bite.”

“Unlike some things at the table.”

He laughed. “Well, that’s true, I suppose.”

Brigid rolled her eyes again, and Carwyn wondered if there was some sort of human medical procedure to keep her from repeating the annoying gesture.

“So—”

“You really don’t have to do this.”

“What?”

“Check up on me for them. I’m fine, Father.”

For some inexplicable reason, Brigid calling him “Father” annoyed him. Perhaps because she said it with such clear disdain. He lowered his glass and leaned across the table. “Look here, Brigid Connor. Get rid of the attitude.” He reached out and wrapped a hand around her tiny wrist, but softened it when he felt the flinch. He rubbed one thumb over her knuckles. “You and I both know that I could make you tell me anything I wanted if I used my amnis. I’m trying to be pleasant. I’m trying to do a favor for Ioan and Deirdre and your Aunt Sinead, who I happen to like more than most humans. So why don’t you—?”

He broke off when the door opened and a gust of wind blew in. The cool air slid into the room and slipped over Brigid’s neck, drifting to his keen nose. His eyes narrowed, and his grip on her wrist tightened slightly. The fangs grew long in his mouth and his heart began to pound.

What the hell?

He brought her hand up to his nose and inhaled the sweet scent of her blood. Thick, rich, human blood along with a hint of something distinctly chemical. Carwyn slid out of the booth and tugged the girl out of the pub and down the street, finding a quiet alley to shove her into before he released her and began to pace.

“What the hell?” he muttered. “The hell, girl.” He turned on her. “What are you doing?”

He caught a hint of fear before a disdainful mask fell over her face. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t.”

He could tell by the look on her face that she did, but she had mastered the arrogance of youth. Carwyn shook his head. “Ioan said to have faith in you. To trust that you were a smart girl. He told everyone not to worry so much.”

“I am smart. I know what I’m doing.”

“Really?” He stalked toward her, boxing her against the wall with his thick arms. The girl looked up defiantly. “Why don’t you fill me in, then? Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing?”

“I’m taking care of things. I’m making myself better.”

“What the hell are you talking about, you idiot? I’m asking what drugs you’re using! I can smell more than one, and you’d better tell me.”

“Read my lips, Carwyn. It is none of your business. I’m not under your aegis, and I never will be. I don’t answer to you or anyone else, so piss off and mind your own—”

She broke off when he slapped his hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened in fury, but he ignored her. “It is my business because Ioan and Deirdre are my business, and they love you. You know either of them would tear off their own arm for you, so knowing you’re putting poison in your body would absolutely kill them.”

Brigid narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, sinking her little human teeth into the heel of his hand. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Carwyn had to stifle a laugh. He pulled his hand away and blinked when he realized she had drawn blood.

“Careful now,” he said. “Drinking vampire blood will make you sick.”

She rolled her eyes again and Carwyn ground his fangs. Why did she keep doing that?

“Listen,” she said in an utterly reasonable voice. “What I’m doing is nothing more than what people do when they go to the doctor and get medications to deal with their problems. I have symptoms. I know how to help myself now. If I was taking prescription medications, you wouldn’t—”

“Say anything? No, because you’d be under the care of a physician, Brigid. That’s a bit different than doping yourself up to deal with things, isn’t it?”

She only glared at him. “You’re not my father or my priest… Father.”

“No, but I thought I could be a friend. Obviously, I gave you too much credit.” He wiped the smear of blood on his jeans and glanced at her from the corner of his eye when she didn’t think he was looking. The girl looked young and scared. She may have talked big, but Brigid didn’t know what she was doing. His heart broke just a little in that moment.

“Brigid—”

“Are you going to tell them?” Her voice had lost its disdainful tone, and she was staring at the cobblestones in the alley.

“I’m on a boat tomorrow night for New York. I’ll be ten days; then I’ll call them when I get to America, Brigid. Tell them first. This isn’t going to be our secret.”

“Fine.” She nodded and started toward the mouth of the alley.

“Brigid?” he called. She stopped but didn’t turn around. “Take care of yourself.”

Carwyn thought he heard a rueful laugh before she turned the corner, disappearing into the bustle of the city.