Brigid smelled the distinct odor of fresh urine in the dumpster.
Good man. That should keep the two away from any other tourists until they could nab the attention of the Gardaí.
Check that, NYPD. They weren’t in Dublin anymore.
Brigid slid the compact nine millimeter into her purse. “Look at that. It does fit. Lovely. I’ll have to ask Chloe where she got this handbag.”
“You know…” Carwyn wrinkled his nose. “We smell like we’ve been playing in downtown Manhattan alleys.”
“Imagine that.” She nudged him toward the end of the alley that led to the street. “We’ll ask the driver to keep the windows down on the way there. Maybe they won’t notice.”
The driver was on his phone, no doubt trying to find his passengers, when they met him on Wooster Street.
“Hey!” His cheery face reminded Brigid to smile and put her fangs away.
Don’t scare the nice humans.
“Hello.” She quickly heated her skin and reached out to shake his hand. “Sorry, someone thought it would be a lovely idea for a walk before the gallery opening, and then we found ourselves a bit lost.”
“No worries. We have a long drive in front of us. I just want to make sure we get there in time.”
“Do we?” Brigid shot Carwyn a look. “Quite a drive, is it?”
Carwyn’s vivid blue eyes were all innocence. “Didn’t I tell you?”
Brigid tossed her purse in the luxurious black sedan and slid into the back seat, pushing back her annoyance while she waited for Carwyn to finish speaking to the driver. She scooted all the way across the plush bench and pressed herself against the far door, her fingers sparking against the power window lever before she leaned away.
Fuck. New cars and fire vampires didn’t get along. Fire vampires and any electronics tended not to get along. It was damned inconvenient and more than a little limiting in the twenty-first century.
Humans. Constantly determined to make life more complicated.
It would have been easy for Brigid to say that her pessimistic attitude toward humanity was shaped by her transformation into a vampire over ten years before, but that wasn’t strictly true. She’d been pessimistic about humanity since she was a child.
Brigid had always felt more at home with monsters.
She glanced at her husband standing outside the door, gesturing dramatically and joking with the human driver as he gave directions to their destination.
Extroverts. Why had she married one again?
Despite being roughly the size of a small boulder, Carwyn ap Bryn—earth vampire, former Catholic priest, her blood mate, and regrettable extrovert—eased into the sedan gracefully, sliding his fingers down the back of her bare arm until he could link their hands. Brigid’s fangs lengthened in reaction.
“What did you get me into?”
He turned to her and grinned, his smile lighting up the shadowed seat compartment. His head brushed the roof, and his red hair appeared deep auburn in the darkness. “It’ll be good craic. Promise.”
“A hundred humans stuffed in a gallery looking at paintings doesn’t sound like good craic. Not unless it’s some kind of spontaneous buffet you haven’t told me about.”
He laughed. “Darling, bloodthirsty girl.” He quickly kissed the back of her hand before he released it and pointed to the side of the car. “Seat belt.”
The corner of Brigid’s mouth turned up in a sneer. “Don’t be daft.”
Carwyn glanced at the human driver, who had opened the door. “Safety first.”
They were both immortal vampires whose bodies could repair themselves from anything save beheading or fire. Brigid wasn’t worried about a rollover in downtown Manhattan.
Brigid muttered, “Are you questioning my judgment?”
Carwyn looked at the driver. Back to Brigid. “I believe it’s the law in the state of New York.”
“If that’s how you want to play.” Brigid reached for the irritating buckle to click it in the latch before she nodded at Carwyn’s side. “Now it’s your turn.”
Amusement flared in his eyes. He reached over, grabbed the seat belt, and pulled it over his shoulder, holding the buckle near his waist.
Brigid batted her eyelashes. “Oh, my love, I don’t think holding the belt is sufficient. What if we were to be involved in a dangerous motor vehicle accident?” She spoke slowly and allowed her voice to rise so the driver could hear her.
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. “Yes, sir, I’m going to need both of you to buckle up.”
“Right.” Carwyn’s eyes narrowed and he turned back to Brigid, speaking in Irish so the driver couldn’t understand. “You’re a right vicious little thing. You want me to cut off circulation to my balls?”
“I think your balls are safe.” Brigid knew the average human seat belt barely fit across Carwyn’s broad frame, but it did fit. Barely. She reached for a bottle of water tucked in the back pocket of the car.
Carwyn was still clutching the safety buckle in his massive fist. “I’m just saying” —he continued in English— “if my balls are safe, I imagine the rest of me will be too.”
Brigid nearly spat out the water she’d been about to swallow when she saw the look on their poor driver’s face. “You have such a way with words.”
He leaned closer to her, teasing. “You know I’m right.”
“About your balls?”
“And other things.”
Their car could probably fly off a cliff and her husband would manage to extricate both of them and weather the landing without a scratch.
“Think of our poor driver whose ears you’ve just violated.” Brigid nodded at the human in the dark uniform. “If his car were stopped, he could be held liable for any passengers not wearing a safety belt properly. Don’t be a scofflaw, Carwyn.”
“A scofflaw?” He was barely containing his laugh.
The driver bravely piped up. “Sir, I really do need you to wear a safety belt. Thank you.”
Brigid cocked her head and shrugged. “You heard the man.”
The corner of Carwyn’s lip twitched. “So thoughtful.” He pulled the safety belt across his lap as the car began to move. “Really just…” He grunted and fought to click the latch near his hip. “…considerate. So considerate.”
“People say that about me all the time.” Brigid watched him yank the belt. “They remark on it constantly.”
“My thoughtful, tenderhearted” —he huffed as he struggled— “angel of a wife.”
“I’m so glad you appreciate me.” She reached over and patted his knee. “You’re welcome.”
Eventually Carwyn battled with the belt long enough that they heard a satisfying click. “There. Happy?”
“With you? Always.”
Carwyn grumbled. “Stop being sweet when I’m irritated with you.”
Brigid—eager to make the minutes pass swiftly—closed her eyes, leaned her head against his shoulder, and attempted to drift. “Tell me again why we’re going to this thing.”
Carwyn’s hand came up to play in the short crop of her thick sable hair. “We’re going to honor the invitation of a former client who invited us to a significant life milestone. It’s important.”