“We’re intruding.”
“She invited us. She wants us to be there.”
But why? Brigid wanted to know and she didn’t. “How long will the drive take?”
“Two hours.”
“Fuck me.” She groaned. “Two hours?”
“Really can’t do that in a hired car like this,” Carwyn said quietly. “Even if there was a divider, it seems rude. If you’re determined though, I’d risk it to escape this safety belt.”
She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Obnoxious man.”
Adriana Guzman had been a bright and talented seventeen-year-old art student when she disappeared without a trace two and a half years before. Police had written off her case, assuming she’d run away with a boyfriend, but Adriana’s mother had known her daughter wouldn’t do anything of the sort.
So she’d called a newspaper, the newspaper had called a reporter on the West Coast who’d investigated similar cases, and that news had eventually filtered up to Brigid, who had been taking some time away from her security duties to the vampire lord of Dublin. She and Carwyn had been freelancing with various allies of her boss around the globe and stretching her skills a bit.
They’d found Adriana in a matter of weeks, but her case had been the first link in a long chain that eventually led to the Sokolov crime family, which was an ongoing matter that crossed numerous international vampire jurisdictions.
In short, it was tricky and Brigid was still working on it.
In the years since her kidnapping, the young woman had attempted to reclaim her life and leave the scars of her abduction in the past.
And though Brigid knew Adriana had moved on, graduated high school, and been accepted to an extremely prestigious art program, the image Brigid had in her mind was a hurt girl, confused and angry, who reminded Brigid a little too much of herself.
She concentrated on the feel of Carwyn’s fingers sliding along her nape.
Though she was a predator now, she’d been a victim. She hated anything that reminded her of that. “Is she the only artist presenting?”
“No,” Carwyn said. “I spoke to her mother. This is for the whole freshman class, keeping in mind this school only accepts around fifteen painting students each year.”
“And Adriana was one of them?” Brigid couldn’t help but be impressed. She hadn’t been a keen student. She’d been more interested in police tactics, criminology, and weapons, much to her foster parents’ dismay. “I still don’t understand why she wants us there.” She kept her voice low. “We only knew her during a horrible part of her life.”
Carwyn pressed his lips together. “You’ll understand when we get there. Just keep an open mind.”
Chapter Two
Brigid was still wondering why she needed an open mind when they pulled into the parking lot of the student gallery, which was lit up and glowing from a distance.
Judging by the number of luxury cars in the parking lot and the news van near the entrance, this wasn’t anything like a high school talent show.
“Do you see?” Brigid nodded at the van as they made their way inside.
Carwyn clutched her hand. “Cameras. We’ll have to keep an eye out.” Every year technology like facial recognition made life harder for the immortal.
“Murphy needs to get cracking on those jammers.” Brigid’s boss, Patrick Murphy, was a technical wizard as well as being a water vampire and immortal lord of Dublin. He was working on a portable device that would disable digital cameras and phones.
Carwyn muttered something Brigid couldn’t hear.
“What’s that?”
“Just wondering if they’ve ordered food for this do.”
That wasn’t what he’d said, but she ignored the lie. He’d probably muttered something about Murphy. Her husband and her boss could push each other’s buttons, and Brigid tried to stay out of it.
Too much testosterone if she had to guess. Both were hardheaded and high-handed. While Carwyn tried to disguise his pushiness with a jovial demeanor, he still got his way more often than not. Murphy was a bit more directly ruthless.
“Fuck,” Brigid muttered as the gallery came into view. “Far too many people.”
“Jaysus, it’s heaving, isn’t it?” He looked down. “Buffet jokes aside, you fed tonight, didn’t you?”
“When I woke up.” And she didn’t keep to the animal-only diet her husband prescribed to. There were donors at the vampire club in the Bowery near their guest room, and she was more than happy to pay for their services. Carwyn was over a thousand years old and could get by on a meal of deer blood every few weeks. Brigid was far younger.
As they entered the foyer of the crowded gallery, the scent of humanity hit her in all its sweaty, perfumed, sprayed, and primped glory. The salt-and-copper smell of human blood surrounded her, and Brigid knew her fangs had fallen without a second thought.
Just another reason not to smile.
Carwyn had paused in the foyer and was staring at her.
She glanced up. “What?”
“You look lush, wife.” His bright blue eyes glowed with appreciation, set off by his uncharacteristically formal grey suit. The only splash of color was the vivid blue shirt he wore open at the collar. “Like a pixie with an anger management problem.”
“You say the sweetest things.” She looked down at the wine-colored dress that clung to her body. “I borrowed it from Tenzin. Do you know all her clothes have pockets to keep knives in?”
“I don’t find that surprising. Still, looks better on you.”
“You might be biased.” She squeezed his hand. “Come on. Let’s go find Adriana.”
Finding the girl was easy; speaking to her was not, primarily because the young woman appeared to be in the center of a mob of admirers. Carwyn and Brigid could only wave from a distance. While Carwyn went to look for Mrs. Guzman, Brigid worked her way through the art gallery until she reached a round room that she instinctively knew contained Adriana’s paintings.
There was a bristling energy bordering on chaos that marked her work, as if the paintings themselves wanted to escape their canvases and explode over the walls. Vivid, luxurious scenes of what Brigid guessed was the Dominican Republic, where Adriana was born, along with street scenes almost too crowded with life, grit, and graffiti.
On the far wall, the unquestioned star of the show, was a series of self-portraits that nearly knocked Brigid over with their raw vulnerability.
On the far left was the wounded girl that Brigid remembered. Next to her, a raging hellion, screaming at the world with tears in her eyes, tangled hair, and gritted teeth. The center canvas stopped Brigid in her tracks.
In it, Adriana’s long hair had been shaved close to the scalp—with bleeding cuts and angry scrapes—and everywhere in the canvas around her, fire filled the space. It caressed the girl’s shoulders and whispered in her ears.
With one glance at the painful image, Brigid was thrown back in time.
Darkness. Fire. A twisting ache in her gut and a burning in her throat.
Burning. Everything was burning.
The smell of smoke filled her nose, and the fire rippled along her skin, soothing and scorching at the same time.