Brigid yelled, “Carwyn, stop!”

He snarled and did not release the vampire. Murphy’s feet dangled in the air, but he hung still, staring into Carwyn’s face with a kind of detached calm. Brigid pulled at his shoulder, but she might as well have pushed against a cliff, for all the good it did.

Brigid whirled to the door, where Tom, Declan, and Jack were poised and ready to strike.

She brought flames to her hands and her eyes burned. “Stop! Everyone, just stop right now!”

Finally, Carwyn growled, “Your heart. I heard your heart racing. Who scared you? What did he do?”

She took a deep breath. “I wasn’t scared, Carwyn.”

“But—”

“It wasn’t fear that made my heart race.”

Carwyn’s eyes flickered toward hers for a minute, confused. Slowly, he set Murphy on his feet, not releasing his neck. Nevertheless, Murphy glanced over at Tom and nodded toward the door; Brigid heard the three vampires slowly back away.

“Father, if you could release my neck, I’d be most appreciative,” Murphy spoke evenly, and Brigid could tell he was carefully restraining his ire. Murphy was being smart, but she could tell he was furious. He glared at Carwyn, but the earth immortal didn’t spare him a glance. He only had eyes for Brigid.

She stood silently, meeting his glare without fear. Finally, Carwyn released Murphy and walked toward her.

“Not fear?” he growled around his fangs. He looked brutal. Feral and wild in a way she had never seen before. Her temperature spiked, but she tried to keep her voice steady and her eyes on him.

“Murphy was not threatening me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Not fear?”

His head ducked down to her neck, inhaling a deep breath, testing her scent. Whatever was there made him growl even lower and she caught a glimpse of his fangs. Long, thick. Shining in his mouth like blades. Carwyn’s head whipped around to Murphy’s and he snarled at him in Welsh. She didn’t catch it; she’d never understood the language, despite the lessons Ioan had tried to give her.

Carwyn ducked down as if to kiss her, but pulled away with a blistering anger in his eyes. Murphy stepped toward them and Carwyn’s hand shot out, grabbed Murphy by the throat again and threw him across the room before he stormed away.

Brigid was still holding her breath when Murphy walked toward her, dusting plaster from his shoulders where he’d slammed into a wall. The look in his eyes was amused. “So, nothing going on there, I take it.”

She gulped. “Murphy—”

“Do me a small favor and go after him, Brigid. I’d prefer not to do further repairs to my city if at all possible.”

“Sorry about that,” she muttered before she sped from the room.

Well, that certainly wasn’t how she’d imagined their reunion.

Carwyn had growled at the Dubliner like an animal.

‘My woman.’

Brigid hadn’t understood him, but Murphy sure as hell spoke Welsh.

Rage simmered under the surface as he walked along the river, breathing deeply. He tucked his scarf more securely around his neck as his breath fogged in the cool night. It was midnight. He had gone to Murphy’s office directly after his meeting with the bishop, which was his first stop in town. There were few humans in sight as he crossed the bridge and headed back to his resting place. It was on the edge of one of the seedier parts of town, an old warehouse that Ioan had used at times for clinics. But it had comfortable, secure quarters hidden in it, as well. He’d planned on being in town for some time to see Brigid.

He’d missed her. He’d ached for her.

“It wasn’t fear that made my heart race.”

Not fear. Murphy. The little shit had taken his opportunity. Carwyn kept forgetting how young she was. Three months seemed like nothing to him, but it probably seemed an eternity to her. He should have called. He should have come sooner.

But three fecking months?

Was their connection really that inconsequential to her?

He heard footsteps running after him.

“Carwyn!”

It was Brigid, and he was still angry. In fact, the more he thought about it, the angrier he became. Fecking Murphy. Not fear. Murphy had been about to kiss his Brigid, and her heart was racing in excitement. The fact that the Dubliner still lived was gift enough. He didn’t need to hear her excuses.

“Carwyn, stop, damn you!”

He kept walking, turning the corner into the alley behind the warehouse.

“Who’s running now, you big brute?”

Fine.

Carwyn’s eyes narrowed as he spun around. Brigid almost crashed into his chest. His hands caught her, steadying her shoulders as she swayed. She was such a tiny thing. Tiny and furious.

And beautiful. It rushed over him then, the longing for her that had driven him in Wicklow. Driven him to find the answers that would keep her safe. Keep them all safe. But he had lost her in the process.

“Three months?” he said roughly, grabbing at the back of her neck so she was forced to look into his eyes. He pushed them up against a wall, blocking her in and cushioning her head so it didn’t touch the grimy stone. “Three months and I lose you? Three months was too long to wait?”

“Carwyn, you need to listen—”

He cut her off with a furious kiss, groaning into her mouth when she pulled him closer. He’d been so careful with her in Scotland, patient to the point of pain, but he didn’t hold back now. It might be the last time he kissed her.