Building From Ashes by Elizabeth Hunter Page A

was enough. It had to be.
    He saw a faint puff of smoke as he approached the house and noticed the edge of a familiar scent tinged with tobacco. His eyes narrowed when he caught Brigid’s dark bob of hair in the shadows, smoking a cigarette and watching the small flurries of snow that fell that early Christmas morning. She was bundled in a grey wrap that Deirdre had given her, and her whiskey-brown eyes scanned the night. Watching for what, he didn’t know. Carwyn observed the girl for a few moments, examining her careful gaze, the ready set of her shoulders, and her tense expression. Even at home, among her people and under the care of the most powerful vampires in Ireland, she was guarded and wary.
    Why don’t you laugh, Brigid Connor?
    An odd wandering thought darted through his mind and he wondered what she would look like when she was sleeping. Would the tension still mark her forehead? Would her mouth still hold a firm, serious line, or would it be soft?
    And why am I thinking about your mouth?
    He shook his head and approached. The cigarette smoke fluttered from her pursed lips as she stared into the night.
    “When did you pick that up?”
    Brigid’s eyes darted to him, but she didn’t move. “Finished drinking Bambi?” She nodded at him. “Made a bit of a mess of yourself, didn’t you?”
    He looked down at his shirt. There was a smear of blood across his festive green shirt. “Ah, your aunt is going to nag me for that one.”
    Brigid smirked and took another draw on her cigarette. The smell of it tickled his nose and he held his hand out. “May I?”
    She lifted an eyebrow, but handed over the smoke. “I didn’t know you indulged.”
    “Occasionally.” His lips closed around the filter. He could feel the faint warmth from her lips. The subtle taste of her that lingered. “Not often. It’s a bad habit, or so I’m told.”
    Brigid rolled her eyes. “There have been moments in the last couple of years when it was a cigarette, a fix, or cutting my own arm off. Smoking seemed like the healthiest of those three options. I’ll quit eventually.”
    He handed it back to her. “Do. No reason to see you to an early grave.” But he would. As young as she was now, he’d watch her age. The slight lines around her mouth would grow deeper. The wary gaze would gain wisdom. A strange melancholy filled his chest. “He would change you. If you wanted it.”
    Her head lifted with a jerk. “Ioan?”
    “Yes.”
    “I know. I don’t want it. I never have.” She took a deep drag on the cigarette and passed it back to him. He let his fingers brush hers when they touched.
    It wasn’t unusual. Humans who grew up under immortal aegis often saw the drawbacks to vampire life more clearly than others. Were there benefits? Of course. Carwyn loved being a vampire. It fed his lust for life and his curious nature. But there were drawbacks, as well.
    “Why not?” he asked softly. “What are your reasons?”
    If he wasn’t watching closely, Carwyn would have missed the slice of pain in her eyes. It was quickly smothered as she looked out to the falling snow again.
    “Sometimes, it’s just good to know that there’s an end to things.” She must have seen his eyes narrow, because she continued, holding her hand out for the lit cigarette. “I’ve no death wish. Nothing like that. But… as Father Jacob is fond of reminding us, ‘This world is not our home.’ Sometimes, that’s a comfort to me.”
    Carwyn ached to see her smile. He wanted the clear ring of her laughter and the joy of watching her face light with amusement. He had the sudden urge to lift her up and tickle her, which was ridiculous. She wasn’t a child.
    “Far from it,” he muttered.
    “What?”
    “Nothing. I should take shelter. The sun will be up soon.”
    “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
    He frowned. “What?”
    “Happy Christmas, Carwyn.”
    He grinned from ear to ear. “Happy Christmas, Brigid. Some priest I am, to almost forget my