Saint’s Passage: Elemental Covenant Book One

by Hunter, Elizabeth

  “Come to me, my pretty.” She cooed at the abused nine millimeter, letting the other gun clatter to the ground. “Carwyn?”

  “One more.” He grunted and the ground rolled again.

  The two men curled into themselves as Brigid flung the other fireball toward them, letting the flames spread and dissipate close enough to burn their eyebrows but not harm them any more than that.

  Carwyn rose, one hand filthy with mud and grime, the other holding the sparkly purse she’d borrowed for the evening.

  “There you go.” He glanced at the gun. “And look at that. Your new pistol might just fit.”

  “What a lad you are.” Brigid rose on her toes and kissed him. “Smart move, marrying you.” She pointed her chin at the two humans. “What shall we do with these two?”

  “We’re going to be late as it is, and I’ve got to find some place to clean up a bit.” He looked down. “It’s a good thing this suit is dark grey.”

  “The sleeve is a bit tragic, but I doubt anyone will notice.” Brigid looked at the trembling balls of human at the end of the alley, then at the dumpster next to Carwyn. “Maybe just put them in the skip for a bit.”

  Carwyn nodded, walked over, and picked up one curled human as if he were a duffel bag, tossing him in the dumpster before he added the other. He snarled at the two men, baring long, thick fangs that gleamed in the streetlights.

  “If you want to live,” he growled in a menacing voice, “don’t even think about moving.”

  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 h
e 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.”

  “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.


  Brigid forced herself to see through the wash of memories. The next canvas was cooler, and instead of fire filling the space around her, there was color. Washes of indistinct color with no shape or sense, filling all the space the fire had burned away. The girl in the center of the canvas had her eyes closed. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was floating in a sea of color. But the creases around her eyes were smooth again. The cuts and scrapes were healed. The face was softer.

  The final canvas brought tears to Brigid’s eyes. The eyes were open, soft and welcoming to the world. Full of cautious hope. In the space surrounding the hope, images of flowers and front stoops, vines curling around broken doors, binding them and covering them with verdant life.

  “Do you like it?”

  Brigid glanced over to see Adriana Guzman, her hair clipped in short tousled waves that hid her eyes. She was standing next to Brigid, watching her examine the paintings.

  “It’s brilliant.” Brigid reached over, careful to warm her hand, and squeezed the young woman’s arm quickly before she dropped it. “It’s feckin’ brilliant. Well done.”

  “I remember the fire.” Adriana frowned a little. “That chemical fire in the factory that night.”

  Chemical… Oh right. “Yes, the chemical fire.” Brigid remembered the very short screams of some very bad men. The fire department had believed their story. Mostly.

  Adriana continued. “I remember thinking that it was almost as if it followed you. Like it had a mind of its own. It flared up and then it was gone so quickly, and they were all gone.”

  It did follow me. And I burned every one of those evil bastards who hurt you.

  “Fire, you know…” Brigid stared at the middle painting and felt her amnis ripple under her skin. It was the immortal energy that animated her and kept her alive; it was also the tie between her mind, her body, and the element she was learning to command. “Fire is a curious thing.”

  “I used to dream about the flames just…” Adriana turned her hand in a circular motion. “…rolling over me, you know? Taking me with them. And I’d just be gone.”