Page 36 of Tin God

“Tell us where to find Zasha,” Tenzin said quietly. “We will hunt them and we will kill them. You don’t have to be involved.”

Mika and Oleg looked at each other again.

“We don’t know precisely where they are,” Mika said. “We never do.”

“But we have ideas,” Oleg said. “And you have wings.”

ChapterEight

Brigid stared into the fire, ruminating over everything she’d heard at Oleg’s house.

And everything she hadn’t heard.

I’m not going to kill Zasha.

I can’t kill Zasha because I made a promise a very long time ago.

I am here to assist Brigid killing Zasha. As you guard Oleg, I guard Brigid.

Brigid hated the idea of Tenzin being her guard dog, but she could accept it in a way that she couldn’t accept Carwyn’s protection. Carwyn wasn’t an innocent, but he’d done nothing to create this situation, and he would be collateral damage in a battle that wasn’t his.

Tenzin, on the other hand, had done something. Brigid didn’t know what, but there was definitely something.

Brigid heard the whisper of movement in the air that meant Tenzin was in the room. She caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye and reached her amnis out. The wind vampire was floating in the rafters of the giant hall, her energy humming in a low, steady way. The humans were all sleeping; Lev and Oleg’s other men were busy in the barn where they kept the snow equipment. Their laughing voices and shouts carried in the frigid night air.

That left Brigid with Tenzin.

God, she missed her mate.

If Carwyn was with her, he’d be telling her a story or a joke, making her laugh and then dreaming up a trip or a scheme or something to make her look forward to the endless stretch of eternity she faced.

“How do ya do it?” Brigid blurted.

Tenzin’s voice came from a distance. “I need more information to answer that question.”

Another question jumped into her mind. “Why don’t ya have an accent?”

Tenzin had a slight accent, but nothing like Brigid’s Irish.

“I got very good at not having one,” Tenzin said. “I’ve had time to practice.”

“Do you know how old y’are?”

“Not really.” Tenzin floated closer to the fireplace, then sank to the floor. “Too hot up there. The air is stifling.”

Brigid looked at her, a woman perpetually frozen in her late teens. Early twenties maybe. “You’ve no idea how long you’ve lived on the earth. I can’t imagine being that old.”

“Of course you can’t.” Tenzin shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“No?” She took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting smell of smoke and ash. “How do you live forever, Tenzin?”

“You don’t live forever—you live now.”

Brigid frowned. “What does that mean?”

Tenzin picked up a magazine sitting on the coffee table and opened to a page with nothing important on it, then carefully tore it out. “It means I rarely look forward and I avoid looking back.” She started folding the paper in front of her. “Nothing is guaranteed, you know. We’re not immortal. Immortal means we will live forever, but that’s very unlikely. All things die, and in our world, we usually die violently. Or stupidly. I know of a vampire who had his head removed in an automobile accident. Isn’t that a stupid way to die?”

“Yes.” And how utterly common. If Brigid died by losing her head in a freak accident, she’d be pissed off.

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