Shelter From The Winter

By D. W. Adler

After a thousand years on the run, is a little peace and quiet too much to ask?
Brijit McRaith has been on the run for centuries. Pursued by her mad creator for most of her years as a vampire, she has finally found peace and sanctuary in her native Ireland. But a modern world on the brink of war has caught up with her and after decades of quiet, Brijit finds herself on the run again. To add to her personal chaos, she becomes smitten with mortal Kelly O'Donnell, and Brijit and her initial plans to lay low fall by the wayside. With an uncertain future ahead of her, can Brijit protect her newfound love from a world bent on destroying itself?

Originally published as a three book series, Shelter From The Winter now appears in its intended form as a single book, newly edited and featuring exciting new rewrites that expand the story of Brijit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. W. Adler
• Release date: Jul 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005194581

D. W. Adler

DW Adler was born and raised in beautiful Nova Scotia, Canada. After receiving a degree in psychology and an almost-minor in Irish Studies, he learned how to fix computers. He now sweats profusely in Florida where he does IT support for a living when he's not writing. Don counts such authors as Anne Rice, JRR Tolkien, and Edgar Allan Poe, as well as a love for Irish/Celtic myth and folklore as his influences. He loves to read sci-fi, fantasy, post-apocalyptic, and anything having to do with vampires. Other than sipping tea and writing, Don dabbles in computer animation and graphic design, and is a doting father to his little girl. He is constantly plotting how to get back home to Nova Scotia and flees there whenever the sight of snow becomes a necessity. No, he will not fix your computer.

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Shelter From The Winter

By

D. W. Adler

To Brenda, my true love and partner in life.

Copyright © 2020 by DW Adler

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real events or people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

Laws vary from county to county; the views expressed in this work do not necessarily reflect what is legal in a particular county, and the author hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Chapter One

Haunted Dreams

Brijit was home. Even one thousand years could never dull the memories of her native Wicklow, the small Viking fishing village that would later turn into a thriving seaport on the eastern shore of Ireland. She smiled as the lucid dream took hold, turning in a full circle to take in everything around her while she stood just outside the town, gazing lovingly at its long rectangular homes with thatched roofs, the smoke from the ever-burning home-fires wafting into the bright sunlit sky. The sun felt good as it sparkled on her golden hair, a far cry from its usual burning rays that would turn her to ash in the real world. She reveled in the sensation as she took her bearings, running her hands over her clothing, the peasant-girl’s dress-over-léine worn by her so many centuries ago, the cloth coarse under her fingertips.

As in previous iterations of this dream, which only occurred a couple of times per decade, the village was deserted—other than the odd farm animal roaming the area, there were no people in sight. She took a deep breath, smelling the fresh air before taking a few tentative steps toward the homes, hoping against hope that it would be different this time. The level of lucidity felt different, maybe she could finally alter the outcome and make it to her home before the inevitable shift.

Brijit moved into the village, each home and shop standing exactly where she remembered them. She studied each one as she passed, forcing herself to stay in the dream without waking, wanting her time in her beloved native home to never end. Sometimes she felt as if she could will time to stop or if she concentrated hard enough, she could be sent hurtling back through time, giving her a chance to get a do-over in life. But she knew it wouldn’t be so, she knew all too well how this dream was going to end, no matter how much she tried to change it.

Brijit hurried through the village, watching the sky darken above her, the white fluffy clouds taking on an ominous grey as the sun dipped in behind them, hastening its daily exit from the sky. She ran now, lifting her skirt lest she trip over it, willing herself forward toward the small hovel that used to be her home. As was usual in this dream, it seemed to be moving away from her, the road lengthening under her feet as the hovel receded into the distance.

No! Not this time!

She concentrated on the house, envisioning a mental lasso that lashed out and encircled its humble walls, holding it in place. The trick worked, the hovel’s recession stopped! Brijit increased her pace until she finally reached the doorway, a cry of victory escaping her lips as she burst inside for the first time since these dreams started.

At that moment, the sun left the sky, plunging the scene into darkness, save for the fire that burned in the small fire-pit in the centre of the room and the flashes of lightning from the storm outside that always encroached on her dream. Breathing heavily from the effort, Brijit looked anxiously around the room, desperate yet fearing to find her heart’s desire, the family that she lost so long ago. In the flickering firelight, she saw a shadow in a far corner of the home, her heart pounding in her chest as she strained her eyes to see it clearly. She moved around the fire, bringing the shadow into focus, tears coming to her eyes as the golden hair and fair skin of her daughter stood out in the dark, reflecting back the dim firelight. Brijit tried to speak, but emotion choked her voice when her daughter’s face lit up with a broad, loving smile, her little arms reaching for her mother. Brijit gave a final rush forward, longing to feel the embrace of her child, kneeling down before her and taking the child into her arms, willing the dream to continue just one moment more. Brijit burst into tears when she felt her daughter’s arms encircle her neck, hugging the little girl tight as the storm started to rage outside, the winds whipping through the opening of the front doorway, pelting Brijit with stinging particles of dirt and rain.

"I’m so sorry," she sobbed to the little girl, holding her tight against the ravages of the storm. "I never meant to hurt you! I love you so much!"

The wind grew stronger, filling the home with a loud roaring noise, the storm seeming to move inside the hovel. With one last brutal gust of air, the fire in the centre of the room went out, plunging Brijit into a darkness that was as absolute as the silence that accompanied it.

"Oh no, please no!" Brijit cried as the sensation of her daughter in her arms was gone, replaced with her arms encircling empty air. The ground beneath her had changed as well—no longer the packed earth that made up the floor of her home, it was now the solid rock of the many hills that surrounded Wicklow. Sobbing heavily, Brijit dropped her arms to her side in defeat, her head hung in absolute despair while the scene gradually brightened, the full moon peeking its face through the last remnants of the storm clouds. Brijit had no need to look to know where she was, the dream brought her to the scene of her rebirth each time, forcing her to relive that moment when a brutal immortality was forced upon her. Soon enough, the familiar rustlings of the mad druid’s robes against the rock drew closer to her. He said nothing as he came to stand before her, throwing her into shadow as she looked up at the figure through tear-filled eyes.

"Just get it over with, Eochaid," Brijit said with resignation. She laid back on the rock in surrender, chains appearing out of nowhere to bind her wrists and ankles. She watched as he hefted a long, tapered staff in his hands, the surface carved with indistinct markings that glowed of their own accord. There was the sound of whisperings all around her, the shadow speaking in Gaelic as he wove his spell, the markings on the staff intensifying their brightness. The shadow raised the staff high in the air, then with a mighty thrust, brought the narrow end streaking toward Brijit’s midsection.

Brijit McRaith screamed in pain, bolting upright in bed as she felt the staff penetrate her body, her hands coming to her stomach where it had impacted so long ago. Tears streamed down her face as the dream faded into the oblivion of her mind, her hands moving to the bedsheets once the pain vanished. She sat there processing what she had just gone through, trying to hold on to that memory of her daughter, longing to keep that last moment of physical contact fresh in her memory. But as with all dreams, the sensation faded until it was a mere tickle in her mind, and Brijit balled her hands into fists, bringing them down hard against her mattress.

Fuck! she screamed into the silence of her bedroom, her frustrations bubbling over. Brijit wiped at her eyes, sat a moment longer to collect herself, then pulled herself out of bed, padding her way over to the bathroom.

Turning on the lights, she was almost startled by her appearance in the mirror, long streaks of blood tears running down her cheeks while red smears coated the skin under her eyes where she had wiped with her hands. Wasted blood, Brijit murmured, turning on the sink faucet, bringing her bloodied hands under the warm water to wash them clean before turning to her face. A few moments later, she studied herself from all angles in the mirror, and judged her cleaning efforts to be successful. She leaned on the sink to stare at herself in the mirror, tracing the contours of her face with her eyes. She was very pretty, a stunning blonde with piercing green eyes that seemed to burrow into one’s soul if one was lucky, or unlucky enough depending on one’s point of view, to catch her gaze. Her body treaded that line between slim and chubby, her well-endowed curves usually hiding beneath a black outfit of some kind that made her alabaster skin stand out in sharp contrast.

Damn, I hate that dream, she breathed, though part of her was thankful for that one brief moment that she had with her child. She ran a hand over her face, silently wondering if her daughter would have looked like her, had she lived. The train of thought lingered, threatening to drag her down into an abyss of self-pity and depression, until she shook her head.

C’mon, Brijit, snap out of it, she admonished herself, straightening her five-foot-three frame. Go feed, that will make you feel better. She turned out the light and made her way back to the bedroom, formulating her plan for the night as she ran her tongue over one of her fangs. She pulled out a simple casual outfit of jeans and a T-shirt, topping it off with a light, black leather jacket, then finished off the ensemble with a dark pair of running shoes, just in case she ended up chasing her intended meal.

After straightening her hair and adding a touch of makeup, she exited her home, a good-sized house in the middle of two acres outside Roundwood, Ireland, far enough away from neighbours to afford her some privacy, but close enough to Wicklow and Dublin to feed without being noticed. She slid into her car, hit the power button then pressed lightly on the accelerator, its electric motor taking her silently out of her driveway to the narrow road that would link her up with the R763, eastward to the M11, then onward north to Dublin.

Brijit cranked the car stereo, Mozart filling the interior as she tried to dispel the last vestiges of her dream. How long had it been this time? A decade? Maybe a little less? She couldn’t remember the last time the nightmare paid her a visit, however never before had it affected her this much—usually there was a simmering anger at Eochaid, the man who forced her vampiric transformation. This time was more personal, the fact she had finally been able to embrace her daughter played with her emotions and burned the experience into her soul.

She forced her concentration more toward the dark road and the passing countryside, plainly visible to her enhanced vision. Brijit gave a huge sigh as the piano concerto playing on the stereo swelled, always amazed at how much Ireland and life in general had changed throughout her long life.

Born in the town of Wicklow in the first decade of the new millennium of 1000 AD, she aged slowly—not the typical static immortality that one would expect from your garden-variety vampire but a slow, steady aging that coincided with the weathering of the stone backbone of her native Ireland. Though she was over a thousand years old, she appeared every bit like an average twenty-four-year-old woman, the age she had been when the demented druid Eochaid had harnessed the latent energies of the Earth and Nature to change her that fateful night on the hilltop outside of town. After her transformation, she had escaped him, returning to her home where she begged her lover for help, which she received until the tragic evening three nights later when Brijit’s thirst and need for blood had awakened. Brijit had been forced to flee Wicklow, Eochaid in pursuit, a chase that spanned Europe and Asia as she tried to stay ahead of her tormentor. She didn’t always succeed however—Eochaid got the upper hand on her more times than she cared to admit, but she always managed to escaped his traps or imprisonment.

For the past two hundred years, she had been blessedly free of his presence, longer than she had ever been before, to the point where she felt safe coming back to her native Ireland roughly a century prior to the present. The only downside was moving from town to town once the locals got suspicious of the woman who never aged. Fortunately for her, Brijit’s nearest neighbours had changed often around her latest domicile, allowing her to stay in the same place for nearly three decades, though it was getting harder to hide. The twenty-first century was making disappearing a very hard thing to do—video cameras were plentiful, even on private homes; passports we becoming increasingly harder to forge and without one, there were very few places in the world to which Brijit could escape; finally, the reality of computers and the personal data that they held made it harder still to simply fade from sight as she had been able to do a little as fifty years previously. The modern world made a vampire’s life extremely challenging.

Within the hour, Brijit had pulled into her usual car park, conveniently situated across Dame street from the pub she had been frequenting lately. She made her way to the entrance, wincing as she stepped inside at the din of countless people and music that beat like a hammer against her sensitive ears. She found her usual booth was unoccupied and sat, surveying the crowd as it danced, drank, and yelled above the din of the live band that was playing in the corner. She ignored the piercing music that rattled through her head to focus on the people that milled about her. Despite the noise, she picked up snippets of conversation while watching the play of emotions their faces, taking in the all of the energy and drama in on display in front of her. People-watching was one of her favourite things to do, especially when she was hungry and craving blood—it helped her choose who may be the one to slake her thirst.

Through the crowd she spotted her usual waiter, Gerry, giving him a tight smile as he approached, his tray laden with pints of beer for the next table over.

Hey Bridget, he spoke loudly over the music though she would have heard him if he whispered. She gave him a small wave, grimacing inward at how he used the modern form of her name—it only served to remind her how old she was and how much things had changed over the past thousand years.

Hello, Gerry, she answered as the server placed one of the glasses on her table. She eyed it as he stepped back and dropped the remaining pints on the neighbouring table. What’s this? I didn’t order anything yet, she said in her thick Dublin accent as she pointed at the tall, dark glass with generous foam on the top.

Gerry turned his attention back to her as he tucked his empty tray under his arm. With a disapproving huff, he pointed at a table through the throng of moving bodies where a young man with a hopeful smile was staring at Brijit, lifting his own glass to her. Paddy over there wanted to buy you a pint. I have the feeling he thinks he’s going to get lucky tonight.

That was quick. It was all Brijit could do to stifle a laugh as she picked up her glass and raised it back, smiling slyly at Paddy while Gerry looked on incredulously. Oh, don’t humour him, Bridgett! He’s a right man-slut—he’s got his dick in half the women here! he said a little too loudly, eliciting stares and the odd titter of laughter from the surrounding tables. He lowered his voice and leaned in closer to her. You can do better than that, I keep telling ya! I look at the men you follow out of here sometimes, and it breaks my heart, he mock cried, holding his hands over his heart for dramatic effect.

Brijit reached her cold hand up to Gerry’s stubbly cheek and patted his face gently, shushing him like he was an angry child. And I suppose you’d be the one that I could do far, far better with? She smiled sweetly as he took her hand in his, rubbing it gently, as if to put some heat into it.

Jaysus you’re cold, Gerry said as he massaged the cool skin, though Brijit was not sure if he was referring to her body temperature or her typical demeanour towards him. Give a guy a chance, maybe? he said with a hopeful lilt in his voice.

Brijit shook her head as she slid across the booth. She pulled her hand from his to put it on his shoulder, pulling Gerry down to her level so she could talk directly into his ear.

I’d chew you up and spit you out, my dear, she said surprisingly softly yet still audible over the music. You’re too good a man for me, Gerry, and I mean that honestly. She nodded her head towards one of the other servers who was eyeing them with jealousy plain on her face. "Besides, Nora doesn’t like competition. Maybe you should give that girl a chance."

Gerry looked at her with surprise and Brijit heard his heart literally skip a beat as he too looked towards the dark-haired server that was shooting Brijit daggers with her eyes. Nora? Really? he questioned with a lopsided smile.

Go get her, boyo, Brijit said with a nod, smacking the server on the bottom. I have other fish to fry.

Gerry shook his head as he walked away, muttering something to himself about crazy women in bars while Brijit smiled seductively at the buyer of her drink.

Brijit decided to get things over with and rose from her seat. It was a little early in the evening, but she was never one to turn down an opportunity when it presented itself. She moved toward Paddy’s table, watching with revulsion as the expression on Paddy’s face turned absolutely lecherous. His eyes were scanning up and down her body, feeling for all the world like greasy fingertips trying to work their way into her every nook and cranny. It didn’t take a mind reader to hear the thoughts inside his head, the untamed lust inside him screaming what he wanted to do to her. Brijit kept her outward appearance of confidence and sensuality, but her insides turned to knots, the butterflies in her stomach kicking up to make themselves known. She tried not to wince, smelling the testosterone emanating from him which nauseated her to no end.

Brijit’s long years had given her endless experience with the unwanted attention of men to the point where she thought of them as nothing more than predators that rivaled her own vampire instincts. There were the odd exceptions, men who truly earned the title of Gentleman, but the thousand years of witnessing the true depravity of the male sexual psyche made her instantly wary of any man she met.

In addition, she simply had no interest in men. For as long as she could remember, Brijit had always been attracted to women. True, she had a husband at one time, but it was an arranged marriage that she fought tooth and nail until her parents had forced her to the altar. Fáelán was a decent man, but the marriage was a disastrous sham that only produced on good thing—her daughter. Fortunately for Brijit, Fáelán died in a fishing accident not long after her daughter’s birth, allowing her to focus her attention on the real object of her affection, the beautiful Maire. The two cohabitated together, Maire using Brijit’s dead husband and precocious child as an excuse to help an overwhelmed Brijit with day-to-day life. The arrangement worked brilliantly, the two were very much in love and happy despite having to hide their relationship. At least until Eaochaid showed up…

She passed by Paddy’s table, paused slightly to give him an appraising look, then continued on towards the door as she wove her way in between the clubbers. Giving a glace behind her, she watched Paddy give a wink to his friends sitting across the table from him as he rose from his chair to follow the sexy blonde.

Brijit felt his eyes on her as she walked out onto the sidewalk, her skin crawling as she left the loud music and crowd behind. She turned down Dame Street, moving past the outdoor diners enjoying the mild night, then ducked down Crow Street, looking over her shoulder briefly to make sure Paddy was still in pursuit. She could hear his quick footsteps over her slow, deliberate footfalls, the queasy feeling in her stomach grew as it threatening to overwhelm her.

Halfway down the street, Brijit stopped in the middle of the cobbled road, then turned and eyed the man coming after her. The nausea nearly brought her to her knees when she recognized the look in his eyes—he was a savage animal after its prey, a look that she knew all too well, especially from one man in particular. The thought of Eochaid brought the imagery from the nightmare back in full force—she was no longer in Dublin, she was on that hill outside Wicklow, chained to the rock, helpless before her assailant. The panic threatened to overwhelm Brijit, in her mind her arms thrashed against the chains holding her, trying to break free from the pain and suffering that she knew was about to befall her.

A car horn from Dame Street broke her from the reverie, chasing the nightmare images from her mind. Steadying herself, she made a leap upward to the lowest rooftop on the street, looking down at the clueless Paddy as he ambled down the cobblestones. She closed her eyes a moment to will the feeling away, steadying her nerves.

It’s not him, you fecking fool! This one can’t hurt you; there is nothing he can do that will hurt you. You are in complete control!

Brijit took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and willed her butterflies to stop. She became what Paddy aspired to be— the hunter. Brijit took any perceived power he had over her and turning it on its head, bringing herself in total control over the situation. She gave a sharp, short whistle to get his attention, forcing a playful smile while she waved her fingers at him.

A confused Paddy came to a stop and looked up at her, his furrowed brow replaced immediately with a winsome look once he saw her pale face in the lamplight. Heya, how’d you get up there, then? Leading me on bit of a chase, hey? He grinned up at her, beckoning. Why don’t you come down, and we can find a place that’s a little more private?

That’s the best he’s got? For this I almost had an anxiety attack?

Brijit felt her body calm as she looked down upon him, the butterflies dissipating as her image of Paddy the predator morphed into Paddy the sad, unfulfilled soul. She listened to his heart beating fast with anticipation, allowing the sound to wash away her the rest of her fears and stoke her hunger.

I’ve got a better idea, she said, a teasing tone in her voice. "Why don’t you come up here?"

And how am I supposed to do that, darlin’? The shop is closed. He waved his hand at the entrance to the shop over which she perched, then beckoned for her to come down. C’mon, let’s get this started!

Brijit looked up and down the street, noting that it was blessedly free of people at that moment. "Oh no, darlin’, I think it’s much better up here." Faster than eyes could see, she jumped from the roof, grabbed Paddy roughly in a bear-hug, then jumped to the roof again, releasing him immediately as soon as she felt the rooftop under her feet.

Fucking hell! Paddy bellowed, swaying dizzily as he almost walked off the edge of the building. His eyes were wide with terror, his heart sounding like it was going to escape from his chest.

Brijit put a hand over his mouth, the diminutive woman shushing him as she backed him up against the lone chimney on the rooftop. Her other hand went to his shoulder, pushing firmly to pin him in place, his shoulder blade forced hard against the brick. Come now, she cooed, there’s no need for that kind of language. Isn’t this what you wanted, boyo? A little bit of fun with some floozie you met in a pub?

Paddy’s forehead broke out in a sheen of sweat despite the cool night air as he tried his best to shake his head under Brijit’s iron grip. No? I figured you’d be delira and excira about being on a rooftop alone with me. You’re hurting me feelings, Paddy-boy, she said with an exaggerated accent, toying with the panicking man. She smiled sweetly at him, then pushed his head back roughly against the bricks, tilting it so she had a clear view of his neck. His carotid pulsed in time with his heart, making Brijit’s mouth water with anticipation.

There’s what I’m looking for, she sighed, her tongue moving to her lips in an anticipatory lick. She locked eyes with her prey, giving him another smile, this one putting her fangs on full display. Paddy started to scream, his cries muffled by the hand on his mouth, while he thrashed under her grip, trying to break free.

I know, I know, Brijit said condescendingly, her grip unwavering. This isn’t quite the fun you were looking for, and I’ll admit, it’s not going to be very fun for you at all. But for me, it’s a necessary evil—a girl’s gotta eat, you know?

Standing on her tiptoes, she let her sharp teeth find the artery in his neck. Her fangs plunged through the skin, Paddy started to thrash as her lips formed a tight seal on his neck, sucking the living blood out of him. The flesh of her hand vibrated with his muffled screams, adding a sadistic pleasure to her feeding. Normally, it was just business, but she had heard stories about this fellow from her nights at the pub—whispered rumours of what he got up to with his conquests, the ghosting after he got what he wanted. The sense of karmic justice was palpable to Brijit, only serving to increase her glee at feeding from this wretch of a man.

Oi! What’s going up there?

The light of a flashlight shone on their faces, startling Brijit out of her reverie, her mind snapping back into focus from the interruption.

Fecking hell!

She released her mouth from Paddy’s neck and turned towards the source of the light, raising her arm in front of her face to hide her bloodied lips. Fortunately, Paddy had stopped thrashing—when Brijit released her hand from his mouth, all that came out were weak moans while the force of her other hand kept him from crumpling into a heap on the rooftop. Through the halo of light, she could make out the fluorescent yellow jacket and dark hat of a Dublin police officer, a Garda, standing beside his car, one hand on his radio ready to call for help.

You there, what are you doing to that lad? the Garda barked as he drew nearer the building.

Nothing, Garda, just a couple having a little fun, Brijit said in her sweetest voice, though it was thick with the blood still in her throat. She swallowed a few times, quickly wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her coat, thankful that she wore black tonight as the blood didn’t show as clearly. She dropped her arm and gave her best smile while still propping her victim up against the chimney.

The Garda held his flashlight steady on Brijit while across the street, she noticed an open window with two figures leaning out, their chocolate-bar sized mobile phones in hand with the lenses of the cameras pointed right at her.

"Focal leat," Brijit hissed, deciding this had gone on long enough. With one smooth movement that was too fast for the Garda or cameras to see, she dragged her fangs across her victim’s neck creating a deep scratch to disguise the puncture wounds. Releasing Paddy, who promptly fell into a heap, Brijit broke into a run, jumping at the edge of the roof to send herself sailing over the head of the Garda. She landed on