The Scarlet Deep

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “Why don’t you suggest he back off a bit,” Murphy said. “He’s young. We don’t need to deal with a blunder because of his enthusiasm.”

  Tom gave him a sharp look, but Murphy only shrugged. He liked the young man. And Angie would give him hell if he came to any harm.

  “I’ll try, boss. But I have to say his activity reports have been gold. He caught an Albanian ship the other day trying to bypass our security check. Had only gone through the humans. Not our people.”

  “Albanian?”

  Declan nodded and Murphy tucked the information away for later use. There had been an increase in traffic from the Balkans and the Black Sea region. It might mean nothing. But Murphy hadn’t forgotten that the original company that had produced Elixir was in Bulgaria.

  Tom said, “Wonder if Mary’s also seeing an increase in traffic from that region.”

  “Make a note to ask Anne at the meeting.”

  “We’ll need to be open with her,” Tom said. “Otherwise, there isn’t any use in this summit, boss.”

  “I know.”

  “Ease into things with Anne,” Declan said with a smile. “It’ll make sharing in London easier.”

  “Has anything with Anne ever been easy?” Murphy asked.

  “No,” Declan admitted. “But at least it’ll be entertaining to see you run ragged again.”

  “Insolent children,” Murphy said. “Both of you.”

  Joint laughter was the only response he received.

  “Third item on the agenda,” Tom said, not bothering to wipe the smile from his ugly face. “Josie has to send her regrets for tomorrow evening.”

  “What?” Murphy frowned. “She’s been looking forward to La Bohème for months. Is she feeling well? Why—”

  Tom held up a hand and pulled out a piece of folded dove-grey paper. “She writes, ‘I simply cannot get away tomorrow evening. I do apologize, but it cannot be helped. I should add that when I mentioned my attendance at the opera to Anne earlier this evening—before I knew it was completely and utterly impossible for me to attend—she seemed quite enthusiastic and, dare I say, jealous of my tickets. One might suppose she would be open to an invitation.’” Tom folded the paper and tucked it back in his pocket. “I’m just readin’ what she wrote. Don’t kill the messenger.”

  Murphy closed his eyes and tapped a finger against his temple. “Your wife…”

  “Meddles. I know,” Tom said. “But as she cannot possibly get away tomorrow evening, I think you’d better call Anne.”

  “Maybe I’ll give the tickets to Brigid and Anne.”

  “Brigid hates the opera,” Declan said. “But I don’t. Can I come?”

  Tom and Murphy both spoke at the same time. “No.”

  MURPHY could admit that he’d cheated by inviting Anne via formal invitation. But if he’d called and asked, she’d have said no.

  So, since he’d been an opportunistic bastard and used the excuse of a formal invitation from the leader of Dublin to the representative of Northern Ireland to ask his mate out for a bloody date, Anne was sitting next to him at the blandest concert hall in Europe, halfway through one of her favorite operas.

  She’d said nothing to him since he picked her up at Carwyn and Brigid’s massive home on the outskirts of town. She slid into the back of his car wearing a cocktail dress in some sort of wrap design and heels that made his fangs drop. The dress was the color of good red wine, the shoes could have been used as weapons, and Murphy couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  Murphy didn’t follow women’s fashion beyond noticing what dates wore and giving the appropriate compliments. Most modern fashions did little to tempt him. Or perhaps it was most modern figures. The majority of his dates were willowy things, lovely in their own way, but they often reminded Murphy of the hollow-cheeked girls he’d grown up with. His sisters and cousins had never had enough to eat.

  Anne, on the other hand, was luxury.

  Full figured and soft, she embodied everything he’d hungered for as a human and everything he strived for in immortal life.

  “You’re missing the opera,” she whispered.

  “Don’t care,” he murmured. “I have the best view in the hall.”

  She kept her eyes on the stage, so he didn’t know if his words angered or pleased her. Perhaps, if he read the set of her shoulders correctly, a little of both.

  He was determined to have her again. She was living her quiet life in the west, but he knew she wanted more. She hadn’t retreated back to the place where she’d lived as a human until they’d broken things off. She’d never made any mention of a country life when they lived together. Anne had loved being in the city. Had always hungered for travel.

  But then he’d been a fool. And they had fought. And now…

  He didn’t know what she was hungry for, but he could sense it in his blood. A simmering restlessness that called to him.

  Unleash me.

  Feed me.

  Make me yours again.

  Maybe it wasn’t a challenge she had intended to give him, but he’d take it up nonetheless. Anne was his mate. He’d done his research after she’d left him, worried that he’d never be whole again with half of himself gone.

  Mate bonds were never intended to be taken lightly. That was why so many vampires guarded their blood more closely than gold. To give another immortal your blood tied you to them. To take another’s tied them back. They could be bonds of family or friendship. Or passion. Anne and Murphy had shared blood for thirty years. They’d been almost inseparable in that time.

  But partnerships—even the closest—did end. With vampires who lived for centuries, it was inevitable. As long as they’d been apart, their mate bond should have faded. That it hadn’t told the superstitious part of Murphy they were meant to be. That was why no other relationship had satisfied. No other woman had appealed to him as Anne did.

  She was his and he was hers. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

  Now he just had to convince her.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, leaning closer to her. He closed his eyes and allowed his senses to take her in.

  She smelled of the ocean and roses. A hint of lilac lingered in her hair from the spring garden at Brigid and Carwyn’s home.

  “The music is beautiful,” Anne said. “It’s been years since I’ve been to the opera.”

  “We’ll have to see what’s playing in London while we’re there. Go to a proper concert hall.”

  A hint of a smile. “Such a snob, Patrick. I like this hall. The acoustics are wonderful.”

  “I’m not a snob. I only know what I like. And acoustics aside, this one looks like a lecture hall. An ugly one.”

  “It’s modern.”

  “It’s ugly.”

  She put a finger over his lips and he managed to suppress the smile of triumph. Barely.

  Too soon, she drew it away again and leaned back in her seat.

  Murphy saw one human eyeing Anne from farther down the aisle. He caught the man’s eye and let a hint of the predator peek through his urbane exterior. The human looked away quickly and returned his attention to the stage.

  “Behave,” Anne said.

  “Why?”

  “I thought you were respectable now.”

  “I am when I need to be.”

  The opera flew by when Murphy would have had it drag. He had Anne next to him, dressed like a walking dream and forced to be civil. Sadly, it was over before eleven o’clock, and then they were walking to the car. It was only the beginning of the evening for them. He had meetings before the London strategy session at his office the next night.

  “Who will be at the briefing tomorrow night?” Anne asked.

  “You and me, obviously. Brigid, Declan, and Tom. Deirdre is going to try to make it, but she wasn’t sure.”

  “Deidre?”

  “She’s very kindly agreed to make her fearsome presence known in Dublin while we’re away to discourage any opportunistic thoughts by
others.”

  Anne smiled. “And what about herself?”

  “I’m not worried about Deirdre taking my city. She hates Dublin life.”

  Anne opened her mouth to respond but then closed it, and they continued to walk toward Iveagh Gardens where Murphy’s driver was waiting for them. He might have been running late, per his employer’s earlier instructions.

  “And you?” Murphy asked. “How are you enjoying Galway?”

  “I love it, of course.”

  “Not too dull?”

  Her eyes flashed. “Of course not.”

  “Have you made it to New York?”

  “You know I haven’t. One of your little spies would have told you.”

  She’d always wanted to go to New York, but they’d never gone when they were together, and he hated that. Now air travel made everything easy for humans, but unless you were a vampire who had one of the very rare planes fitted for immortal use, you still had to travel by boat or overland. Murphy could have afforded the plane; he simply didn’t see the need when he had so many ships at his disposal.

  Anne refused to take any of them.

  “Now, now,” he chided. “Don’t call Josie a spy. She’s far more of a meddler than a spy.”

  She gestured between the two of them, dressed in their formal attire. “Clearly.”

  “She means well. She’s a hopeless romantic, you know? I blame Tom. He’s such a sentimental bastard.”

  For the first time in a hundred years, Murphy had the pleasure of hearing Anne laugh. Full throated and rich, her laughter reached into his chest and pulled something out of him. Desire. Intense satisfaction. He’d loved making her laugh.

  I adore you.

  He couldn’t say it yet. Not yet.

  “This was fun,” she said, smiling at him, her eyes lit up and laughing. “I’d forgotten what good company you can be when you behave.”

  “I can be even better company when I misbehave.”

  “Now now,” she said. “Let’s not do that. We can be… friends, Murphy. We should be friends.”

  No, we absolutely should not.

  “Of course,” he said smoothly, lying through his teeth. “We should be. It’ll make London much easier. We’ll be spending a lot of time together, obviously.”

  She smiled and picked up the pace as they walked along the cobblestones. Murphy steadied her by grasping her elbow when her heel caught in one, teasing her in a friendly way about wearing proper footwear.

  Friends?

  Oh, Anne.

  Murphy almost felt sorry for her.

  Chapter Six

  “DON’T DO THIS TO ME.”

  Brigid crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve done it to yourself with the ridiculous comments and always needing to be the center of attention.”

  “Does our love mean nothing to you?”

  The petite vampire shoved her mate toward the door of the library.

  “I love you, Carwyn,” Anne said. “Don’t blame me for Brigid being mean.”

  “We all love you,” Josie added. “But you need to go away now.”

  Carwyn protested. “I would like it known that I am very useful for girl-talk conversations.”

  “None of us want to be lectured in wrestling metaphors,” Brigid said.

  “I have five—wait, how many is it again?” He frowned and closed his eyes. “Four. I have four daughters. And a mate! I am wise in the ways of women.”

  He grabbed Brigid before the door closed and laid a scorching kiss on her mouth. When he pulled away, she was laughing.

  “Go away, you madman. Go hunt something and run off some energy. You’re crazy tonight.”

  “I’m crazy every night. That’s why you love me.”

  “It’s among the many reasons, yes.” Brigid slapped his backside when he turned to leave.

  “Oh, another please.”

  “Go!”

  All three women were in stitches by the time the door closed.

  When Anne was honest with herself, she could admit that she missed the city. As much as she liked her cozy home in Galway, she missed the nightlife and the concerts in Dublin, the museums and history.

  And she missed the two women she was drinking with.

  “He’s mad,” Brigid said. “I know. There’s no excuse for him.”

  “He’s lovely,” Anne said. “If a little loud.”

  “I’m definitely writing him into a book,” Josie added. “A vampire priest who likes Hawaiian shirts? Readers would love it. But do I make him a villain or a hero? I can’t decide.”

  Brigid refilled their glasses of blood-wine and returned to the sofa she’d been sharing with her husband, which was now occupied by a large wolfhound she shoved to the side.

  “It gets better every year,” Josie said, sipping the wine.

  “It does,” Brigid said, rubbing the hound between his ears as he cuddled in with a happy groan. “This is the batch Gemma sent last fall. It’s so much pleasanter than refrigerated. That winemaker Terry stole from France has made all the difference.”

  “Agreed,” Josie said. “Wait… Terry didn’t actually steal him, did he?”

  Brigid frowned. “I don’t think so.”

  Anne didn’t care where the wine came from. All she knew was that it stemmed the growing hunger in her belly. Her bloodlust had grown worse since she’d arrived in Dublin. She’d had to keep her lips shut during the entire evening with Murphy so he didn’t suspect how hungry she was in his presence.

  Brigid and Carwyn had supplied her with a case of blood-wine upon her arrival. She was down to two bottles.

  The library was Brigid’s sanctuary in the large Dublin house. The smaller cottage she and Carwyn had lived in when they first mated had been abandoned in favor of the mansion. After the first year of their marriage, Carwyn’s clan had invaded, leaving Brigid and Carwyn with guests or family of one sort or another at almost all times.

  Human staff needed to be hired, and the big house had been opened.

  Anne knew that marriage to a vampire like Carwyn ap Bryn was something her friend was still becoming accustomed to. Anne had worried about Brigid, but the friendship of Tom Dargin’s quiet wife had helped.

  Josie Dargin was, without a doubt, the most unusual vampire Anne had ever known. And for a vampire psychologist, that was saying something.

  Turned at the edge of a wasting death, Josie still carried an ethereal air that made Anne’s head turn to fairy stories and ancient myths. If Brigid looked like an angry pixie, Josie resembled a fae. Her features were too striking to be pretty. Her wide eyes and long nose leaned toward drama, not beauty. She was tall, thin, and claimed her dark hair had never been cut. It often hung wild around her face when she was in a writing daze. For though it was a secret to all but a select few, Josephine Dargin had been a prolific author for over a century.

  Using different pen names, she’d written fantastical horror stories since she’d been a human. Gothic romances and macabre fantasies were her favorites, but Josie had tried some of everything. She changed her pen name when it suited her, and none of her publishers over the many years had any idea it was the same woman. A woman who was, in fact, one of the mythical creatures she wrote about.

  Anne adored Josie. She had since the moment she’d met her when her friend was still human. But even Anne could admit that Josie was just a bit… different.

  She was prone to lingering fugues. Anne had been there when Murphy turned her, knew he’d struggled with the decision, as humans turned during sickness could be unstable in immortality. Tom would have had it no other way. He adored his wife. A more unlikely pair Anne had never met, but they were fiercely devoted and unutterably happy.

  “I had a dream the other night,” Josie began, pursing her lips and whistling for another of the hounds, who dutifully went and laid his furry head on Josie’s lap. “It was a lovely dream, Anne. You and Murphy reunited and you moved back to Dublin. And then you were all mine again, and we could have such lovely dinn
ers.”

  “It’s been one hundred years, Josie. I don’t see us reconciling now.”

  “One hundred years is nothing to us,” Josie said with a careless wave. “Has it really been that long? It doesn’t seem it. But I suppose the years run together sometimes.”

  Brigid smiled. “Is this what I have to look forward to? A hundred years passing in a blink?”

  “Ask Carwyn,” Anne said.

  In some ways, it was true. One hundred years away from Murphy hadn’t lessened her attraction. Or the way they reacted to each other. It would have been so much easier if it had.

  “You and Murphy,” Josie continued. “Carwyn and Brig. Me and Tom. Then we’d just have to get Declan paired off and my family would be complete.”

  “You’re such a meddler, Jo. Don’t think I didn’t know what you were doing with the opera last night.”

  “Did you have a lovely time?” Her green eyes were alight. “I knew you would. Was it very romantic?”

  “It was very awkward.”

  “Liar. When you and Murphy were together, you were a force of nature,” Josie said. “Gorgeous. Just gorgeous.”

  “You’re a hopeless romantic.”

  Josie balled up a napkin and tossed it at Anne’s head. “Of course I am, silly. That’s my job.”

  Brigid said, “I have such a hard time imagining you two together.”

  “That’s because Anne is so quiet now and Murphy is too damn polite,” Josie said with a mischievous grin. “In their younger years, they were the wild ones. They heated a room just by walking in.”

  Anne shook her head. “Josie…”

  “It’s true. Oh”—Josie’s head fell back, and she closed her eyes—“the way that man looked at you.”

  “Still looks at her that way,” Brigid muttered.

  Anne shook her head. “He does not.”

  “I’m sure he does,” Josie said. “He looked at you as if you were his next breath—well, if he needed to breathe—his last sip of blood. The moon and stars together.”

  Anne felt her blood begin to surge. “Josie, stop. You’re being dramatic.”

  “I’m glad someone is,” Brigid said. “There’s so much tension between the two of them things are liable to combust if they don’t resolve it.”