The Scarlet Deep

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “I don’t like to talk about my past,” she said. “I never have. I barely talk to Mary—”

  “But I’m not your sister. I’m your mate.”

  “You never told me this bothered you,” she said, her anger piqued. “Of all the arguments we had, not once did you bring it up.”

  “Of course I didn’t. I hated that you had so much power over me. And you were a sphinx.”

  “It wasn’t intentional.”

  “Of course it wasn’t.” He took a calming breath and sat up straighter. “And then I fucked up. Is that what you want to hear?” He bent down, inches from her face. “I fucked up. I was wrong. I let ambition get the best of me. I never should have asked you to use your ability like that. I broke your trust. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  She felt small and mean in the face of his brutal honesty. “Yes.”

  “There.” He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I said it. I fucked up. But you did too.”

  She sat up, still clutching the sheet to her body. “How is this my fault?”

  “Because you left!”

  “You let me.”

  He said nothing. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his lip where he’d broken the skin. Before her eyes, it healed.

  “You…” She struggled to speak. “You came into my life and you took it over. You took everything, Patrick.”

  “I loved you. I would have given you anything. You were my world.”

  “And I loved you too. But it consumed me. You were in every moment. Every thought. I loved you to madness. If I put up subconscious walls, it was probably because I feared losing myself in you. You were… so passionate. So charismatic. The universe whirled around Patrick Murphy, and I was in your orbit. We all were. You wanted your sire dead for turning you against your will, and within five years, he was gone and you took everything he owned. No one. Said. Anything. You wanted Dublin; you took it.”

  “Anne—”

  “You didn’t win. You conquered. We were all along for the ride. And then you asked me…”

  His proud face was stricken. “I didn’t think then. Didn’t think what danger that could put you in. I was young. I didn’t know—”

  “My father was going to kill you,” she said quietly. “When he discovered I told you, he was going to kill you. I begged… Mary did too. We begged for your life.”

  He blinked. “Mary did?”

  “And then months later, you did exactly what Father had warned me about.”

  His head fell into his hands. “Áine, I’m sorry. How many times do you need to hear? I’m sorry.”

  “What was I to think, Patrick? The very thing he’d warned me about happened. I ran. I couldn’t hurt you, but I didn’t trust you anymore.”

  An edge of dark laughter touched his voice. “It’s a miracle the old man hasn’t killed me in my sleep.”

  “He wouldn’t do that to me. You’re still my mate.”

  Murphy shook his head. “Why?”

  “What?”

  “Haven’t you ever wondered why? You and me.” He waved a hand between them. “This isn’t normal. Our bond should have died decades ago. And it didn’t. Don’t you wonder why?”

  She pulled the sheet up to her shoulders. “I don’t—”

  “I’ve thought about it. So many nights. When no woman would satisfy me. When no one was clever enough. No one could make me laugh or touch my heart. And we both know I tried, don’t we?”

  Anne felt her fangs drop, this time in anger. “If you’re trying to prove some kind of point—”

  “I tried to forget you, Anne. Not because I didn’t love you, but because I loved you so damn much. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.”

  She tipped her chin up. “You did without me in the end. Dublin is yours. Your fortune is made. No rival opposes you. Isn’t that better? You did it on your own. No one can take that victory from you.”

  The smooth facade was gone. Murphy’s face was as open as a boy’s.

  “But I didn’t want to do it on my own. I never did.”

  “Patrick—”

  “I had Tom and Dec and Josie. I had Jack… at least I did then. But mostly, I had you. I never wanted to rule without you.”

  Anne shook her head, her heart broken open, her walls demolished by his words.

  “We’re meant, Anne. You know we are. We were so good together.” He crawled to her, drawing the silken sheet away. “We were young and stupid. Or at least I was. I’m not anymore.”

  Anne shook her head, but he stopped her, cupping her cheeks between hands that had never grown soft. His knuckles still carried the scars of his human life. No matter what suit he wore, Murphy had fighter’s hands. His thumb rubbed softly against her cheek. He brushed away an errant strand of dark hair that had fallen into her eyes.

  “Let me prove it to you.”

  “Patrick—”

  “I want you back, Anne O’Dea.”

  Her mouth dropped. Her heart beat once. “Just like that?”

  “Exactly like that. Is that enough honesty for the famous vampire therapist? I want you to tell me your stories. I want you to hold me accountable for my arrogance. I want to prove that we belong together. That we can be better now.”

  “I have a life in the west.”

  “You have a shadow of a life. We both do. I say all the right things and charm all the right people, but I’ve been dancing around life for seventy years. I became exactly the man I thought you would want. I wore the right things and listened to the correct music. Business and politics became my life. I am so fecking polite I bore myself. And I don’t have you anyway.”

  She shook her head. “I never wanted you to be anyone but yourself.”

  “I realized that thirty years ago, but by then proper manners were a habit.”

  The corner of her mouth turned up. He tilted her chin up and forced her eyes to his laughing gaze.

  “There’s my sweet girl,” he whispered. “So beautiful. You were the heart of me. The best part. Is it any wonder I went a little mad when I lost you?”

  It was the “going mad” part she was worried about.

  “I don’t know if I can do this again, Patrick.”

  “Give us a chance. We’re going to London. I need you there. Give me a chance to prove we can be better than we were. There’s no one better for me than you.”

  The other corner of her mouth quirked up. “Oh, I know. But what do I get out of it?”

  He pressed forward, taunting her lips with his own. “Drop the sheet and let me show you.” His tongue darted out, teasing her lower lip. “I’m still your mate, Anne. It’s my duty to meet your needs.”

  She turned her head so his lips only brushed the corner of her mouth. “And who’s meeting yours?”

  Petty. Jealous. Small. She’d turned him away. What did she expect?

  He pressed small kisses along her cheek, nibbling his way to her ear while she tried to remain calm.

  “No one but you anymore. I’m done pretending.”

  “Really?” She knew better than anyone what kind of appetites Patrick Murphy had.

  “Ask Brigid,” he said, playing with her earlobe like it was his fascinating new toy. “The word went out as soon as you arrived in town. You still smell so good. Have you been up to Donegal? You smell like the roses there. I swear it’s in your skin.”

  “Mary and I…” She let him nudge her head to the side. “We met there before I came here.”

  “You were angry, weren’t you?” He chuckled. “When she told you what she wanted.”

  “I assume this was all some scheme of yours.”

  “Of course it was. It’s a good plan, you have to admit.” His hand was light on her skin. Touching her softly on her shoulder. Her waist. Her hip and thigh. “I do value your input, and we need your sister’s cooperation if we’re going to present a united front in London.”

  Somehow, Murphy had managed to wrap himself around her without Anne even realizing it. His
leg was propped behind her back, pressing her slightly forward. One hand played with her hair while the other played with the silken sheet over her knees. Her thighs. Her—

  “You know, I never agreed to this plan of yours.” She tried to lean away, but dammit, his arm was suddenly on that side too. How had the irritating man managed to wrap her completely up? Had he suddenly grown five arms to trap her on his bed?

  He blinked innocently. “What? You don’t want to give this a chance? We’ll be in London anyway. Spending time together. There are already various social functions we’ll be forced to attend.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Murphy—”

  He kissed her. Hard. “Don’t call me Murphy. If you still want to go back to Galway by the time Terry and Gemma’s summit is over, then go.” His voice was deceptively casual. “I’m certainly not going to kidnap you. I’m just warning you that while we’re in London, I’ll be doing everything in my power to show you what excellent partners we’d be.”

  “Partners?”

  He kissed her neck. “Lovers. Mates. Companions in eternity. Husband and wife, if you’d still like. Bound before God and all the saints.” He lifted his head. “And so fecking much more than friends.”

  It was a good thing she was a vampire, because he’d stolen the last breath from her lungs.

  “Are you trying to make me fall in love with you, Mr. Murphy?”

  “Of course I am, Dr. O’Dea.”

  In the pain of their separation and his anger after, Anne had forgotten how he could delight her. His charm. His play. His wit.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said. “While we’re in London.”

  “Good.”

  His hands slid down her back, playing along the edge of her silk camisole, teasing the skin at the small of her back. Then without warning, they dipped down to her ample backside and gave it a good, hard squeeze.

  “Patrick!”

  “Just checking it was still there, love.” He laid a smacking kiss over her collarbone before she shoved him away. “I always did prefer a filly with an ample rump.”

  “Rude man! I’m a vampire.” She refused to laugh at his impertinence. “My bottom has not changed in the past seventy years.”

  He did nothing but laugh and fall back into the pillows lining the bed alcove. His face was alight with amusement. His eyes teasing. His mouth spread into a smile. Dark hair fell into his eyes and dusted his chest, trailing down in a tempting pattern that pointed toward the part of his anatomy she was very decidedly ignoring. Murphy was naked as the day he was born. And God help her, she never could resist him when he was laughing.

  His eyes stayed locked on her. “How do you like my caravan?”

  “It’s beautiful. I love it, though I’ll admit”—her eyes darted around—“it scares me a bit. I feel very exposed, even without windows. My house in Galway has rooms underground.”

  He banged a fist against the wall, which thudded in a very un-wood-like manner. “Think of it as a large vault on wheels. No one’s getting in. Even if they could find this place.”

  “You opened up your sire’s land.”

  “Just for my people. They invite others occasionally, but for the most part, it’s still the same clan. It’s good for the children to have a safe place. The local school has a special program for them.”

  “Do they follow it?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes. Some of them do. I won’t force them, Anne.”

  “I know. You shouldn’t. The choice is there if they want it.”

  He said nothing. His mother’s people had always been a sore spot. She’d run away with a settled Irishman, then left him and gone back to her clan, her infant son in tow. Murphy’s people considered him a bastard of a sort, neither fully Traveller or fully settled. But at the end of the day, they’d been the only family he had, and they were fiercely loyal in their way.

  “Your driver. Is he related to James?”

  He nodded. “His great-nephew. He’s a good man.”

  “I thought he looked familiar.” James had been their driver before the First World War. “They still protect you.”

  The light in his eyes flickered. “They fear me. But they like the benefits of calling me their own, don’t they? They’re good at keeping secrets anyway.”

  She crawled over, lying down next to him, crossing her arms and nudging his shoulder with her own. “You are a good man, Patrick Murphy. Probably better than they deserve.”

  He was having none of it. He snuck an arm under her waist and tumbled her into his chest.

  “Don’t fool yourself, love.” Dark brown eyes narrowed with intent. “I’m not a good man at all. You said it yourself. I don’t win. I conquer.”

  Chapter Nine

  London

  THE TWITTERING HUMAN FLUTTERED her hands like a panicking goose. “But… but Mr. Murphy—”

  “That will be fine.” He checked off a room on the notebook he had absconded with. “That one will not. Dr. O’Dea will require the suite next to mine. Our security team will flank either side.”

  “Mr. Murphy, I must insist—”

  “Are any of the other attendees staying in this location?” He gave her a cool glare, railroading her objections with a look. Their London assistant might have been competent, but she was not Angie. Nor was this Dublin. He needed to establish his authority over the Irish contingent immediately, or they would have to move house.

  “None of the other parties are staying here, no.” She tucked a wild curl of greying hair behind her ear. Gemma’s personal secretary had assigned this human as liaison for both him and Anne, but so far, she was not holding up under the pressure. “And three rooms have already been provided for your security team. There’s no need to—”

  “Two will suffice.” He held the diagram up and pointed to it like a primary teacher. “I will be here. Dr. O’Dea will be in this room. Are these rooms adjoining?”

  “I—yes, but they’re designed for your security so they would be able to—”

  “Is this room as well-appointed as the master suite?”

  “Well, of course not!”

  “Then that will be your task before Dr. O’Dea arrives… what was your name?”

  “Judith.”

  He softened his face into his most charming smile, and the human’s eyes dilated. “Judith. You’ve been so lovely. But I will need you to take care of this personally. Please make sure Dr. O’Dea’s room has every luxury. If that is not possible, you will switch her to the master suite and I will take the adjoining room. Our security teams will flank us in these rooms. They don’t need a third room because I really don’t want them sleeping all that much, do I?”

  Judith blinked. “Well, I suppose—”

  “Now, as for Ms. Connor’s room, I assume she is located in the family quarters?”

  Terry and Gemma’s townhouse in Mayfair was really more of a complex. Over the years, they had discreetly bought most of the property surrounding their communal garden, expanding their own home, connecting the basements, and creating a secure and private oasis they could call their own. While the family resided under the main house, luxurious guest quarters were available. Murphy and Anne, being some of Terry’s closest allies, had decided to stay in Mayfair for convenience. Carwyn and Brigid resided with the family, and since Brigid was attached to Murphy, it made sense.

  Judith stiffened. “Ms. Connor and Carwyn’s room is in the family wing. I am not allowed to discuss details.”

  “Of course not. But if you could inform Ms. Connor of where Dr. O’Dea and I will be located, I would appreciate that. She is my chief of security while we are in town, and I know she’ll want to coordinate with our human teams before dawn.”

  “Of… of course, Mr. Murphy.”

  He handed the diagram of rooms back to her and tucked the pencil behind her ear. “Did you have any questions for me, Judith?”

  “I…” She was back to fluttering. “Just… so many. I’ll need to rearrange your lugga
ge and restock the kitchens. How many cases of blood-wine will each room need now? How much food? How much fresh blood? I’m afraid I had all this sorted, I’d made notes of everyone’s preferences, and now you’ve—”

  “Ah, ah.” He patted her shoulder. “You’ll get everything taken care of. I have confidence. If you could see to Dr. O’Dea’s room first, please. Her luggage has already been moved.”

  Judith seemed to give up at that point, nodding along. “Of course, Mr. Murphy.”

  “Now, please.”

  She straightened and sped off in the direction of the new rooms.

  Poor Judith.

  But honestly, she’d put Anne in a suite down a completely different hallway. How was Murphy supposed to convince Anne to give him a chance when she was that far away? Yes, adjoining rooms were a necessity.

  He felt her approaching before he turned.

  “Anne,” he murmured, brushing a kiss along her arched cheekbone. “Did you find a drink?”

  “I did. Gemma said her secretary has taken care of settling us.” She accepted his affection cautiously but maintained her distance. “Is my room ready?”

  Her color was high. She’d just fed, but her eyes still held the shine of hunger.

  Murphy frowned. That didn’t seem right.

  “I’m afraid I had to rearrange things a bit,” he said. “Are you well?”

  She smiled. “Of course. Just how high-handed were you?”

  “Very. But now your room is adjacent to mine as I wanted. Anne, are you sure you—”

  “Really, Patrick”—she brushed past him—“I hope you don’t send Terry and Gemma’s household into nervous fits. I remember how particular you can be with the servants.”

  He followed cautiously. “My tastes are specific. If they’re not willing to accommodate them, we’ll find other lodging.”

  She turned and her careful mask was in place again. Murphy hated her careful mask. She stopped and brushed her fingers along the knot of his tie. Then she ran a hand over his shoulder. “This is a very nice suit.”