Murphy paused but decided that Tywyll’s loyalty to family was likely greater than to whoever happened to be running London in the current century. And since Murphy considered Anne family, he might just qualify.
“Ramsay,” Murphy said, almost silently. “Is he involved in this business?”
“In the drug business?”
“Yes.”
“Not likely. He’s an up-front bastard. He took London and killed anyone who’d been involved in the coupe against his sire. Kidnapped his own bloody wife and didn’t make a secret of it. Subterfuge”—Tywyll pronounced the word carefully—“is not his style.”
“Fair enough. I had to ask. He’ll make a fortune in this mess with his blood-wine business.”
“Ah, interesting that.” Tywyll nodded. “But he’s keen. I imagine he’d probably mint coin no matter what.”
Murphy paused. “That was my main concern. We’re in his house. His wife is kin to a friend. I didn’t want him to be involved, so I had to ask.”
“Smart of ye. I have no loyalty to Ramsay, though he’s aligned himself to a family I respect.”
“Carwyn’s?”
Tywyll nodded. “His new young mate is working for ye?”
“Yes.”
“Then yer a lucky bastard. And that makes me glad my Annie is in Dublin.”
From the tone of his voice, Tywyll obviously didn’t like Anne being isolated in Galway. Perhaps he might have an ally in Anne’s sire after all.
Murphy said, “I’ll do my best to keep her in Dublin.”
“She thinks she needs solitude, but she doesn’t.”
“What does she need?”
“Love,” Tywyll said without pause. “Trust. And to be needed. It surprised me none that she became a healer, for she has the finest heart of any woman I’ve known, including her mother. It’s a strong heart. A survivor’s heart. Honor that heart. Respect the woman, Patrick Murphy, and you’ll find a treasure greater than any fortune ye could earn or vengeance ye could take.”
Chapter Ten
SHE’D HAD A FULL BOTTLE of blood-wine before she’d gone shopping with Gemma and another when she returned, yet Anne was still hungry. Her hunger was getting worse, and she didn’t know what she was going to do. In an unfamiliar city, feeding from random humans was too dangerous. Terry and Gemma had blood donors on staff, but feeding over the norm would be cause for scrutiny. Still, she could ignore the burn in her throat when she was swimming.
Terry had installed a magnificent salt-water pool in the basement of the Mayfair house. Anne took the length of it in long strokes, stretching her body and soaking up the energy she drew from the water. She’d missed swimming in Dublin. Neither Brigid nor Carwyn particularly cared for water. Murphy had a pool, but she’d never wanted to ask. And the river… well, she was too accustomed to the ocean. At home she greeted every night with a long swim in the bay before she set foot in her office.
Anne had grown up by the sea. As a human, she’d loved it and feared it in equal measure. It was the fierce mistress that had taken her father, and the harsh master that drove her stepfather. Her mother had spent most of her time by the shore, looking out in hope and dread and love and longing.
Tywyll had loved her mother. Fallen in love with her voice as she sang in the night. Had raged over the tearful girl who told him the same sea her mother sang to had claimed her.
Accident or suicide?
Anne had never known.
The awareness of Murphy brushed away the melancholy thoughts. She didn’t need to surface to know he watched her. She could feel it.
She kept swimming.
Lap after lap, she swam. Sometimes using a formal stroke, sometimes slipping underwater like a seal, turning and twisting as the depths held her. When she finally surfaced, he was still there, lounging in a three-piece suit and watching her with an enigmatic smile.
“Could you swim as a human?”
Anne found herself coming up with clever retorts to avoid his question and was reminded of his anger in the caravan. He’d complained that she never shared her past. He was right. She didn’t like dwelling on it, but she had to admit that avoiding it was something she would never advise a patient.
“Anne?” His voice was laced with concern.
“Sorry. Having a moment of inconvenient self-revelation.”
Murphy smiled. “Take your time.”
If he could change, she would have to as well.
“No, I couldn’t swim. Would have made it much harder for Liam O’Dea to kill me, wouldn’t it?”
A dark flash of anger at the mention of her long-dead stepfather. “You told me he killed you, but you never told me why.”
“Clearly he didn’t like me.”
When Murphy said nothing, Anne knew her glib reply wouldn’t satisfy him this time. When he was younger, she’d been able to distract Murphy from uncomfortable questions about her past. But he was no longer a young immortal. He watched her with calm expectation.
“Liam O’Dea married my mother when I was a child, but he never liked me. Barely liked his own children when my mother birthed them. The more I grew, the more he hated me.”
“But you kept his name?”
“It was my father’s name as well,” Anne said. “My da was Liam’s cousin, a big, strong, jovial man everyone loved.” Anne forced a smile to her face. “Nobody much loved Liam.”
“Do you look like your father?”
She nodded. “Everyone mourned Da when his boat was lost, especially my mother. She never truly recovered. She married Liam to provide for us, because she was young and pretty and that was what women did then.”
“And she had more children?”
“I had four younger brothers and sisters.” This was why she didn’t speak of the past. The pain in her chest was excruciating. “My mother walked into the sea when the youngest was only a few months old. Severe postpartum depression, I believe. Or an accident? She loved the sea, but she couldn’t swim. And we had those horrible long skirts then…” Anne shook her head. “I was nearing twenty, mourning, and desperate to leave Liam’s house, but no one wanted me.”
“I find that inconceivable,” Murphy said. “You’re intelligent. A beautiful woman. You’ve always been a hard worker—”
“But I was very desperate and very adamant about taking four children with me.” Her smile was sad. “Not the most attractive prospect. Then Liam suggested strongly that I marry him. And not even the priest objected. I knew… I tried to run away. That did not go well.”
She let her silence speak. Anne felt wrung out.
Inconvenient self-revelation, indeed.
“I’d finish him myself if I could,” Murphy growled.
“No need,” Anne said blithely. “Father took care of him long ago. He’d been watching us for some time. I didn’t know who or what he was. I thought he was a tramp who liked my mother’s songs and wandered down at the shore by our cottage at night.”
“Do you think he loved her?”
“In a way.” She couldn’t stop the smile. “She was a very delicate woman. She inspired that instinct in men.”
“Is that why you’re so blasted independent?” Humor laced his voice. “So you’re not like your mother?”
“Probably.”
Anne said nothing else.
“Your father said you’re to come visit him as soon as you can.” As if sensing her emotional exhaustion, Murphy’s voice was pitched deliberately lighter. “And be prepared to sing a song or two at the pub.”
“Ah.” She dove under and surfaced, wiping the cobwebs of memory away and brushing her wet hair back as she climbed the steps. “I’d wondered if that’s where you were going tonight.”
“Did he say something?”
“No. I just knew you would.”
Murphy watched her with intent. “I don’t like to avoid people when I know we have a disagreement.”
“Unlike me,” she said, picking up a towel and pressing her long hair to dry it. �
��The queen of avoidance.”
“I didn’t say that. Come here.” He crooked a finger at her, still slouched in the lounge chair.
Anne walked over but didn’t get too close. “I’m dripping. And I don’t want to get your suit wet.”
“I don’t care.” He hooked a finger in the towel wrapped round her waist. “Hello, what have we here?”
He parted the towel and let it drop, running both hands down her sides.
Confession had stripped her bare. “Murphy—”
“Quiet. I’m enjoying the view.” He put both hands on her hips and spread his legs, bringing her between his knees. “Lovely.”
“It’s a very black, very practical bathing suit. Hardly worth admiring.”
“Is that so? Perhaps you should get rid of it then.”
“Shameless man.” Hunger struck again, but she swallowed the burn. “I went shopping earlier today. I’ll be professionally wardrobed by Thursday evening.”
“Until then, I think it best for you to remain naked in our suite. It’s the only acceptable option, I’m afraid.”
“Our suite? I thought the very efficient Judith told me the room was mine.”
“You can’t expect me to sleep in a queen bed, can you? You wound me, Anne. You know how sensitive I am.”
“Oh yes, sensitive is the first word that comes to mind.”
His hands intoxicated her. Murphy had barely moved them, but she was seduced. His thumbs stroked over her bathing suit. His fingertips pressed into her flesh. Not hard, just sure enough to remind her how strong his hands could be. What they could do to her skin. Her body.
Cunning vampire.
“Anne…” He leaned closer and drew a deep breath. “What are you thinking about?”
“You, of course.”
His grip tightened. “You test my patience.”
“I’m trying to be very honest. You know I want you. That has never been the issue. I just don’t know if I trust you yet.”
He leaned his head against her belly, and she stroked her hands through his hair. “What do I do?”
“Give me time,” she whispered. “You were the debonair playboy of Dublin up until a few weeks ago. Romancing human girls and roaming the town. And I was living a very boring, very separate life in Galway. Give me some time to believe you when you say you want me back.”
“I’ve always wanted you back.”
“No, Patrick, don’t lie.” She pulled his head back until he met her eyes. “There was a time you hated me.”
His brown eyes never wavered. “Only because you took away the thing I wanted most.”
That was… accurate. Murphy could be very possessive with the things he considered his. And he had most definitely considered Anne “his.”
“I left you. You never thought I’d do that.”
“No, I didn’t,” he murmured. “I took you for granted, didn’t I? I apologize for that. I’m a smarter man now.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m wary. You seduced me when you were young and reckless. But now? You could conquer me completely if I let my guard down. I’d have no chance.”
“Does that scare you?”
“Yes.”
His eyes softened. “Don’t be scared.”
“I’m too smart not to be. I know myself too well.”
He sat back with a sigh. “This is the peril of loving a psychologist, isn’t it?”
Anne smiled. “That and the bad sex jokes.”
He perked up. “There are bad sex jokes?”
“So many bad sex jokes. Thousands of them.”
“That’ll give me something to look forward to then.”
“MURPHY.”
He leaned closer as they waited for the formal arrival of Jetta Ommunsdotter in Terry and Gemma’s drawing room. “Yes, love?”
“What do a condom and a coffin have in common?”
“I’m shocked that I don’t know. What do a condom and a coffin have in common?”
“They both hold stiffs. But one is coming and one is going.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “I want to ask what kind of clients you’ve been seeing, but I’m afraid to ask.”
“Vampires. Despicable creatures. The necrophilia jokes almost write themselves.”
He smothered his laugh with a hard cough as Anne calmly sipped her glass of blood-wine.
Jetta arrived with a full retinue of what Anne privately thought of as her “Viking marauders.” No, not all of them were that old, but they were—both male and female—very tall, very handsome, and very serious. Every now and then, one of the Viking marauders would smile, but not often.
Anne stepped forward. “Jetta.”
“Anne!” Jetta smiled and reached out to grip her hand in a hard but friendly shake. “It’s very good to see you. How is Mary?”
“Doing very well, but very busy. I was happy to come as her representative this trip.”
Jetta spoke in completely unaccented English. She sounded more American than many American vampires. Her eyes were a frosty blue, and her dark blond hair was cut in stylish layers around her face. She wore an elegant pantsuit as businesslike as it was feminine. Despite her height and fierce expression, she was a friendly sort and defaulted to cool detachment instead of rage when she was displeased. Overall, Anne knew Jetta would be one of the easiest political players to spend time with during this summit.
“It is always pleasant to see you.” Jetta turned to Murphy. “And you, Murphy. I see Ireland is well represented in London.”
“It took long enough.”
Jetta smiled. “A republican till the end.”
Anne closed her eyes. “And that’s one more debate that we don’t need for this trip.”
Gemma and Terry interrupted to show Jetta to the wine and make sure her entourage was settled.
Anne tapped a fingernail on her wineglass. “Why is she here?”
“Jetta?”
“Yes.”
“Her trading interests are extensive.”
“But most have to do with energy and fossil fuels, don’t they?”
“She’s already transitioning. Deepwater drilling won’t always be as profitable as it is now.”
“Alternative energies?”
“Something about deepwater-wave energy conversion. Her research is very hush-hush, but the rumors are promising.”
“So she’s forward thinking.”
“Jetta?” Murphy raised an eyebrow. “Always.”
“She must be concerned about the blood supply too.”
“Undoubtedly. We’ve had the devil’s time finding out how much Elixir has encroached in Scandinavia. Traditionally they’ve had far more open borders than we have, so it could be quite extensive. But it’s geographically big, and many of her people are what the Americans would call ‘off the grid.’ Even the water vampires tend to live in more isolated locations. Their immortal population isn’t as condensed, and that may have shielded them from infection.”
Anne surveyed the Viking marauders. “Her people don’t look any weaker.” Anne looked up at his continued silence. “What?”
Murphy glanced at her glass of blood-wine. “Appearances can be deceiving.”
She schooled her expression to remain placid. “What does that mean? Do you think there’s something wrong with Jetta’s people?”
Redirection didn’t work.
“How many glasses of blood-wine tonight, Anne?”
“None of your business. You like your whiskey; I like my wine.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
Anne’s eyes searched the room. “I believe Gemma is calling me over. Excuse me, Murphy.”
“Anne!” He bent to her ear and whispered, “If you would take my vein—”
“I refuse to discuss this here.” She put a hand to his chest and felt the hard thump of his heartbeat twice. “I’ll speak with you later. Right now, I believe Gemma wants me to meet someone.”
She left him without ano
ther look and walked toward Gemma, who was standing near a boyish-looking vampire with tousled brown hair.
“Anne!” Gemma said. “Have you met my youngest brother, Daniel? He does this constantly, appearing out of nowhere.”
“I can transform into a bat,” the young man said in mock solemnity. “Didn’t Father teach you that trick, Gem?”
Gemma grinned and pinched his arm. “You’re terrible. Daniel lives near The Lakes, but he mostly rambles all over the place and climbs mountains. I had no idea he was going to be here.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Anne said.
“Gemma has mentioned you before. You live in Galway?”
“Galway County, yes. Almost into Clare, actually.”
“I love Clare. I haven’t climbed the cliffs in too long.”
“The cliffs? Of Moher?”
He grinned. “Yes, those.”
Anne laughed. “Are you allowed to climb those?”
“Probably not the parts I like.” He winked. “Luckily you can get away with a lot in the dark.”
“Well…” Anne had to smile at his cheek. “Welcome to the summit.”
“Oh no.” Daniel held up both hands. “I have absolutely no interest in politics. I simply wanted to catch up with Father and Brigid. I haven’t seen them in ages.”
As if on cue, something landed on Daniel’s back, causing him to stumble forward with an “oof.” A bright purple head appeared over Daniel’s shoulder.
“You’re here!” Brigid said with a grin, clutching Daniel’s shoulders as he held her up. “We didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Brigid”—Gemma broke in—“do try to avoid destroying any antiques.”
“Relax, Gem,” Daniel said. “And I didn’t know myself until Tavish mentioned it last week. How’ve you been, Mum?”
Brigid scowled. “Please stop calling me that.”
Large hands plucked Brigid off Daniel’s back as Carwyn joined the family reunion in Gemma’s front room.
“Good to see you,” he said, tucking Brigid under his arm and giving Daniel’s shoulders a back-slapping hug. “And you should absolutely call her Mum. Don’t be fooled. She loves it. She’s very sentimental—ow, stop pinching me!”
The Scarlet Deep Page 13