The Scarlet Deep

by Elizabeth Hunter

“It wasn’t awful at all. Just consuming. This is me, Patrick. When I love, I love completely. I know this about me. You do the same.”

  “You say I consumed you, but I never saw it that way.” His thumb stroked along the inside of her wrist. “You were my anchor.”

  “Patrick—”

  “Take your time. Keep your distance if you need to, Anne.” He took a carefully measured breath and released it. “God knows, I’ve made more than my share of mistakes. I’ve waited a hundred years for you to start speaking to me again. I’ll wait longer. Just don’t cut me out completely, and don’t hurt yourself because you don’t want to ask for help.”

  Patrick Murphy had taken her heart, held it, and nurtured it. Then he’d dropped it, crushed it, and left her behind. Yet she’d never turned away from him. Not completely. And he’d never forgotten her.

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

  Of course I am, Dr. O’Dea.

  Didn’t he know?

  She’d never stopped.

  He held her hand all the way home, but Anne couldn’t say another word.

  Chapter Thirteen

  CARWYN ANSWERED THEIR KNOCK with uncharacteristic churlishness.

  “What?” The heavy door swung open, and his mood dissolved as soon as he saw her face. “Anne? What’s wrong?”

  “May we come in?” she asked.

  Carwyn frowned. “Murphy?”

  “A few moments would be greatly appreciated, Father.”

  He waved them in and shut the door. “You’ve got to stop with the father business. It bothers Brigid.”

  “Sorry,” Murphy said, feeling moderately regretful. “It’s habit.”

  “I understand.” He walked down the hall and led them into a library where Anne noticed a sleeping Brigid curled on the couch.

  “Carwyn.” She halted. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea we were so close to dawn.”

  “It’s fine.” He tucked a blanket around his mate. “Since we mated, she’ll sometimes wake when I’m still conscious. It’s very random. I’d put her to bed”—Carwyn poured two glasses of whiskey for them—“but she hates waking when I’m not there. She’ll be fine. Sit. You’ve a look about you, Anne. What’s wrong?”

  “Is it so obvious?”

  Murphy pulled her down to a couch and sat close to her.

  Carwyn frowned. “Only obvious to someone who knows you well. What is it?”

  Murphy said nothing, leaving Anne to decide how much she wanted to share. She trusted Carwyn completely, but…

  “I have a condition,” Anne said. “I’ve had it for years. It’s nothing damaging, but I’ve always needed to feed more. I haven’t had a problem since I was a newborn, but with the feeding restrictions in place, I’ve been… limited. Animal blood doesn’t seem to suffice.”

  The old vampire leaned forward, immediately alert. “You’re struggling with bloodlust?”

  “Yes.”

  “How often?”

  “Do I struggle with my control?” Every night.

  “No,” he said. “How often are you feeding?”

  “Once a month with live blood. Animal and blood-wine between. But those don’t seem to be enough.”

  “That’s surprising. And you’ve had problems recently?”

  Murphy took Anne’s hand in his. “She took three humans in a park tonight. Was on the verge of tearing their throats out before I found her.”

  Carwyn’s eyes widened, but he remained silent.

  “Before the feeding restrictions,” Anne said, “I would feed twice a week. I never had a problem.”

  “Twice a week at your age?”

  She nodded. “As I said, I’ve always needed more. I can’t share why.”

  “Hmm.” Carwyn scratched the heavy stubble of his beard. Unlike Murphy, he preferred to wear facial hair even though it took ages for vampire hair to grow. Combined with his size, deep auburn hair, and roughly handsome face, it gave the old earth vampire a wild and dangerous look. But as there were few who’d challenge him anyway, Anne suspected he kept the beard for his own pleasure. There was little to no artifice around Carwyn ap Bryn.

  “The simple solution is that you need to be feeding more,” Carwyn said. “Your body is healthy, but your amnis must be starved if you’re having trouble controlling bloodlust at your age. Your mind was accustomed to a certain level of human blood, and then you cut it off. You essentially put your amnis on a diet your mind wasn’t prepared for.”

  “But why isn’t animal blood enough? You drink nothing but animal blood.”

  “That is what I have drunk for most of the past thousand years. And I hunt. Wild animals, not domestic. Elder vampires will tell you domestic blood does not have enough of the fifth element to feed our energy.” He glanced at Murphy. “And I’m mated, Anne. That has made a difference. Brigid does not keep to a strict animal diet. She drinks from our household staff. Taking her blood has made me far stronger.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  Was Carwyn going to suggest she renew her mating bond with Murphy just to regain her health?

  That wasn’t going to happen. If and when she took his blood, Anne didn’t want it to be for health reasons or out of desperation. Murphy deserved better than to be the option of last resort.

  Carwyn said, “You need to drink living blood to set your system to rights. A lot of it.”

  Murphy said nothing, but she could almost hear his “I told you so” in her mind. She knew Carwyn was probably thinking the same thing.

  “Anne hasn’t asked, so I will,” Murphy said, speaking quickly. “Would you or Brigid give her some blood? She would prefer not to drink mine, and I believe she needs an infusion of amnis. Even more than just drinking from humans. You’re the only two vampires in Dublin that we can ask.”

  “I agree about the blood,” Carwyn said. “I was going to suggest Tywyll, but I know he’s often hard to track down, and I think you need blood immediately. I can sense the… I’ll call it an imbalance. Your hunger is obvious to others, which presents as a weakness we cannot afford in foreign territory. I do offer, my friend. If you have need.”

  “I don’t want to ask.” Anne blinked back tears and tried to ignore the simmering anger from Murphy.

  “You’re not asking; I’m offering. After all you’ve given of your time and friendship for Brigid and me? You know either of us would be happy to help you in any way we can. Will you take it, please?”

  She nodded, and Carwyn rose to his feet.

  “Let me get you a glass. That will make things more comfortable for both of us.”

  “Thank you.”

  As soon as Carwyn left the room, Anne turned to Murphy. “Patrick—”

  “I’m going to go.” His jaw was clenched. “I can accept the necessity of this, but don’t ask me—”

  “I wasn’t going to,” she said. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said, his voice low. “I’m sitting next to you, and yet you won’t… I need to leave.”

  Anne put her hand on his arm. “Patrick, I’m not doing this to hurt you.”

  “What then?” His jaw tensed. “To test me?”

  “It’s not a test. I just… I want—”

  “What?” he snapped, rousing Brigid from her sleep.

  The small woman leapt to her feet, twin pools of flame in her palms, glaring at Murphy with clouded eyes and bared fangs.

  “Brigid”—Anne leaped between Murphy and her friend—“it’s just us. We’re fighting is all. There’s no danger.”

  “Anne, get back!” Murphy tried to shove her to the side, but Anne was unmoved, even as she felt Murphy wrap her in a layer of water drawn from the moisture in the air. The young vampire snarled as footsteps came pounding down the hall.

  “Hello, my lovely girl,” Carwyn said, sliding his arms around Brigid from behind. He curled his body over her, putting his cheek to hers and wrapping both arms around her waist, his eyes fixed on the fi
re in her hands. “Calm, love. You’re among friends.”

  Anne was about to call on the water in the air to douse the flames, but Brigid sank into her mate, her body softening as he drew her heat into his body. The flames disappeared as the fire vampire drew a deep breath. Anne relaxed. She glanced over her shoulder at Murphy, whose fangs were down; he looked ready to lunge toward the tiny woman. She put a hand on his arm and he fell back.

  “What’s going on?” Brigid said, her voice hoarse. “Why’s Anne and Murphy here?”

  “Anne’s not feeling well, my love.”

  “I told you that last night.” Brigid nuzzled into his neck. “Something all wrong with her amnis. ’S obvious.”

  “I’m so glad you shared your concerns with me,” Anne said sharply.

  “So’s you can brush ’em off? D’you kill anyone yet?” She slurred her words, still drowsy. “Told Murphy… So damn stubborn ’bout asking for help.”

  Carwyn hid his face in Brigid’s neck to hide his smile.

  “I love you too, Brigid. Carwyn has offered me some of his blood to help with my… condition. With his age, it’s probably the strongest.”

  That seemed to snap Brigid more awake. “What the hell you need my mate’s blood for when yours is standing behind you?”

  Carwyn’s mouth dropped open. “Well… ah, Brigid. Anne and Murphy—”

  “Are mated. And they love each other. It’s bloody obvious.”

  Anne felt Murphy tense again.

  Brigid rubbed her eyes. “Bollocks. I’m too tired to be polite. Ignore me, Anne. Or don’t.” She held out her arm. “Here now, you’re like my sister. Take mine. I won’t react well to you taking Carwyn’s. And taking mine won’t drive Murphy as crazy. We all know that if your amnis is weak, drinking my blood will be like putting your mouth on a lightning bolt. There, everyone happy?”

  Murphy growled, but Carwyn stepped away from Brigid and held up a hand. “Here now, lad. Let’s leave them. I’ve a few ideas about the meeting tomorrow night I wanted to run by you. Join me in Terry’s library?”

  Anne felt Murphy shift behind her, then he bent down and dragged his cheek over hers. She felt the edge of one of his fangs scrape against her neck, and then he was gone. Carwyn followed him as Brigid sat on the couch again and pulled up her arm.

  Anne sat down next to her, knowing that she needed the blood and just as reluctant about taking it. “Brigid, do you really think—”

  “That he’s in love with you? As if it wasn’t obvious with that territorial display. I’ve never seen him possessive around a woman. Ever. This test you have running for him is almost cruel, Anne.”

  Anne’s mouth dropped open. “I was going to ask about the lightning-bolt thing actually. And it’s not a test for him. It’s a test for myself.”

  “Neither of you need to be tested.”

  She tried to remain calm. “I realize that Patrick is your friend, but I’m afraid you weren’t there when we ended our relationship. It wasn’t pleasant. If you were there, you’d understand my reservations.”

  “Everyone fights, Anne.”

  “Nearly thirty years after we separated, he drove out to Galway in one of his fancy motorcars, accompanied by three human women who were fawning all over him, and showed up at my house without warning while I was hosting a dinner party. Then he proceeded to ask me why he was forced to invite humans to his bed when he had a mate who should be ‘seeing to his needs.’”

  Brigid’s mouth dropped. “Okay, that’s bad.”

  “Then he accused me of leaving him for one of my dinner guests. A guest who happened to be married. I had met his new wife that same evening.”

  Brigid winced. “Murphy created a scene. He never does that. He hates scenes with a passion.”

  “I suspect he does now. But at that time? He could be a proper bastard, Brigid. I’m glad to say he’s grown, but he was horrid to me. To my sister. To my friends. You’re welcome to ask Josie if you like. She was the one who finally put a stop to it. Tom is the one who knocked sense into him.”

  Brigid grumbled, “I think I want to change my vote.”

  “Don’t judge him for who he was seventy years ago,” Anne said. “In his defense, the war was an awful time for everyone. And he has changed. I can see that. He tried to show me before, but I wasn’t willing to listen.”

  “Are you ready to take his blood?”

  “No. I don’t want it to be because of my health.”

  Brigid held out her arm. “Then we should do this.”

  “I don’t want to have to take your blood either.”

  “So bloody independent—no pun intended.” Brigid rubbed her eyes. “How many times did you have to help me my first year? It’s not like you never shoved a wrist in my face to keep me from biting a human. Let someone else help you for a change.”

  “Brigid…” Anne closed her eyes and fingered the remnants of her stockings where they were torn at the thighs. “I feel like such a ninny.”

  “You are one, but mostly about Murphy.”

  “Will you stop?”

  “You said yourself that he’s changed.”

  “And you think he’s possessive now?” Anne shook her head. “You didn’t know him before. I have a life. Is it so hard to understand that I don’t want to lose myself again?”

  “Why not?” Brigid asked. “Look at Carwyn. You think I don’t feel lost in that crazy man sometimes? His love is… enormous. Baffling. I feel like he takes over every part of me.” Brigid’s smile was halting. “But by some miracle, he’d tell you the same thing. That’s why it works.”

  “And if you lost it?” Anne pulled her legs up to her chest. “Have you ever asked yourself what you’d do?”

  “I have lost love,” Brigid said. “You know that more than anyone. I know the worst that can happen, because it killed me. But if I spent every moment of eternity wondering about what might happen, I’d meet the dawn tomorrow. There are no guarantees. Not even from those who love you the most.”

  “Patrick and I—”

  “One hundred years, Anne. You separated one hundred years ago, and you’ve found your way back to each other. Grab on to happiness when it’s given to you and fight for it.”

  “Brigid—”

  “Fight for it.” Brigid’s expression was fierce. “Even if it means you’re fighting him. If Carwyn broke my trust, I’d break his head! We’d fight. We’d yell. I’d burn things up. Mostly by accident. And then he’d apologize and I’d apologize and we’d make it work again. Love is messy, but it’s worth it. It’s worth fighting for. Don’t you believe that?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Really?” Brigid’s look said she doubted her.

  “I…” She couldn’t finish a thought.

  Anne counseled other immortals to allow emotion in their lives. Admonished them to find love and trust. But when it was her own heart at stake?

  So much harder.

  “Drink.” Brigid held out her arm. “Maybe then things will be clearer.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I HAVE MY SUSPICIONS ABOUT Leonor and the Russians,” Carwyn said. “She and Oleg have a history.”

  Murphy almost snapped the cue stick in two, he was gripping it so tightly. “Oleg has a history with the majority of the female vampire lords in Europe. The man has a type and it usually involves breasts, political savvy, and massive ego. It’s not the Russians.”

  “How do you know?” Carwyn asked. “I’d never thought about it before, but when Jetta brought it up, it made sense. And we all know they’re cagey bastards.”

  Murphy didn’t know. It was instinct. Or—as Tom more correctly surmised—a meeting of a multitude of facts in his mind. It was the same way he knew an opponent might come from the left instead of the right. It wasn’t their feet, but the lean of their hips and the angle of their eyes. The flinch in a shoulder. A minute lift of elbow or a clenched hand. Murphy couldn’t quantify it. Boxing or politics. He made decisions based on a hundred ti
ny pieces of knowledge that coalesced into assurance.

  “The Russians are not behind this,” he said again. “I think it’s Athens.”

  Carwyn frowned. “The Greeks? They might be involved peripherally, but they wouldn’t get their hands dirty. Impossible.”

  Murphy missed potting a red ball and stepped away from the table, letting out a frustrated breath. “Because we’re all so familiar with the impossible, yes? Carwyn, we’re mythical creatures who feed on blood and live for hundreds or thousands of years. Do you really believe Athens masterminding this plot is too far-fetched?”

  “They’re lazy.”

  “They invented democracy. Give them a little credit for original thought.”

  “They’re also cash poor. Their court is bloated.”

  “But they have the connections.” He tapped his stick on the ground, grateful for the distraction of politics. “There’s something. There’s a thread I’m not seeing. I need to think about it more. Elixir is touching water in the Black Sea. With this shipment of infected humans, I’m almost positive that’s the source. But the Greeks wouldn’t be shipping from the Black Sea.”

  “Because…” Carwyn pointed his cue stick at Murphy. “It’s not the Greeks,”

  He potted three balls in a row before he miscalculated a cushion shot.

  “You’re much better at this game than Terry is.”

  “I’ve been playing longer.”

  “It is the Greeks. I just can’t see the connection. Yet. Who runs the Russian ports in the Black Sea?”

  Carwyn shrugged. “It will be one of Oleg’s children. He only trusts his children to run things.”

  “It’s a good thing he has so many of them.”

  “Unusual for a fire vampire.”

  “But smart for anyone who wants to hold Russia.” Murphy frowned. “What element was Oleg sired from?”

  Fire vampires could be sired from any element, and their offspring would be sired back to it. Murphy wondered what particular animal Oleg’s children were.

  “There are contradictory rumors, but I know for a fact that Oleg’s sire was an earth vampire. And a very nasty individual.”