The Scarlet Deep

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “Really?” That didn’t fit with what Murphy had imagined. Earth vampires were solid leaders, but not as politically motivated. Or as scheming. “No, the Greeks wouldn’t work with an earth vampire.”

  Carwyn laughed. “I do enjoy how the facts don’t seem to matter when they don’t fit your narrative.”

  “Because I know I’m right.” Murphy stepped back to the snooker table. “If something doesn’t fit, then there’s something I’m not seeing. Yet.”

  “No one ever accused you of lacking confidence.”

  He took four shots, racking up points while Carwyn watched silently.

  “You’ve distracted me admirably, Father. My thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Carwyn leaned against the paneled wall. “In case you were wondering, she is worth it.”

  “I know she is.”

  “Anne’s loyalty is absolute. That’s why she’s so cautious giving it.”

  “I know that as well.” He took another drink. “We met when I was quite young. I was… careless with her. I will not be again.”

  Carwyn nodded and began putting the room to rights. Dawn wasn’t far off. “Give her the night. Let her get her equilibrium back. She’s not been thinking clearly, I imagine.”

  “But does that work for or against me?”

  Carwyn laughed. “I cannot tell you that, my friend. But I imagine Brigid is in your corner.”

  “Brigid is a good friend.”

  His smile softened. “She is. My mate is a woman of extraordinary character. Don’t think I didn’t try to convince her to leave Dublin. But she’s loyal, just like Anne.”

  “Then I suppose we’re both lucky bastards, aren’t we?”

  MURPHY didn’t see Anne until the meeting the next night with Jetta, Rens, and the British vampires. Jean Desmarais from Marseilles and Leonor from Spain had arrived just before dawn the night before, and both were now meeting with the larger group.

  “Leonor.” Terry was starting to lose patience. “Everything we’ve uncovered so far says that Elixir is coming out of the Eastern Mediterranean and is pointed at the North Sea. It has to be coming through Gibraltar.”

  “You have no evidence of that,” the Spanish leader said, nonchalant. “I came here in good faith. I had no idea I was going to be immediately accused by those I considered allies.”

  Leonor was a dark-haired water vampire who claimed to be of Spanish royal descent. Though royal blood certainly wasn’t an unusual claim made by immortals, Murphy suspected Leonor was an aristocrat in truth. She appeared as a handsome woman in her midforties to humans, though Murphy suspected she’d been closer to thirty in mortal years. But she wore her age well and had always—as long as Murphy had known her—had immaculate style. More importantly, she was a dependable immortal leader in the notoriously unstable path between Europe and Africa. Her shipping interests and joint economic investment with Tripoli had been vital in stabilizing the region.

  And she was more than respected. She was feared. Leonor had no consort and was allegedly very choosy regarding lovers lest one challenge her authority.

  Shortsighted, in Murphy’s opinion. In his experience, leaders with a trusted consort were far more powerful and less vulnerable to takeover.

  “No one is accusing you of anything, Leonor,” Murphy said. “We’re simply asking you what you’ve heard.”

  “Most likely the same that you have,” she said. “Do you realize how many freighters pass through the strait in even a single day?”

  “But surely there is some gossip,” Jetta said. “You must have made inquiries.”

  She shrugged. “This drug has not been seen in our cities. It is not a priority for us. A few isolated cases of humans in Majorca, but that is all.”

  Murphy glanced at Anne, who passed him a note.

  She’s lying. There’ve been more cases than that, and she knows it.

  Murphy nodded. Terry and Leonor were allies, but Terry and Gemma had been attacked in Spanish territory at one point, and that had damaged the relationship. Further, Terry and Leonor had become rivals in the race to push blood-wine to market. Their host was being too aggressive.

  “Jean,” Murphy interrupted before Terry could speak again. “I’d like to know what the status in France is. I know Rome has been surprisingly isolated from infection. What about Marseilles?”

  Jean smiled, knowing exactly what Murphy was doing.

  “Of course,” he said. “We’ve not seen as great an effect as your territories, but it has been increasing.”

  Jean Desmarais had arrived in London shortly before Leonor and was staying at his own property in Kensington with a sizable entourage. Far from the refined stereotype of the European businessman, Jean’s face still bore signs of his human life on the water. Though, like Murphy, he knew how to clean up for company.

  He and Terry had done business for years and were known allies, though Murphy had heard rumors the relationship had been strained by the blood-wine business. Some rumors even implied that the blood-wine preservation technique that Terry and Gemma had perfected was first developed by Jean.

  If an ally had swiped proprietary information from one of Murphy’s businesses, he would have been livid. But so far, Jean appeared to be as amenable and friendly as always.

  He’d arrived for the meeting with only two guards and an attractive human assistant carrying his electronics. Jean had always been a likable sort, though he used his affability and friendships to hide a ruthless business acumen. France was no easy country to govern within, having some of the most divided immortal population in Europe. Jean ruled Marseilles and most of the southern coast, but the vampires in Paris detested the dapper Frenchman, whom they saw as an upstart.

  “Nice has had a few cases”—Jean was still speaking—“Marseilles has had more. I’m very fortunate that only two of my own people have been infected, and both of them have living sires, but it is an increasing concern. There are rumors that Paris is heavily infected, and I have limited travel there for those under my aegis. Even I must admit there are more rumors swirling at this point than facts. I’ve held off on speaking publicly until I came to the summit. And”—he looked at Leonor—“I also must admit an extreme curiosity about information from Gibraltar. You have to know more than you are sharing, Leonor.”

  “If you want to know what is happening in the strait,” Leonor said waspishly, “ask your friend Rens. He has plenty of his little spies in the city.”

  Rens spread his hands. “My father had a historic relationship with immortals in Gibraltar. Surely you don’t expect us to cut ties with our friends because he is no longer living?”

  “Friends? Is that what you call your informants?”

  Rens said nothing but gave Leonor an enigmatic smile.

  “I think we’re all curious, Leonor,” Gemma said calmly. “Curious, not suspicious. If everyone would endeavor to be civil, please.”

  “You need a new shipping dispatcher in London,” Jean said with a smile. “Then you would have all the information about Leonor’s ports that you need. But perhaps that’s not a very civil suggestion.”

  Murphy raised an eyebrow and watched Terry glare at Jean. Perhaps the Frenchman wasn’t as indifferent about the loss of his winemaker as Terry and Gemma thought.

  “It’s quite clear from the information we have pooled that the source is somewhere in the Eastern Mediterranean,” Jetta said, getting the conversation back on track. “But it is the North Sea and the Baltic countries that have been more heavily infected. No one suspects you of producing or shipping this drug, Leonor. We are simply curious what you have heard. Your territories do lie between the apparent source and the territories most affected. Though your own country seems safe for now, if this is not stemmed, it will affect us all.”

  Anne spoke up. “What about Suez? Does anyone have any information from the Libyans?”

  Rens said, “I may have something I can share by the end of this week. I’ve made inquiries because I anticipated th
is question.”

  “What about America?” Anne asked, glancing at her notes. “Is there anything new?”

  “New York is coming tomorrow night,” Jean said. “Have there been cases of infection in the New World?”

  “Other than the outbreak in California, none that I’m aware of,” Gemma said.

  “Ah yes,” Jetta said. “The large outbreak in Ernesto’s territory that was tied to the Russians, was it not?”

  “It’s not the Russians,” Murphy said.

  “You don’t know that,” Jetta said. “None of us do. Elixir is affecting all the countries we know of along the Baltic Sea except for Russia. How could this be if Oleg is not involved?”

  He sensed Anne’s tension increase at the mention of the Russians and made a note to ask her about it later.

  Jean said, “Just because Oleg has not publicly acknowledged Elixir infection does not mean it does not exist. We all know he is cautious about what information leaves his country.”

  “Jean,” Murphy said. “The rumors you mentioned, what have you heard?”

  “In France? A little of everything,” Jean said. “Some say that whoever is producing it has perfected Livia’s formula and it is no longer lethal. Some say that Livia never died in Rome at all and she is still producing it in Bulgaria.”

  “Livia is most assuredly dead, but Bulgaria would fit with the shipping history,” Terry said. “It’s Eastern Mediterranean. Have we checked into that?”

  “Bulgaria is run by a Greek figurehead,” Jean said. “We all know how difficult it is to get reliable information from that part of the world.”

  “Oh really?” Murphy said, looking at Carwyn at one end of the table. “A Greek figurehead? How interesting.”

  “Not really,” Jean said. “Most of those smaller territories have allegiance to Athens in some way, either by political marriage or economic tie. It’s mostly symbolic. You know the Greeks; they’re archaic.”

  “And we’re not?” Terry said.

  Murphy said, “Speak for yourself, old man.”

  Friendly laughter spread through the room, leaving the air a little lighter than it had been moments before. Murphy was happy to have broken the tension, if only for a while. Terry announced a half-hour break for everyone to conference with their people.

  Murphy was having a hard time reconciling Leonor’s past cooperation with her attitude at the table earlier. She was usually more agreeable. Perhaps there were other factors in play. He’d have to talk with Brigid and see what the chatter among the security teams had been. Often the greater intelligence came from those who observed, not those who spoke.

  “Did you get your notes transcribed for Mary last night?” he asked Anne quietly. “I saw her courier here at dusk.”

  “I did. I told him not to come back until the end of the week though. If Mary wants more current reports, she can call.”

  “How are you feeling?” He tried to keep his tone light even as he whispered.

  “Fine.”

  “I’m coming to hate that word.”

  “Truly.” She gave him a small smile. “I do mean it this time. My head is much clearer, and I fed at dusk from one of Carwyn and Brigid’s staff.”

  “Good.” He flipped through the notes he’d taken during the meeting. “Have you… Did you decide what you wanted to do about your quarters? Shall I send one of our people over with your things?”

  He’d heard her early in the night, getting ready in her rooms. But he also knew she’s rested at Brigid and Carwyn’s suite during the day.

  “My things are fine where they are,” she said quietly.

  “Thank you.”

  “You don’t need to thank me,” she said. “You’ve shown… great patience, Murphy. I didn’t know you had such restraint.”

  His hands froze. “I told you I’d mastered my more impulsive instincts.”

  “I believe you.”

  “But do you trust me?”

  She said nothing, and Murphy looked up. For the first time, there was something else in her eyes besides caution. Regret? Had she already decided against him?

  “Anne—”

  “I need to apologize to you,” she said. “I realize that now. But not here.”

  “No.” His heart thumped once. “Not here.”

  IF anything could make the tedium of political maneuvering even slower than normal, it was the knowledge that Anne wanted to speak to him. Wanted to apologize? For what?

  Murphy tried to focus on the other parties as each one gave their most self-serving pitch about why it was important for the others to share information before they did. Two hours in, he was ready to murder them all. He’d have the fallout from across Europe to deal with, but he was almost to the point that he didn’t care.

  As if sensing the level of subdued violence in the room, Gemma decided to adjourn the meeting early, giving the excuse of needing to speak with Leonor about a shipment of wine grapes. Every other party fled after that, though Murphy and Terry had been trapped by Brigid and Roger, who were concerned that they still had no idea where Rens Anker and his people were staying in the city.

  He left Terry to deal with reassuring them and made it back to the Mayfair house, only to find Anne absent from their suite.

  “Judith!” he called to the human secretary, who still jumped every time he appeared.

  “Yes, Mr. Murphy?” She was fiddling with her hair again. “Did you need something, sir? Can I transcribe your notes from the meeting? Did you need to make any calls?”

  “No. I mean yes, but not right now.” He shoved his notes at her. “You can have these. I’ll schedule a call later. Right now, I need to find Dr. O’Dea. Where is she?” If she’d left the house, he might go on a rampage.

  “I believe I saw Dr. O’Dea heading toward the pool room, Mr. Murphy. Will that be all?”

  He waved her away and stalked down the hall, following the scent of saltwater. The pool beneath Terry and Gemma’s home resembled one of the old Roman baths at Aquae Sulis. Marble lined the walls and columns rose around the perimeter of the large rectangular pool. It was only one of the pools in the home. A smaller one had been built in the family wing. This one was for guests, and Anne swam nearly every night.

  He reached the double doors, opened them, and checked for any other company. A human attendant stood near the opposite set of doors, holding towels and looking at a mobile phone while Anne swam laps.

  “Leave,” he told the young woman, nodding at the door behind her. “And lock that.”

  She glanced at Anne, then at him. He saw a light flush color her cheeks. “Yes, Mr. Murphy.”

  “See that we’re not disturbed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He locked the double doors and dragged a heavy lounge chair to the edge of the pool, watching as she flipped and turned under the water.

  Patient? He could be patient. But patience was wearing thin.

  Anne surfaced at the far end of the pool and turned. “Murphy?”

  “Our meetings are finished for the evening, Dr. O’Dea.”

  “Are they? That’s good to know.”

  She sat on the steps and faced him across the length of the water, then took the elastic band from her hair and dipped the length in the water to smooth it away from her face. He saw the nerves in her eyes, but he couldn’t comprehend why.

  “Did you want a swim?” she asked. “You never got yours last night. I know it’s salt, but—”

  “You said you needed to apologize to me. For what?”

  She paused and he wished she’d come closer, but she remained at the far end. Their words echoed off the marble walls.

  Anne rose from the water and he watched it pour off her, fine rivulets running down her shapely shoulders and over her breasts. The water caressed the curve of her waist and her thighs as she walked up the marble steps and out of the pool. She made no attempt to cover herself as she walked toward him.

  “I asked Brigid last night what she would do if she lo
st Carwyn’s love. If he ever betrayed her or broke her trust.”

  His heart was beating, the sluggish flow of blood beginning to pulse in his veins.

  “I imagine her response bordered on violent.”

  “Oh yes.”

  She kept walking toward him, and his body rose in greeting, his arousal pressing against the fine wool trousers he’d donned for the evening. He sat perfectly still and watched his mate.

  “I wanted to laugh at her,” Anne said. “But then I realized what she really meant was that she would fight for him. For their relationship.”

  “Yes.”

  “She asked me if I thought love was worth fighting for.”

  His voice came out in a low rumble. “And what did you say?”

  “I said I did. But then I realized I hadn’t done that. When the time came that our relationship was challenged, I didn’t fight for us.”

  A new wave of guilt slapped him. “Anne, it wasn’t your—”

  “I was hurt. I was shocked. And I didn’t fight.”

  The look on her face tore him apart.

  “I was the one in the wrong,” he said. “I know that. I knew it then; I was too proud. I deserved to lose you.”

  “But I have to admit my part, Patrick. I walked away to nurse my wounds. I am sorry for that.”

  His palms clenched into fists. He rested them on the edge of the chair where he still sat, trying to remain calm as she approached.

  “I accept your apology,” he said. “Do you accept mine?”

  “Yes.” She paused, closed her eyes, and said, “I forgave you years ago.”

  “Open your eyes, Anne. I need to see them.”

  She opened them, and Murphy saw everything he’d missed in her. The strong heart. The stubborn will. Tenderness. Passion. Love.

  Anne might not have admitted her feelings yet, but he could read the love in her eyes.

  “Why didn’t you come to me?” he asked.

  She choked out a laugh. “Why did it take you a hundred years to apologize?”

  “So we’re both stubborn. We knew this already.” His eyes locked with hers. “What now then?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but I want the past to be past.”