The Scarlet Deep

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “Please,” came a small voice from the ground.

  The girl clutching her leg couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, but her skin was wan and her hair dull. Bites marked her neck and back where Anne could see the skin.

  “Please,” she said again. “It is the only thing that helps.”

  Anne could hear Brigid banging on the door and screaming, but she knew it would take time to open the door. She was caught in the throes of bloodlust, trapped with Elixired humans.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  IT WAS ALL THERE IN BLACK-AND-WHITE. Jean had been coordinating the shipping for months, at first straightening out the mess of distribution that Zara had entangled herself in since she started shipping the drug, then expanding the operation, moving ships to lesser-known ports that would be lightly regulated by immortal interests.

  Jean, being the organized smuggler that he was, had notes in the ledger on every load, along with abbreviations for what Murphy suspected were human carriers.

  It was horrifying.

  So many more than Murphy had expected. Dozens of ships had left Varna and Bourgas with cargo. Carriers had left from Constanța and Samsun. They had landed in dozens of ports all over the Mediterranean and in the North Sea, showing heavy traffic in the Baltic states. They had not, apparently, been able to dock in Russia.

  Carwyn was reading over his shoulder.

  “He is dead,” the old vampire said. “If you or Terry do not finish him, then I will.”

  “We need to take this to Terry.”

  He felt Brigid’s scream before he heard it. The heat rushing toward the room was near overwhelming. He lifted a veil of water to the door a second before she burst in. She sizzled as her burning skin ran through the mist, but it seemed to cool her down.

  “Brigid, what in hell—”

  “Anne is in a locked room with two Elixired humans!”

  Murphy’s stomach dropped to his feet. “No.”

  He ran out of the room and down endless flights of stairs, following Brigid’s newest scent trail, the burning-hawthorn smell drawing him toward his mate.

  He ran, desperate for her.

  No.

  He skidded past a sealed door and slowed, walking back to it with careful steps. He listened. He opened his amnis and felt for her, drawing the water to his body as he searched.

  There.

  He was trying to wrench the door open when he heard Brigid and Carwyn make it to him.

  “Help me, Father.” He put his shoulder into it, but not even immortal strength was budging the locked door. “You can break through this,” Murphy said. “I can feel her on the other side.”

  “Anne!” Brigid yelled. “We’re coming for you!”

  ANNE heard her friend on the other side of the door, heard her mate and her friend, desperately trying to reach her. She closed her eyes and kept pushing the humans back, but they were relentless. Anne didn’t want to hurt them. Or herself.

  “Please,” the girl said. “It hurts. But when the monsters bite us, it is better. They’ve been gone and we haven’t slept in so long.”

  The boy said, “The water doesn’t satisfy our thirst anymore.”

  There were empty cans of food and bottles of water scattered in the corner. How had Zara and Jean drugged them? With the water bottles? Had they boarded the ship infected? Anne focused on the questions racing through her mind and not on the seductive pull of their blood.

  “Please,” the girl said again, reaching for her.

  Anne grabbed for both their hands, then she pushed her amnis toward them and both humans fell to the ground, forced into a deep sleep.

  But their blood still called her, teasing her senses and promising satisfaction she knew was a lie.

  “Murphy,” she whispered. “Please.”

  Anne didn’t know how much longer she could hold out. Her stomach ached, but she could live with that. Her fangs throbbed, but she’d felt worse.

  The haze that had started to fall over her mind, however…

  If she lost control of her senses, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  She closed her eyes and drew the water in the air around her, bolstering her resistance to the sweet blood the humans had begged her to take from them.

  Her mind swam. And Murphy’s shouts grew farther and farther away.

  “ANNE!” he yelled, his voice hoarse from it. He kicked the door and felt his foot break with the impact.

  Brigid had started trying keys again, desperately flipping from one to the next as Carwyn muttered under his breath and looked around at the ship.

  “We have to get in there,” Murphy said.

  Unfortunately, Jean’s freighter was spotless, and well-maintained ships didn’t tend to break apart.

  Carwyn braced his hands on the door, and Murphy felt the metal tremble, but it held together. Not even the thousand-year-old earth vampire could break the door apart.

  Cursing Jean Desmarais, Murphy pressed his hands to the metal again, wishing he could control metal instead of water. What could water do to save his mate? Right now? Nothing.

  “Fecking boats,” Brigid said, blood-tinged tears streaming down her face. “Hold on, Anne. Don’t give in.”

  Murphy spun at Carwyn. “Are you telling me that in all your time on earth, you’ve never had to break through a ship’s door? Or any other kind of metal? Tell me how to get in there, Carwyn!”

  Carwyn glanced at Brigid, and Murphy caught the look.

  “What is it?”

  “Gio could do it. But he’s much older than Brigid.”

  “What are you talking about?” Brigid asked, standing up and brushing hair out of her eyes. “What can Gio do that I can’t?”

  “Melt the door without killing everyone around you.”

  “What?”

  “Melt the door?” Murphy asked. “Is that even possible?”

  “Yes.”

  Brigid shook her head. “I don’t know if I could melt the door without bringing down the ship. My control…”

  Murphy’s mind spun. “Then don’t melt it. Just heat it. If I can cool it fast enough, it’ll be brittle. Then Carwyn—”

  “You think I might be able to crack it?” Carwyn glared. “That’s well and good, but what if Brigid loses control? I told you, she can’t—”

  “I can!” Brigid broke in.

  Murphy could see the stark terror on Carwyn’s face.

  “Brigid, no.”

  “I can do it,” she said, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth. “I know I can. Now stand back.”

  Murphy pulled Carwyn away from the door as Brigid stripped her loose shirt and jeans off, leaving her in a thin undershirt and pants. Her pale body glowed in the darkness as she began to gather energy. Her amnis sparked and jumped. Murphy could feel it. Could feel the rigid tension in the immortal behind him.

  Brigid’s hands were hovering over the door as she yelled. “Anne, stand back!”

  The flames came from her palms, red and gold with a swirl of other colors, like a fire opal brought to life. The air filled with the smell of burned hawthorn as the air belowdecks was sucked into the fire. Murphy saw Brigid struggle for control.

  A harsh stream of curses came from Carwyn’s mouth, but he didn’t try to stop her.

  “Murphy,” Carwyn said from behind him, “step away, lad.”

  He was transfixed. Murphy had never seen Brigid work with fire. Not like this. It was as if the flames danced along her skin.

  “It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

  “Stand back.”

  The fire centered, focused. It was too hot. The air belowdecks was gone, pulled into the dance of Brigid’s flame.

  Carwyn shoved him to the side and walked toward his mate, waiting a few meters away.

  Murphy tried to yell at him to stop, but couldn’t pull enough air to talk. The door was cherry red, but Brigid wasn’t stopping. Her face was peaceful, adoring the fire that curled and licked at her skin.

  She would burn the
m all.

  No, she couldn’t. His heart lay beyond the barrier of that door. Murphy shook his head and reached out with his amnis, trying to dampen the flames, but the water in the air had fled, eaten by the fire. Murphy fell to his knees and felt the metal beneath him tremble and shake. It was enough to break Brigid’s concentration, and she turned to look at her mate. Reason returned to her and the fire died back.

  Carwyn said nothing, only opened his arms as Brigid ran to him. Murphy heard a swift pop, and the damp sea air rushed back into the vacuum of the corridor. He shook his head, lifting his arms and calling the water to him as he never had before.

  He felt for it, and the sea rushed to him, almost suffocating him. It hissed along Brigid and Carwyn’s skin and coated his own before he sent it out, directing the damp air to the door, which was still glowing red. It gave a giant whoosh as the corridor filled with steam. The water condensed on the cooling metal around him and he pushed it again, a whipping cycle of steam and water lashing against the door blocking him from Anne.

  Carwyn touched his shoulder and pulled him away. “My turn.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  FIRE AND RAIN. FIRE AND RAIN and blood in the streets. I’m hungry and there’s so much blood…

  Josie’s singsong words echoed in her mind.

  Fire and rain. Rain and fire.

  Blood.

  So much blood.

  The humans were huddled against her as the small metal room turned to hell.

  She heard nothing but the roar of blood in their veins. She felt nothing but the press of their bodies, begging for her bite.

  Anne swam in the heat, surrendering to the pull of death. She cried when the blood slid down her throat, but she kept drinking.

  More.

  She wanted more.

  She drank and drank, but the blood tasted of death. She spat it out of her mouth, but then she bit again.

  So much blood.

  Her mind went black.

  In her dreams, the metal screamed in protest as the ship rocked beneath her. The humans rolled, lifeless in the hold of the great ship, their throats torn by her fangs. Their blood painted her skin and coated her tongue. She smoothed the hot red over her face, painting her body with death.

  “Anne!”

  She curled to the side, hiding from his voice. She could feel the poison seeping into her. She had to hide.

  Urgent hands lifted her, tried to open her eyes.

  “Anne, let us—”

  She lashed out, baring her teeth even as the room came into focus. She felt cool, watery air wash over her, and her eyes rolled back. Hands caught her before she hit the floor.

  “Áine.” He cradled her body, but she tried to roll away.

  Dirty. The dirty blood was everywhere.

  “Anne?” he said again, desperate for her.

  Her heart bled. She loved him so much. The sobs tore from her throat, and she pushed him with her mind.

  Away. Safe.

  “Anne, stop!”

  “Why does he keep letting her go?”

  “Don’t ask, love. Murphy, let Brigid—”

  “Stay away!” Anne screamed.

  The fog cleared from her mind as the damp air coated her body. She felt the blood coating her face. The sickly sweet smell made her stomach roil. She bent over, retching in the corner of the hold, streams of blood pouring from her mouth. She vomited the blackness from her belly, but she could still feel it leaching into her veins, infecting her amnis.

  “Let me help her,” Brigid said. “Don’t you see? She’s bitten them, Murphy. She’s afraid of infecting you.”

  There was a roar of rage, and Anne felt her mate’s amnis surge to life in her blood. She clung to the clean, bright thread of his energy.

  “Anne”—Brigid had a hand at her back—“we need to get you to your father.”

  Her father.

  “Da?” she choked out on a sob.

  “Let me help you. My mother’s alive, remember? I’ll be fine as long as my mother is alive. You can touch me.”

  “Anne.” Murphy’s tortured voice came to her, but she pushed him away again.

  “Can’t,” she gasped. “Don’t touch me, Patrick. You can’t touch me.”

  She stumbled out of the ruins of the ship and let Brigid pull her up the stairs. She felt the sea around her as soon as she stepped onto the deck. Without another word, she ran to it, stripping from her bloody clothes and leaping into the ocean.

  The sea claimed her.

  WHEN Anne dreamed, she dreamed of death and madness. Of the deep and of forgotten things. The moon shone full through the water, and the drifting weeds surrounded her as she stared into the night sky. She heard her father’s voice, singing Coleridge’s poem:

  Water, water, every where,

  And all the boards did shrink;

  Water, water, every where,

  Nor any drop to drink.

  The water enveloped her. The pulse of the current took her and she drifted deeper.

  Past the edge of land.

  Beyond the silken brush of reeds.

  About, about, in reel and rout

  The death-fires danced at night;

  The water, like a witch’s oils,

  Burnt green, and blue and white.

  She sank past the touch of moonlight, where the chill of the water crept into her bones and settled her soul.

  HE found her in the darkness.

  He pressed his hand to hers, though she tried to pull away.

  Murphy wrapped his arms around her and lifted her to the surface where moonlight touched her face and bathed her in its cool glow.

  MURPHY swam Anne back to the red-sailed barge and lifted her as he would a child. He handed her to her father, who carried her past her friends and belowdecks, where he tucked her under a woolen blanket.

  “Sleep, lass,” Tywyll’s rasping voice commanded. “Ye’ve had a long night, and we’ve some longer ones ahead.”

  “Keep Murphy away. His sire is dead. If I infected him—”

  “I’ll give ye tonight, but I won’t keep a man from his woman, even if she is my daughter. He loves ye, Annie. I won’t drive him mad from yer fear. He won’t be biting you, I can promise ye that.”

  “Da, you need to bleed me. Bleed me. Please. Get the dirty blood out.”

  Tywyll walked over and met her eyes. His face was grim. “I know. We’ll start tomorrow night. It’s too close to dawn now.”

  “Did I kill them?”

  “Ah, lamb, I saw their bodies.” He brushed the damp hair back from her forehead. “They were skin and bones. Ye hastened it is all. The one who killed them was the one who gave them that poison.”

  “I tore their throats out.”

  “From what young Brigid said, ye weren’t in yer right mind.”

  “It was Jean.”

  “It were definitely his boat. At least it was you who found them, not yer man. Like you said, he’s not got a sire living.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Rest now. I’ve got to get you lot to shelter. We won’t leave the river before dawn.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  MURPHY WOKE IN A SQUAT HOUSE by the riverbank, the smell of water in his nose and the ache of Anne’s absence in his chest. Anne had refused to rest beside him, worried that she could somehow infect him with the blood she’d taken from the humans the night before. Tywyll had guided them upriver before dawn, hiding them in a secluded cottage before he disappeared for the day.

  He could feel her.

  It was only her blood in him that gave him rest; he could feel her amnis alive within him. When Carwyn had torn into the compartment the night before, it had been the only thing that told him she was alive, though her face was painted red with blood and her body lay limp on the floor. He could feel her now, a quiet hum in his chest.

  He wanted to find her. Hold her. His arms ached with the desire to keep her safe.

  Someone tapped at the heavy wooden door.

  He rose and wrapped
a sheet around his waist. He unlocked the door and cracked it open.

  “Where is Anne?” he asked Brigid.

  “And good evening to you too. She’s in her room. Resting. Doesn’t want to see anyone as yet. Tywyll showed up at dusk. They’re talking about when to start the process.”

  “The process” being Anne’s complete exsanguination, followed by a new infusion of her sire’s blood. She would be like a newborn again, though with a shorter time to adapt to vampire life, hopefully. It had worked on most of the vampires who had tried it, though the process itself carried risks. Some vampires who were too far gone into madness didn’t wake. Anne was not out of danger yet, though the fact that her sire was already with her was promising.

  His mate couldn’t die. He wouldn’t allow his mind to consider it.

  A night’s forced rest had done nothing to quell his rage. Jean Desmarais would pay for his crimes against the immortal world, including Anne’s pain.

  “What’s the story from Terry?”

  Brigid was silent.

  “They still haven’t found Jean?”

  “Terry found him. But Jean is claiming that Leonor is trying to frame him. Leonor, of course, is denying it, but some of her people are backing him up. Terry’s holding both of them at his old offices in the Temple, but it’s a mess. He has both the Spanish and French delegations under guard until he can sort things out. It’s a political nightmare.”

  “Utter rubbish.” He turned and picked up his still-damp trousers from the night before, then put them on. “Did you and Carwyn go back to recover the ledger?”

  “We did.”

  “Send it with Ozzie. Have him and Carwyn meet me in the Temple. Does Carwyn know where Terry’s offices are?”

  “Yes.” She put her hands on her hips. “And where are you going then?”

  “I’m not waiting to get my hands on Jean. I’m taking the river.”

  “You should stay with Anne.”

  “I won’t face her again without Jean’s blood on my hands.”