The Scarlet Deep

  Tom grunted. “That’ll help. And we do have lads looking for work. Not a bad thing to keep them busy.”

  “Agreed,” Murphy said. “We can use them for storage now. Possibly an off-the-books club.”

  Most of his businesses were aboveboard, but there was always room for a little fun. And what could be more harmless than a little drinking and gambling with the humans’ money? It was going to happen anyway. This way, Murphy could keep an eye on things and make his cut at the same time.

  As he’d told Brigid the week before, the best cons walked away with everyone smiling.

  “Where’s Brigid?” he asked Tom.

  “She called last night. Going west for a bit to visit Anne.” Tom gave him a loaded look. “Nothing hot going on here, so I told her to go ahead.”

  “Fine.” He ignored the look.

  “Brigid’s been trying to get Anne to come for a visit, Josie says. Having a hard time understanding why Anne avoids Dublin so much, especially when she loves the symphony and all that,” Tom muttered.

  Murphy knew exactly how much Anne loved the symphony. It was why he so often sat alone with an empty seat beside him. He disliked anyone sitting in the chair he still considered hers. Josie, Tom’s very quiet mate, and Brigid were the only companions he ever let accompany him. And that was only when he was feeling melancholy.

  “How is Josie?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.

  Tom’s ugly mug broke into a smile. “Light of my life, of course. And nagging me about the back flower beds. Something about planting a scent garden, whatever the hell that means.”

  It wasn’t well known—even among Murphy’s own people—that Tom Dargin had been mated for over one hundred years. His mate, Josie, was a writer who lived an extremely quiet life. When Tom wasn’t working, they both kept to themselves. But Declan, Tom, and Josie were some of the few immortals in Dublin that had known Murphy when he and Anne were together. And Tom and Josie were the only ones who ever brought it up.

  “A scent garden,” Murphy said, “is one that focuses as much on the fragrance of the flowering plants as the color of the flowers. Lovely things for vampires, since we can’t appreciate the color of flowers during the day.”

  “Yeah, I might have got that, thanks,” Tom said, rolling his eyes.

  “I have a landscaper I can recommend.”

  “No need. Josie’s designing it herself. Her girl will pick up the flowers, and I’ll plant them. But thanks.”

  “Of course. She going to be all right with you working longer hours when I’m at this summit in London?”

  Terrance Ramsay was organizing a summit among the leading immortal shipping powers in the Atlantic. The leader of London was hoping that with enough pooled intelligence they’d be able to figure who was moving Elixir through western Europe and the United States. The problem had been getting enough representatives to attend. There was only so much any of them trusted the others.

  “You know Josie won’t mind,” Tom said. “Besides, she likes me out of the house when she’s finishing a book. So tell an old married man. How were those human girls the other night? As featherbrained as they looked?”

  “None of your business.”

  “You thinking I’m just going to drop the Anne thing, are you?

  Murphy felt his fangs push in irritation. “When do you ever drop it?”

  Tom didn’t speak for a long while. Declan was mysteriously quiet. Murphy stood to go.

  “Boss—”

  “I have no need to talk about Anne O’Dea, Tom.”

  “You still need her. You think Dec and I can’t see it?”

  Murphy slammed down the file folder he’d been paging through, and Declan slipped out of the room. He was usually the voice of reason when the three of them argued, so Murphy had a feeling Tom and Declan had talked about this beforehand.

  Tom was the oldest, Declan in the middle, and Josie was the youngest now that Jack was gone. But he and his sons had always been more brothers than sire and children, and Tom was one of the few vampires who could speak freely with the immortal lord of Dublin.

  “Leave it,” Murphy said through clenched teeth.

  “It’s catchin’ up with you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “None of us is able to drink as much human blood as we need, and Elixir isn’t going away anytime soon. It’s better now that we know the scent of it in humans, but it’s still a problem.” Tom took a deep breath and leaned forward. “I’m stronger because I’m mated. Brigid—”

  “Brigid is mated to one of the oldest vampires in the British Isles. Are you implying that I’m weak?”

  “No, if anything, you’re the most dangerous I’ve ever seen you.”

  “These are dangerous times.”

  “You’re short-tempered. You’ve been in the ring more often the past couple of months and lost it on some of the lads.”

  “I’ll hunt more.”

  “And put the Irish deer population at risk? That’s not what you need, boss.”

  Murphy moved toward the door, and Tom put a hand on his arm.

  “It’s been a hundred years.”

  “I know that.”

  “Reach out to her.”

  He shook off Tom’s hand. “Why? So she can ignore me again?”

  “Because you came to her so reasonable-like from the beginning, throwing the women in her face like it were her fault, eh?” Tom’s face was even stormier than usual. “You may be my sire, Murphy, but you deserved to be tossed on your arse.”

  “And what’s changed so much, hmm? You notice me turning into a monk in the past seventy years?”

  “Stop being a stubborn arse,” Tom yelled. “You’ve changed. And she has too. Jaysus, stop acting like a child and talk to her.”

  “Why are you bringing this up now? Is it because of this bloody summit? I agreed to go, didn’t I?”

  Tom and Declan had been adamant that Murphy attend. He’d been reluctant but had finally seen the wisdom in pooling resources.

  “It’s not because of the summit.”

  Murphy gave him a look.

  “Fine. Not just because of the summit. But you have to admit you’ll likely rip someone’s head off at a conference table the way you’ve been lately. Not only does she level you out, but we need every ally we can get right now. She’s Mary Hamilton’s sister, and we need that woman’s support if we’re ever going to get a handle on who is shipping this shite.”

  “I know all that.” Murphy sat down again, his blood cooling. “If I approach Anne O’Dea for any reasons she might interpret as strategic, she will have nothing to do with me, and you know it.”

  “She’s a practical woman.”

  He shook his head. “She hates me. And her sister does too.”

  Tom said nothing. Murphy knew there was nothing to say.

  Except…

  “Tom,” Murphy asked, “has Terrance Ramsay invited Mary Hamilton to London for the summit?”

  “Yes. She turned him down. Since you’re coming, he doesn’t really need her to be there, though it would be better to present a united front. That and he wanted to placate the old man.”

  Murphy pulled an old gold coin from his pocket and flipped it in his fingers. “Anne won’t have anything to do with me,” he mused. “She’s been avoiding me—avoiding us—for seventy years at least.”

  “Boss—”

  “But if I have Terry call her… It might work.”

  She’d hate him. But she’d have to talk to him. He could probably work with that.

  Murphy had never stopped wanting her. That would be akin to no longer wanting blood or water. He’d just learned to manage without her.

  Tom frowned. “Why would Terrance Ramsay be wanting to call Anne?”

  “No, Tom. Have Ramsay call Mary Hamilton. Tell her she’s needed at this summit. Just can’t do without her oh-so-important perspective. Or better, have Gemma do it.”

  A smile touched the corner of Tom’s mouth. “You
conniving bastard. Hamilton won’t come herself. She’s too antisocial. But if Ramsay insists on it…”

  “She’ll send someone she trusts.”

  “And she doesn’t trust anyone else as much as she does Anne.” Tom crossed his arms and puffed out his barrel chest. “She’ll hate you.”

  “But she’ll talk to me.” Murphy flipped the coin in the air. It landed heads up. “She’d be forced to.”

  If there was one thing Patrick Murphy excelled at, it was talking his way around a stubborn adversary.

  And there was no one more stubborn than Anne.

  TERRANCE Ramsay was amenable to Murphy’s plan.

  “I knew Hamilton wouldn’t come, but Brigid insisted I call her. She turned me down flat. Didn’t even let me finish the phone call.”

  “Call again. You’ve convinced Jetta to attend?”

  “Not quite yet. The Scandinavians have someone involved in this. I’m fairly sure Jetta suspects someone in her organization. If she comes, she might be bringing the suspects with her.”

  “Jetta and Mary are close. Allies, but rivals too. If you imply Jetta is coming, Mary will send someone. Once Mary sends someone, Jetta will appear.”

  “Or they both call my bluff and leave me looking like a fool,” Terry said, laughing. “Does Hamilton have someone she trusts enough to speak for her?”

  “One person, yes.”

  Terry paused. “You think she’d send Anne?”

  Could he be sure? Mary did like to be unpredictable.

  “There’s no way to be sure,” he admitted, “but Mary doesn’t trust anyone as much as she trusts Anne.”

  “And she’d go to a summit like this?”

  “She has in the past when the situation has called for it.” And in the past, it bothered him. Thought it had divided her loyalties.

  Tom was right. He’d been acting like a child. Anne was her own woman and always had been.

  “Murphy,” Terry said, amusement in his voice. “You sure you want Anne O’Dea at the summit for the good of all vampirekind, or do you have a personal motive?”

  Both, but that was hardly Terry’s business.

  “Just call Mary again,” he said. “Tell her you need her there. She’ll come or she’ll send her sister.”

  “Fine. But if she hangs up on me again, I’m setting Gemma on you.”

  Murphy couldn’t hold in the laugh. “Fair enough.”

  TWO nights later, Brigid was back and silently accompanying Murphy to a dinner for some local business organization.

  “What is wrong with you?” he muttered, leaning to her ear. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

  “I hate these things.”

  “I know, but Tom’s legs are crap and Declan is hopeless when it comes to accessorizing.”

  He saw her bite back a smile. Murphy would never insist on it, but it did make it easier to have Brigid accompany him on necessary outings like this. If he took a human employee, Brigid would just have to arrange protection anyway. It made sense to have her be his date. Brigid wore a ring, so if anyone asked, Murphy introduced her as his cousin. And to be honest, she made an amusing dinner companion. Usually her commentary on the social elite of Dublin had him in quiet stitches all night, and her brightly colored hair always drew the most amusing attention.

  But ever since Brigid had come back from Galway, she’d been… off.

  “How was Galway?”

  “Fine.”

  “Or should I ask about Kinvara specifically?”

  She paused. “You know Anne and I are close.”

  “Oh, I do.” He leaned down again. “Any interesting topics of conversation?”

  If she could have blushed, the look on her face said she would have.

  “We talked about painting.”

  Ah, that damned painting. He knew he should have rid himself of it years ago.

  “Finally figured us out, did you?”

  Her silence said it all.

  “You know, if you were curious, you could have just asked me about our prior relationship.”

  “Nope. Fairly sure I got a much more detailed story from Anne.”

  Murphy froze. “How detailed?”

  She nodded, a smile touching her lips. “Impressively detailed.”

  “She did not.”

  “No, but the look on your face speaks volumes.” She elbowed him. “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew we were friends. I thought we were friends.”

  “It was a long time ago. It’s not something I talk about.”

  “Funny, but she said almost exactly the same thing. I find it curious that it was oh so long ago, and yet both of you are still so touchy about talking about it. You and Angie joke about old stories all the time.”

  “It’s different.”

  “Oh? How exactly?”

  Murphy didn’t want to tell her, so he pulled her up and back from their table, making quiet excuses to the host at the back of the room before they left. Brigid was standing out in the cold and he was handing her off to the driver within minutes.

  “You’re off for the rest of the night,” he said. “Go home and bother your husband.”

  “Someone’s feeling tetchy, eh? Not my fault, and you never answered my question.” Brigid looked a little irritated.

  “And I’m not going to. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m going hunting.”

  Her face lost all the irritation and turned professional again. “Murphy—”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “Please tell me you’re heading out of town or going fishing.”

  “Fish blood is vile.”

  “Murphy!”

  “You’re not my mam, Brigid. You’re my employee.”

  “And you’re an asshole.” She got into the car, a glare on her face. “I’m calling Tom.”

  “Fine. At least he doesn’t bother me with questions that are none of his bloody business.”

  Which was completely untrue, but Brigid didn’t need to know that.

  He was hungry. Murphy hated not being able to hunt as he wished.

  He walked toward Merrion Road and headed north, back toward the Grand Canal. He cut through back alleys and skirted humans who were out for a Friday-night stroll. It was early evening still and he made a game of it, stalking a group of humans and getting within a few feet without their seeing him before he melted into the shadows and pursued someone else.

  He was almost back to his building when he saw her. Straight dark hair fell down to the middle of her back. Her waist flared out to generous hips that swayed in the formfitting black dress she’d donned that night. Soft, pale arms gestured as she laughed with a friend. Her hair was pinned on the sides to reveal a graceful, plump neck. She held herself proudly, shoulders thrown back as she walked under the canopy of trees that shadowed the path.

  He followed them, the dark-haired girl bringing his hunger to a boiling point. She would be luscious. Sweet. He rarely fed from girls who looked like Anne. It was too problematic. But that night, maybe he’d make an exception.

  And she would want him. Murphy had little doubt he could seduce the woman, even without the benefit of amnis. She would look on him with lust and desire and welcome him with open arms. He could lose himself in her body. Take her blood. Forget…

  As much as he ever forgot.

  Or maybe he would ignore her body and simply take her blood. Feed the monster that lived within. Slake the vicious hunger that—even now—stalked him every night.

  He drew closer.

  The girls were talking about some band they’d gone to see. Raving about the handsome singer and laughing about the boys who’d tried to chat them up at the bar. Good-natured teasing for one girl who’d made a date.

  Not the brunette. She belonged to Murphy.

  His footsteps were silent. Even if the girls turned, all they’d see was a well-dressed man in his late twenties with a rakish smile and a smooth step. They would blush with pleasure when he passed them. They’d giggle when he dipped his head
and greeted them with a charming voice and a wink. Then he could double back and stalk them again, drawing out the pleasure of the hunt until their terror tinged the air.

  Murphy paused, waiting in the shadows.

  Maybe he would cull the brunette from her friends. Isolate her and—

  He spun the moment he caught a hint of movement in his periphery, dodging the fist aimed at his jaw. His attacker moved inhumanly fast, the flurry of blows raining on his midsection forcing him farther into a darkened alley and driving any thoughts of hunting from his mind, for this opponent was his oldest and most fierce.

  Murphy whirled and struck, hitting the lantern jaw of his attacker with a solid fist that didn’t faze the man. Then Tom caught him in a fierce hug and rained blow after blow into his kidneys as Murphy struggled to breathe.

  He was a wall. Even when Murphy wrenched himself from Tom’s grasp and jumped away, he kept coming.

  Tom landed one more angry blow to Murphy’s face before he held up a hand.

  “Enough, Tom.”

  “Fecking hell, Murphy!”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  With a growl, Murphy rammed a fist into the bricks behind Tom and watched in satisfaction as the red clay crumbled beneath his fists. He closed his eyes and let the pain wash over him. It cleared his head, even as the cuts on his face and torso began to close.

  “I’m fine,” he whispered again.

  Tom grabbed him around the neck and pulled him into a fierce hug. “No, boss. You’re not fine. You’d have hunted her and bled her dry and hated yourself for it. What’s your rule, boss?”

  “They have to offer.”

  “They have to offer. Not like your bloody bastard of a sire. And if you turned into him, you’d kill yourself.”

  “I’m fine, Tom.”

  “Come to me and Josie’s place. Come over and let her tell you a story, eh? Have a drink. Sleep in one of the guest rooms if you like.”

  He nodded and tried to straighten his jacket, willing his fangs to recede in his mouth. Willing his mind away from the ever-more-distant scent of prey. He finally regained control, but the jacket was past saving. He tugged it off and draped it over some boxes sitting in the alley. It was torn, but it was still wool. It wouldn’t be wasted keeping someone warm, and the boy in him would never be able to throw a coat away.