The Scarlet Deep
Page 15

“I was having a fine night until I was interrupted, Mr. Murphy.”
“I was going to be much more polite than this.”
“You always did get riled when you heard me sing.”
“Yes.” His voice was rough. “I did. I do.”
She waited, but he said nothing.
Finally, he nodded at the pub. “Are they safe? The humans here, I mean.”
“I know what you mean.”
Murphy had always worried. She knew he checked up on her, but he was usually subtler about it, sending Tom, Josie, or Declan in his stead.
“They don’t ask questions,” she said. “Sometimes, I need more than my house and Ruth and Dan.”
“Come to Dublin then.” He let out a wry laugh. “Never mind. You can take care of yourself. You always did.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Noticed that, did you?”
She crossed her arms. “What did you need, Murphy?”
“Many things. And I hate it when you call me Murphy.”
“I hate it when you turn up unannounced.”
He used to do it often but stopped when she refused to acknowledge him. She hadn’t seen him in almost thirty years. He’d left her alone. Left her alone to her life while he played the rogue in Dublin Town.
“This is my territory,” he said.
Her skin prickled in anger. “Do you think so?”
“You’re lovely when you’re furious.”
Patrick Murphy’s smile was as appealing—and as irritating—as the rest of him. And riling her had always made him smile.
“Get to the point,” she said.
“Tom forced me to come visit. Said I was getting insufferable.”
“You’ve been insufferable for a hundred years. More than. He’s just now catching on?”
“I do miss the bite of your tongue, Dr. O’Dea. Miss a lot about your tongue, in fact.”
And she missed his. She’d never had a better lover than Murphy, and she was honest enough to admit it.
“The point, Murphy? It’s been thirty years since we’ve seen each other, and I had no plans to change that. Don’t think I missed that little bit of blood you managed to slip me.”
Now it was his eyes that were flashing.
“It’s not enough,” she said. “The bond is fading and we both know it. Don’t try to interfere. It’s past time this was all history. Now, I’d like to return to my beer and my friends, so—”
“What friends?” he said. “Who in there knows you? Knows you really? The bartender? The band? As far as I’m concerned, we never finished our last argument.”
She smiled bitterly. “Oh yes. How could I forget that lovely conversation?”
“You’ve put me off for seventy years, Anne. Wouldn’t a psychologist call that avoidance?”
“As I am a psychologist, I’d call it steering clear of a toxic relationship.”
She tried to ignore the expression on his face. Murphy looked as if she’d punched him. Anne immediately regretted the words, but she couldn’t take them back. This was Murphy. If she gave an inch, he’d take more than a mile. He’d take the entire county.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, eyes frosting over. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about? Ask your question or your favor or whatever it is you came for and go home.”
In the blink of an eye, he was in front of her. His eyes narrowed and he bent close. For a second, she thought he would kiss her again.
He didn’t.
“You know,” he murmured an inch away from her lips, “I do believe I’ll wait for official channels for this.”
She felt an uneasy twist in her stomach. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Fine.” She turned and started walking back toward the pub. “Have a safe journey home.”
She didn’t make it to the door. He grabbed her hand, tugging her back to his chest and wrapping his hand around her waist. She wasn’t a small woman, and Murphy was only a little taller than her. She felt his breath on her neck as he bent down and quickly scraped his fangs over the pulse that quickened at his touch.
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
“I think you forget, Anne O’Dea”—a quick flick of his tongue—“your mate is no settled man.”
She tried to hold in the shiver, but by the time Anne turned, he was gone.
“ANNE?”
The worried voice broke through her reverie, and Anne looked up. Her patient was a kind, three-hundred-year-old earth vampire from Germany who had lost a mate the year before.
“Elke, I’m so sorry.”
The older woman smiled. “You seem quite distracted today, my dear.”
“I… am. My apologies. You were talking about your son?”
“I was, but I can talk about you,” Elke said. “I’m rather tired of talking about myself.”
“Well, that is what you come to therapy for.”
“We can reschedule if you’d rather.”
“No, no.” Anne shook her head and stood to pour herself a cup of tea. “You’ve come all this way. Tell me about your son.”
“Well, Henry’s son, to be completely honest. He sired Hans a few years before we met and mated. Oh, we did fight about Hans!” Elke said, smiling again. “He was a problem child. So little restraint. You’d never imagine it now, because he’s so very controlled. Almost… cold. That’s why I’m worried about him. I don’t want him to slip into that distant state and lose his connection to the world.”