The Scarlet Deep
Page 50

She crossed her arms and stared forward. Anne knew what he was thinking. Her body had become so malnourished that the best course would be to take blood from another immortal with richer amnis than even human blood held. Her sire would be ideal, but any blood drawn from a vampire would work. The problem was it created a tie, even between friends. No vampire wanted to create that link with an immortal they didn’t trust.
“Patrick, you know why I shouldn’t take yours.”
“Because you want our bloody mate bond to die,” he bit out. “I understand perfectly well, Anne. That’s been made clear. I’ll leave you with Carwyn and Brigid. I’m sure some arrangement can be made to move your things closer to them while we’re in town.”
“No, that’s not… It’s not what I was thinking.”
Murphy had said he would wait. He’d said he’d learned patience. Was he giving up so quickly?
Without a word, he reached over and took her hand. She clutched it with both her own.
“I don’t want the bond to die,” Anne said. “I just need to be able to trust my own heart. You claim I didn’t need you, but you know that’s not true. It would be so easy to lose myself in you.”
They said nothing for a long time, and Anne watched the lights of the city zip by. The car windows were dark, but she could see a few people still stumbling home after a night out. Friends laughing. Couples holding hands. She could feel the tentative brush of Murphy’s amnis against her palm where he held her hand securely.
“Would it be so terrible to lose yourself in me?” he murmured as they neared the house. “Was it so awful before?”
“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?”