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  Tom kept a hold on him as they walked west, heading toward Josie’s old Victorian home in Ballsbridge.

  “Do you want to talk about what set you off?”

  “No.”

  “Was it Brigid?”

  He said nothing, which Tom took as an affirmative.

  “I’ll talk to the lass,” he said. “She didn’t know.”

  “She doesn’t need to know. I’ll be fine, Tom. It was a moment of weakness.”

  “She called me, you know. She’s a good girl, Brigid. Smart one.”

  “Yes, a little too smart at times.”

  “She was just in Galway, yeah? She figure you and Anne out?”

  “I don’t know how much Anne told her.” Just the taste of her name on his tongue made Murphy ill, remembering what he’d planned to do to the girl he’d been following. The girl only bore the most superficial resemblance to Anne, and he’d still been on the verge of…

  “I know I need to do something,” Murphy said. “I just don’t know what.”

  “I know exactly what you need to do,” Tom said cheerfully. “You’re gonna take tomorrow night off, get your fancy arse out to Galway, and go talk to your mate.”

  Chapter Four

  THE COUNTRY PUB SAT off the road that led nowhere in particular and was only open for business on weekends most nights unless something notable was happening. Anne didn’t care. It still had a decent kitchen, good beer, and a corner booth that no one looked at too closely. Every now and then, when old Mrs. Connelly cast her meaningful looks, she’d sing with whoever was playing in the Friday session. No one remarked on it. No one asked her questions. They gave her a free beer and asked after Ruth and Dan.

  And that was that.

  Tourists didn’t come here, though Anne knew she’d have an easier time blending in if she frequented the bars that were busier. Every now and then when she was particularly lonely, she’d head into Galway to find amusement. But usually a country pub and a cold beer were enough.

  That night she sat with a book on the table, letting the sounds of the traditional music wash over her along with the ebb and flow of human conversation. It was lovely and familiar. There was as much Irish as English spoken in this particular pub, and it reminded her of her human years.

  Connection with the past is what grounds us in the present.

  Forgetting our human nature allows the monster in us to take control.

  We must be among the humans without being of them.

  Bits of advice she’d parceled out to others over the years now haunted her own thoughts. Her last drink from Ruth had made her wary. She knew it was her unusual amnis that made her hunger more potent, but her “gift” didn’t offer any solution.

  Mrs. Connelly had set down a dark pint when Anne felt the first tremor of awareness at the back of her neck. She looked up, scanning the corners of the pub for a sign of anything out of the ordinary.

  Nothing.

  She took a sip of beer. “Thanks, Peg.”

  “No worries, Anne. A song later?”

  “Sure thing. Anyone unusual around tonight?”

  The older woman smiled. “Not unless you call the Kinney brothers being here and bathed unusual.”

  “Any bathed Kinney brother is suspicious,” Anne said with a wry smile. “I don’t recognize them if they don’t smell like their sheep.”

  Mrs. Connelly laughed. “You’re not wrong.”

  The human left, and Anne watched the musicians as they rolled into another song, a more modern one she recognized as an acoustic version of a rock song. Not strictly traditional, but it fit the restless mood that wouldn’t leave her alone.

  “Anne!” The drummer was waving her over. His wrinkled face broke into a smile as his nimble fingers danced with the tipper, beating out the rhythm on the bodhran. He nodded to the woman with the flute, who caught the drummer’s cue and slowed the song, waiting for her to join in.

  She left her beer and book in the corner and went to sit next to the drummer, perching on the edge of the chair and leaning forward to sing the lyrics about a pair of brown eyes and a roving man. She rocked with the beat of the guitar and the drum, losing herself in the music for two songs. The music, like the ocean, centered her, made her remember life and not death. Laughter instead of blood. Happiness and not hunger.

  Then Anne heard the flute dip low, and the pub quieted when they recognized the melody of the old Gaelic song. They all knew it was a favorite of hers. After a few beats, the music died down and the old woman looked to Anne with a nod.

  She raised her voice and let the clear sound of “An Mhaighdean Mhara” fill the dark room. The lonely tale of the fisherman’s mermaid bride who left him to return to the sea was a simple old song, one her mother had sung by the evening fire, perhaps wishing she too could abandon the prison of her earthly life and run away to a home beyond the sea.

  In the end, Anne supposed she had.

  The unexpected melancholy gripped her throat, and a familiar curl of awareness in her blood forced her eyes to a shadowed corner of the pub.

  Patrick Murphy stood in the shadows, arms crossed and brown eyes fixed on her.

  Her blood surging to life within her, Anne met his gaze and sang on.

  Were you born of woman

  Or did you come from the earth?

  Your eyes speak

  Though your lips say naught.

  He watched her, the man who’d stolen her heart so long ago, then broken it like the wild, young thing he’d been. He leaned casually against the back wall in his wool slacks and pressed shirt, as if the sight of him wouldn’t be enough to break her again. His lush lower lip fell as he stared, and Anne could see the glint of his fangs in the low lights of the pub.

  She finished the song, barely controlling the tremor in her throat as she felt her heart pulse twice. His eyes never left her face.

  The guitar and fiddle had picked up to a faster tune when she saw him break his stance and start toward the small stage. Anne nodded to a young girl happy to jump in the singer’s chair while Anne hurried to the back, forgetting her book in the corner as she grabbed Murphy’s arm and dragged him down the hall and toward the kitchen door.

  She pushed into the night, Murphy at her heels.

  Anne spun. “Patrick, what on earth—”

  He silenced her with a furious kiss, spinning her in his arms and pushing her up against the back wall of the pub. His hands dug into the flesh of her hips while his mouth devoured hers, slaking a hundred years’ worth of hunger with lips and breath and the bite of fangs against her tongue.

  She dug her hands into his hair, pulling him close for one heartbreaking moment before she tugged him away.

  Murphy released her mouth only to press his face into her neck, laving his tongue against the hammering pulse in her throat. His arms banded around her waist, pulling her into his powerful frame. She felt him. Every inch of him. The years fell away under his mouth. Her skin came alive. Her amnis left her, rushing toward him, even as his own energy coursed over her skin.

  He was a wave crashing over her, pulling her under, and Anne knew she had to step back before she drowned.

  “Patrick,” she whispered, “stop.”

  He let out a single shuddering breath against her neck. His fingers dug into her waist one second, and then he stepped back and looked up, avoiding her gaze.

  Murphy took two deep breaths before he started in a hoarse voice. “Áine—”

  “What are you doing here?”

  He let out a string of Gammon curses that let her know he still wasn’t entirely under control. Not that she couldn’t see that from his fangs and his trousers. But Murphy only let his Traveller show when he was off-kilter.

  He finally rubbed two hands over his face, mussing his hair and reminding her of the brash young immortal he’d been once, when she’d toppled head over heels for him and straight into a passionate affair that had lasted nearly thirty years.

  By the time he spoke, the flippant tone
had returned to his voice. “And how are you this evening, Dr. O’Dea?”

  “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.”

  Henry had been another earth vampire, so she knew any children he sired would be, as well. “Does Hans live near you?”

  “Not too far. Bavaria.”

  Her client chatted about her children for a while longer, and Anne couldn’t stop the surge of envy.

  What friends? Who in there knows you? Knows you really?

  She hated that his words still haunted her. She had friends! She had lots of them.

  Okay, she mostly had clients, but she was friendly with them. She had Dan and Ruth. She had Brigid and Josie. Not that she saw them much, but she had them. And once the bond with Murphy had faded, she’d be able to be a real partner for someone again. Someone who didn’t drive her crazy and take advantage of her. Someone who respected her. Someone—

  “Anne, you’re drifting again.”

  “Dammit, Murphy!” She threw her pen down, the tip digging into the floor where it struck.

  Covering her face with one hand, she took measured breaths. She could feel her client watching her from across the room.

  “Elke, you’re probably right. We should reschedule. I had an unexpected visitor last night, and I am completely distracted.”

  Elke’s mouth had turned up at one corner. “You know, I don’t know that I have ever seen you so perturbed. This is a man you’re involved with, I presume.”

  “No. Yes. He’s… I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem.”

  “I was mated for two hundred years, my dear. I might be able to offer some advice. Plus, I’m a physician myself. You’d be amazed the things people feel comfortable confiding.”

  “I knew we got along for a reason,” she muttered. “Still… it’s not professional for me to do this. You’re my patient. You come to me for counsel. I shouldn’t.”

  Elke laughed. “We’re not human, Anne. The lines, they are not so clear for us, yes? Tell me about this man. Is he human or vampire?”

  “Vampire. We’ve been mated…” She took a deep breath and noticed the older woman’s eyebrows had risen in surprise. “Yes, I was mated. I am mated. We are estranged and have been for many years.”

  “I’m so very sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” She waved a hand. “It’s in the past. With enough time, the bond grows weaker. Eventually, it fades.”

  “How long since you…? If you don’t mind my asking.”


  “It’s been around one hundred years since we last exchanged blood.”

  Elke’s eyes grew wide. “And you still feel this connection with him? After all that time? How long were you together?”

  “Around thirty years. Isn’t that… I’d always heard that it took time, so—”

  “Time, yes.” Elke’s voice turned professional. “The biology isn’t strictly clear. It’s an emotional connection as much as a physical one, of course. Friends and allies can exchange blood without any serious bonds forming, so we know there is more to it than simply biology. But for most blood bonds, should the couple stop exchanging blood, the connection fades in roughly half the time they were together. So for you—”

  “Fifteen years?” Anne asked. “It should have faded after fifteen years? At fifteen years, I still woke up in the morning smelling him next to me.”

  Elke’s mouth opened, but she said nothing.

  “Fifteen years?” Anne said again.

  “Your connection must have been very strong.”

  “It was,” she said roughly.

  “May I ask what happened?”

  “We had a falling-out.”

  “It must have been a serious one.”

  “It was.”

  “Why won’t you do this for me?”

  “How could you even ask?”

  “It’s not like you haven’t done it before, Anne. When it suits you—”

  “Not for politics, Patrick! Not for bloody, bloody politics! It’s the only thing that matters to you anymore.”

  “If you loved me…”

  Anne cleared her throat. “We parted ways because he asked me to compromise something very important to me. Even years later, when he apologized… Well, he never really apologized. I think he intended to, but he lost his temper. It wasn’t pleasant.”

  “Hot-blooded men,” Elke said. “We love them, and yet they drive us mad.”

  Anne smiled. “From what you’ve told me, Henry seems like he was a very level-headed partner.”

  “Of course he was. After two hundred years.” Elke smiled. “We didn’t start out that way.”