“You didn’t have to yield.” He’d looked. Carwyn wasn’t even bleeding. Murphy had barely broken the skin.

Carwyn gave him a small smile. “Feeling better?”

“Not hardly.”

Murphy could hear the other vampires approaching, but Carwyn waved them back.

“They call you arrogant,” Carwyn said. “And you are. But you took on the responsibility of this town when you were hardly more than a boy. You grabbed the reins from a corrupt leader and wouldn’t let go.”

“I wanted this city and I took it,” Murphy said, still staring at the ceiling. “Don’t try to make me a saint.”

“I won’t. But the fact that this weighs on you as it does says everything about your character.”

He let out a breath. “I’m so fucking angry.”

“You should be.”

Murphy finally turned his head to look at him. The old vampire’s blue eyes were ancient, the usual joviality stripped bare. Murphy understood why so many were drawn to him. He was as solid as the earth he drew power from. In that moment, Murphy didn’t feel like the vampire who led a city and a multinational corporation. He felt like a boy.

“What do I do?” he asked Carwyn.

“You go to London. You let Deirdre and Tom take care of things here,” Carwyn said, his blue eyes holding icy rage. “We find out who is doing these terrible things—”

“And we end them,” Murphy said, standing and holding his hand out. “I will end them.”

“You’re not alone.”

Glancing at Tom and Declan, at Anne and Brigid, he nodded. “I know.”

A knock came at the heavy metal door. Tom and Declan exchanged a look as Murphy grabbed his shirt to wipe the blood away.

“Answer it,” he said. “They wouldn’t knock if it wasn’t an emergency. Not with the mood I left them in.”

Murphy caught the words a moment before he flew into the night.

“Garvey… body. Barely recognized… fire.”

MURPHY made sure he was fully submerged in the dark river before he screamed his rage. The muddy waters of the Liffey curled around him, threading through his hair and brushing his face. A longing mother, she tried to soothe.

He would not be soothed.

Andrew Garvey’s body hadn’t been dumped in public. Whoever had killed the observant young man didn’t want to attract human attention.

Just Murphy’s.

Revenge? Simple frustration that their shipment and boat had been taken? Whoever killed the human had treated him like nothing more than a bug to be squashed. He wasn’t a person but an example. If the guard who’d found him burning in the skip behind Murphy’s new warehouse hadn’t been a water vampire, it was possible there would have been little left to identify Garvey in the end.

Murphy climbed out of the river and walked to his car, snapping at his driver to open the trunk as he approached. Then he peeled off his wet clothes and stuffed them in a bag, toweling off his hair to remove the worst of the damp. He donned a pressed white shirt and wool trousers before he went to examine the body, because Andrew Garvey had pressed his shirt before he met with Murphy, even though the pocket had been torn.

The human’s charred body had curled into itself, and the acrid smell of accelerant covered the area, but Murphy could see the single gunshot wound to the back of the head when Brigid turned over the body. At least it appeared that he’d been dead when the fire started.

Murphy stared at the remains of Andrew Garvey in the early-morning hours, wondering how he was going to tell Mrs. Garvey that her husband, the father of her baby girl, was dead. Declan stood next to him while Brigid murmured questions and quiet orders to the guards surrounding the scene. Tom had been dispatched to double-check the security of the warehouse where the Elixir carriers were being held.

“Arsewise, boss,” Declan said. “You warned him.”

“This is not Andrew Garvey’s fault,” Murphy said, his eyes never leaving the body. “This was never his fault. He was a good man who was trying to do the right thing. The bastards who did this will die.”

Declan shifted. “Murphy—”

“I will kill them myself,” he said. “Human or vampire. I don’t care who they work for. If you find them, you will hold them for me.”

Visions of blood were the only things keeping his rage in check.

“Do we call the Gardai?” Declan asked.

“If we do, we risk them asking questions about the ship we took. Risk coming under suspicion ourselves. We can’t do that.”

“Whoever did this—”

“Is likely long gone.”

Declan said, “I’ll do what I can on my end while you’re in London. I’ve already tracked down the ship’s manifest and crew, but we both know the names are likely to be fakes.”

“Is the reefer secured?”

“It is.”

“Tomorrow night you’ll go down and try to catch any scent trails left. I want a full investigation.”

Brigid came to them. “I don’t see an exit wound on the body, which means we might get ballistics.”

Murphy caught Anne’s scent though she said nothing. She came behind him and slipped a cool hand into his. He wanted her there, but he didn’t. It was ugly and reminded him too much of what his mate had to witness before.

“Murphy,” Brigid said. “With all this happening, are you sure—”