“Your turn,” he said, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes.

She slowly stripped out of her dress and walked toward him. He could tell she enjoyed his eyes on her. She slid under the silk duvet and lay her head on the pillows.

“It feels so domestic to sleep with you,” she said. “I’ve missed that.”

“I have too.”

He pulled her to his chest and wrapped an arm around her waist, hoping but not trusting she’d stay there until dusk.

“Áine,” he murmured.

“Yes.”

“I know I’m an arse. But I do love you.”

“PATRICK.”

His head swam. He always became aware a few moments before he actually woke. It was as if his brain switched on, even if his body hadn’t yet followed.

He heard the voices from underwater.

Good fighter. Decided to keep him.

Scrappy.

More trouble than he’s worth.

Will they come back?

They think he’s dead.

…can make him loyal?

He’ll have to be…

The voices became clearer.

“Patrick!”

Did he want it?

Doesn’t matter.

Doesn’t matter.

Doesn’t matter.

It mattered.

“Patrick, wake up.”

He opened his eyes and surfaced, gasping for breath. Every night like the last. Alive. He was alive despite the pain. Despite the burning in his lungs. A miracle? A curse?

A hand patted his face. Not hard like Tom. It was someone…

“Patrick.”

Anne?

“A chuisle mo chroí.”

He was the pulse of her heart. She told him so…

No.

She’d left him and he died again. Every night he died when he woke.

“It’s early for him, Carwyn. I’m trying, but—”

“I’m awake,” he said, his voice like gravel against a ship’s hull. “What’s wrong?”

He blinked and sat up.

“Carwyn is at the door. We need to wake up and get dressed. Something terrible has happened.”

He wiped a hand across his face and finally looked at Anne. She was truly there. Awake and with him. Again. Murphy knew it wasn’t a dream, because she was dressed.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Rens Anker. Someone burned his house to the ground yesterday. And there was an attack on the O’Briens, as well.”

“What?”

“There’s no sign of Rens or any of his people. The house was completely destroyed. They think he’s dead.”

Chapter Seventeen

RENS WAS DEFINITELY DEAD. No vampire could survive a fire while resting. Anne and Murphy stood across the street from the inconspicuous house in Chelsea where firefighters sorted through rubble.

Murphy said, “This must have been the reason the Dutchman was so cagey about where his people were staying.”

“You think he knew he was in danger?”

“He’s an information merchant. His kind are always in danger.”

“Has Terry called his brother yet?”

“Carwyn can wake long enough to be lucid during daylight. He was informed the minute the fire was reported, and he sent a call to Amsterdam. I imagine a representative will be here tonight.”

“This is not good.”

“No.” Murphy shook his head. “This makes Terry look very, very bad.”

“Even though Rens refused his protection? Not even Brigid knew where he was staying.”

Suddenly Murphy leaned forward, craning his neck to look at the streetlights above them, and Anne saw him frown.

“What? What are you thinking?”

“Does Terry have a computer technician on staff? Or a contact in law enforcement?”

“I’m not sure. Probably.”

“Street cameras. London has a ridiculous number of traffic cams, and it looks like some may be pointing to the house. If Terry can access those and find out who started the fire, it might help him when Amsterdam gets here.”

“Good idea.”

Murphy tapped on the divider, and Ozzie pulled the car back into traffic. One of the benefits, Anne thought, of being nocturnal was distinctly lighter traffic. In a city like London, that benefit was priceless.

“What’s the news about the O’Briens?” she asked.

“Cormac is properly mental. Someone tried to kill Novia, but her human guard stopped him, though he was badly wounded in the attack. It was a human. Middle of the day. Cormac was roused during the commotion, and the attacker cut off part of his arm before Cormac managed to kill him.”

“Damn,” Anne said.

“What?”

“Cormac killed him. There’s no way to question him if he’s dead.”

Murphy smiled. “It would have been better if he’d been taken alive, but the man had a sword in the middle of the day, and half of Cormac’s left arm is gone. I think he was keener to eliminate the threat than think about who was behind it.”

“Do you think someone took offense at not being invited?”

Murphy raised an eyebrow. “Is it time for us to talk rationally about Oleg?”

“I can’t talk about Oleg.”

He took a deep breath. “I can admit that my conversation with Rens last night—”

“You had a conversation with Rens?”

“Yes, and he implied that there was something more between you and Oleg than I realized.”