“I would have if I’d been conscious. I’m not hungry at all, but I’m sleeping so much earlier.”

It had been six nights since Murphy had returned to the cottage by the river. Six nights since Jean’s blood had been spilled. The word had gone out to both of the Frenchman’s victims that justice had been meted out, though the Dutch were making noises about seizing Desmarais property in Marseilles, much to the consternation of Paris, which was already claiming territorial rights. Murphy, having killed Jean Desmarais, had the right to claim his territory, but Anne knew her mate had no interest in splitting his interests by claiming part of France.

Gemma was doing what she could to protect Jean’s children, but none were old enough or strong enough to hold their sire’s city. They would have to seek protection elsewhere.

More importantly, word was spreading aggressively about any ships coming from Greek-controlled ports on the Black Sea. Inspections were increased. Elixir was seized.

Sadly, so were more human carriers.

But among the infected humans, there had been found a few anomalies whose health had not been infected. Humans who showed no sign of sickness and were eating regularly. Among the victims, the vampires fighting Elixir had found a thin thread of hope.

Murphy rolled over and put an arm around Anne’s waist, nuzzling his face into her neck. “If I promise not to bite you, will you let me stay?”

Anne tried not to tense, but she was terrified of infecting him.

“Murphy, your sire is dead.”

“I know.”

“If I infected you—”

“I have three living children,” he murmured. “It’s not as quick, but treatment from offspring’s blood has also proven effective. And it’s about time that lot proved their usefulness. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to bite you while you’re infected. You’re going to the doctor Gemma found. He’s going to perform the procedure, your father will give you new blood, and you will be fine.”

Anne knew nothing was guaranteed, but she didn’t protest. She needed to believe she would live as much as he did.

“Do I smell wrong?” she asked.

“You smell good,” he groaned, licking her neck.

“Don’t!”

“I won’t.” He kissed her neck and pressed his body against hers. “I understand the lure of it though.”

“I hate that it works,” she said softly. “For the past few nights, I’ve woken feeling wonderful. No burn in my throat. No hunger. The relief, Patrick… I can’t describe it. If it wouldn’t make me go mad—”

“Hunger I can handle. Your losing your mind, I cannot.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wish I’d been stronger.”

His arm tensed. “I will not have you blaming yourself.”

“You wouldn’t have bitten them.”

“I don’t know what I would have done, and neither do you. I wasn’t there. I have not struggled with bloodlust my entire life. I wasn’t faced with the prospect of two addicted humans begging for my bite while I was locked with them in a small room.”

“You would have been stronger.”

“Perhaps I should blame myself,” Murphy said, turning her to face him. He held her chin between his fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Perhaps if I’d paid better attention to you, I would have known you were struggling. I would have looked past my own bloody ego, and I would have fed my mate. Should I blame myself for denying you my vein?”

“Of course not!”

“This was Jean’s fault,” he said. “Not yours. Not mine. Jean’s.”

“And Zara’s.”

Murphy paused. “Is she as unbalanced as everyone says?”

“I only know from what Oleg has said, but you heard him at the pub. From everything I have heard, I would likely diagnose Zara with severe antisocial personality disorder with narcissistic tendencies. Though obviously I have not examined her, nor do I have any plans to do so.”

He smiled.

“What?”

“I love your clinical voice,” he said. “Have I told you that? It makes me want to provoke you and make you lose your temper.”

“And you like that?” Men, she decided, were a mystery.

“I do.” He pulled her across his chest while his hands went down to cup her bottom.

“Making sure my bottom is still there?”

“Yes.” He gave it a gentle pat. “Do you want to know my favorite part of your being a vampire?”

“Eternal youth?”

“No.”

“No worrying about suntans?”

“No, I’d say we worry more about the sun than the average human.”

“Good point. Is it…” She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest. “Having a partner in immortality? A lover to walk through this endless night at your side? A mate who adores you?”

He kissed her forehead. “Those are all very, very important, my love. But my favorite part”—he gave her backside a squeeze—“is that while you might swim a thousand miles… this beautiful arse will never get any smaller.”

Anne burst into laughter, surprised and delighted that her mate—a proud, strong, sometimes-vicious vampire—was still more than a bit of a scoundrel.

And she loved him for it.

HER arms and legs were strapped down, and the lines running from her arteries, though the taps, as she jokingly called them, had not been pulled. Murphy was on one side and her father was on the other in the cold white room.