Like a physical slap, a memory of Lyren Hallow leaning against a white column in my dream crashed into my awareness. His hair had been blowing in the breeze — his very long, dark hair.
I tensed. No. Devereux said the building was magically protected, so the murdering psychopath couldn’t have gotten into the building, could he? I couldn’t allow myself to believe that Hallow had anything to do with Victoria being missing-in-action, because if he was involved, the possibilities were too horrible to imagine.
I glanced at the ever-darkening sky, wrapped the long hair around my finger and hurried to the elevator. I pressed the button for my floor and closed my eyes, concentrating on sensing whether Devereux had risen yet. Damn him for not telling me where he spent his days. He knew I had clients this evening, so he wouldn’t stop by right away. “How am I supposed to tell him about Victoria?” I said to nobody.
“What about Victoria?”
I sagged with relief at Devereux’s voice and almost threw myself on him when he strode toward me, wearing his normal dark leather and a light green silk shirt. I wrapped my arms around his waist, crushing my cheek against his chest for a few seconds, breathing in his spicy fragrance. He held me close. It was wonderful to touch him. I hadn’t realized how frightened I was for Victoria. “She’s gone,” I said quickly. “Something awful has happened — I know it.”
Rallying from my mini-panic attack, I remembered what I’d found, released my grip on him and backed up a step. I held out my finger and unwound the dark strand. “Here. This was on her desk. Her morning tea and muffin were only half-finished, and everything was a mess. Someone had rifled through her papers.”
His face serious, he lifted the hair from my hand and studied it silently. Then he rubbed it between his thumb and first finger. “There is no life-force present. This hair did not come from a mortal.”
“It’s Hallow’s hair, I’m certain.”
His eyes narrowed as he raised them to mine. Strong negative emotion radiated from him and he spoke slowly, his voice low. “And how is it you are certain of this?”
Psychic abilities weren’t necessary for me to pick up that he was working hard to control his anger, and I considered taking another step back, but decided to hold my ground. Devereux was probably going to blow a fang because I hadn’t told him about the dream where Hallow declared himself a god — and I honestly didn’t know why I hadn’t told him — why it hadn’t even occurred to me to tell him, but none of that mattered now. But the only important thing was finding Victoria, alive and well.
My lips had gone dry and I had to lick them before I could speak. I didn’t think any explanation would satisfy him, but I pressed on, “It’s logical, because when I found the long hair, I remembered dreaming about him after you held the ritual for me in your room beneath the Crypt. In the dream his long hair fanned out in the wind, and it’s too coincidental to find such a hair on Victoria’s desk when she’s gone missing.”
He appeared deceptively calm, but his energy had sharp claws. “And why did you not inform me of this dream? We spent hours together last night. You had ample opportunity to share this information with me.” He paused, his features tightening. “Is it because you enjoy your time with him?” He tilted his head, studying me.
Startled by his intuitive question, I cleared my throat to give myself a few seconds to regroup. “No, of course not.” I gazed into his beautiful turquoise eyes, and recognized pain — and disappointment — there. “I just didn’t want to talk about Hallow any more. I didn’t want you to get upset again, like you are now.”
Devereux walked me to the elevator and extended a hand, frowning. “Come. See to your client. He is in your office. I will take care of everything else and we will continue this discussion later.”
I started to ask another question, but he vanished.
My stomach churning, I rode upstairs, then walked slowly to my office door. I’d forgotten to tell him about Maxie using the keycard to get into my office, and her theory about him hiring a hit man. But he’d been so upset, maybe I simply hadn’t had the courage to raise more issues.
Was he right about Hallow — was I enjoying my time with the devil? I couldn’t deny that studying such an ancient vampire was intriguing, and I probably wouldn’t get such an opportunity again, but were my motives only professional? For some reason, even thinking about Hallow caused my nipples to harden. Victoria said she’d seen us together at my house, and that it was sexual, so maybe I had been with Hallow and didn’t remember. Was that why my heart pounded at the thought of him? Was it a simple attraction to a handsome male, or was this beyond my control? Devereux said Hallow made women desire him like addicts craved heroin. It was terrifying to think that that the madman might still be controlling me. Had he planted thoughts of himself in my psyche? How much freedom of choice did I really have? Who was in charge of me? I shook my head at the strangeness of those questions.
***
As I walked through the waiting room and into my office, I plastered a pleasant smile on my face. Every light in the room was blazing, illuminating a small, thin man who sat huddled at the far end of the couch. He had the same haircut he’d originally gotten at school in the 1940s, parted on the side and slicked down. Even though he appeared to be in his thirties, he’d never developed socially or psychologically beyond late adolescence. He was afraid of everything — or at least he believed he was. He reminded me of the death-obsessed young male character in that quirky old cult classic Harold and Maude.
“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, Jerome. I’m glad you made yourself comfortable.” I closed the door and sat in my chair. I swept my personal problems aside and focused on my client. The professors who trained us to cultivate a dispassionate professional mask would be so proud of me now, even if they’d never envisioned this particular clientele. But was I proud of me? I used to be so pleased at my ability to emotionally disengage, and now I found myself distressed by that same skill. I was certainly changing, but I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
“Is the hypnosis helping your fear of the dark?” I asked him. And then, “Are you still keeping a light on in your coffin while you sleep?”
Jerome shuddered visibly. His large brown eyes stared, unblinking, from his pale face. “The hypnosis isn’t helping yet. I keep telling myself that I’m not afraid of the dark, but myself isn’t listening. So, to answer your question, yes, I am keeping a light on. In fact, I saw a portable lamp on television that runs on batteries, so I sent away for several, and they’re working really well. Since my coffin is extra-large, I can pretty much stay in there all the time — except for when I need to get blood, of course.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “I suppose you could stay in your coffin all the time, but that’s not going to help your agoraphobia. Let’s talk about how you get blood now. Are you still ordering pizzas and feeding on the delivery people?” His expression told me what I needed to know. I couldn’t figure out why the pizza restaurants didn’t notice their drivers always came back in a dazed state from one address. Jerome must be better at entrancing humans than he let on.
He lowered his gaze to the floor and mumbled, “Yes. I know I promised I wouldn’t do that anymore, but I get so hungry. I don’t kill anybody, honest, but I can’t go out except to come here, Dr. Knight. I try to make myself, but my legs won’t work. Even though I live in a perfectly good basement apartment in one of the Master’s buildings, most days I can’t even make myself get out of my coffin. I think my depression is getting worse.”
Poor Jerome. We revisited the same emotional territory every session. Psychotropic medications didn’t work on the undead, so all I could offer were some behavioral techniques, which hadn’t been very helpful so far. “Do you want to get better, Jerome?” I asked suddenly. “Are you happy with the way your life — er, your existence — is?”
He sat silent for several seconds, then raised sad eyes to mine. “You know I never wanted to be a vampire. I’m simply not equipped for
this kind of life. I was always a morning person. My stepfather only bit me to get rid of me. He thought I wouldn’t survive the transition.” He moved toward the window. “I wish I hadn’t. I’m miserable.”
Since none of my usual interventions were at all useful, I felt justified in grasping at straws. “Jerome, is there anything that would make you happy? Something you could get excited about? Life without a purpose, for mortals or vampires, can be empty. Is there anything you have passion for? Anyone?”
He turned to me, an odd expression on his face. “I’ll tell you if you won’t get mad.” He pursed his lips. “You aren’t going to like it.” His voice sounded even younger than usual, and he almost physically shrank into the cushions of the couch.
“Tell me,” I said gently. He was treating me like his mother again, which was normal in therapy, but I needed to figure out what had triggered the transference.
“I am passionate about figuring out a way to end this terrible existence.”
I nodded. “Well, if you’re miserable, I can understand wanting to relieve the pain.” I paused. “Have you figured it out yet?”
Does he have a plan to off himself — and is it even suicide if the person is already dead? How could I stop him, anyway? There’s no 9-1-1 to call, no undead suicide hotline. I’m not trained for this!
He suddenly became agitated, shifting his gaze back and forth between the carpet and my face. “I think so.”
The air thickened. My stomach clenched and goose bumps prickled my arms. Holy shit. What’s going on now?
“What are you doing, Jerome?”
He stood and moved with vampire speed, looming over me, effectively trapping me in the chair. I tried to slide off the seat and onto the floor, but he jammed one of his legs between my knees. “You probably don’t know what Devereux said he’d do to anybody who hurt you. He was quite graphic about providing a quick and non-negotiable death. I’m sorry to involve you in this, because you’ve been very nice and I’ve enjoyed our time together, but it’s the only way. I just can’t take any more.” Dark red replaced the brown of his eyes and his fangs descended. “And if I’m totally truthful, I’ve had a few passionate fantasies about you, too.”
Fear tackled me. My heart began pounding and I started sweating as dread washed over me like a tidal wave. “Stop, Jerome! Don’t do this. I can help you. Things really can get better — please—!” I pushed ineffectually against his chest, but just as his teeth scraped my skin, he was suddenly gone, lifted away from me.
“I hate to interrupt this tender moment, but that had to be one of the biggest piles of melodramatic bullshit I’ve ever heard.” Hallow laughed, holding the struggling Jerome off the ground by the back of his shirt. “I suppose I could be a good sport and turn this pitiful specimen over to Devereux for disposal, but I’ve never been a team-player. Killing is so rewarding. I never waste an opportunity to revel in the thrill of the slaughter.” He glared at Jerome, who was making high-pitched keening sounds and flailing his arms and legs. “This whining sot is a blemish on vampires everywhere. He’s not even fit food. Besides, Devereux’s off following the trail of crumbs I scattered for his benefit. Although as I recall, he’s never really gotten into the spirit of the hunt. He’s always taking the joy out of everything with his lofty philosophies. But he’s adequately confused this time. He really doesn’t know how powerful I am, and that I’m confounding his magic. He’s a puppet on my string. He hasn’t even noticed how erratically he’s behaving. I say, what good is being a vampire, if you’re not going to be the meanest predator on the block? I like to set a bloody example.”
Hallow grabbed a fistful of Jerome’s hair and jerked my attacker’s head to the side with such force, and so quickly, that with a wet, bone-crunching, sickening sound it was ripped away from his body. Blood sprayed in all directions and I gasped as the viscous red fluid hit me in the face.
I screamed and frantically wiped at the blood dripping down my nose.
Hallow watched me for a few seconds, then gave an evil grin. “I always have such fun when I’m with you. It’s a pity we can’t leave today, but I have responsibilities to take care of. I’m sure you understand.” He glanced down at his hands, chuckling, as if he was surprised to find himself holding two parts of a ravaged vampire. He threw Jerome’s body on the floor and raised my former client’s severed head aloft, staring up at it. “Do you want this as a souvenir? After all, the unfortunate boy was just about to commit suicide by draining the therapist.”
He angled Jerome’s bloody head over his open mouth and drank the dripping liquid. Crimson streams spread down his face, through his hair and onto his shirt, saturating the dark fabric. He enthusiastically licked his lips and his fangs glinted menacingly from between them.
The horror of what Hallow had done upended my brain and I sat there silently, numb and incredulous. I stared at a ragged portion of Jerome’s spine protruding from the torn skin and my head spun. Realizing I was in shock and dangerously close to throwing up, I lowered my head between my knees and tried to breathe. I heard something hit the floor with a squishy crunch and the gleeful monster laughed. I shifted my gaze just in time to see Jerome’s head roll against the toes of my shoes. I groaned.
“I keep forgetting what sissies you humans are. One unexpected beheading and you’re reaching for your barf-bags. Let’s get you some air. I prefer your natural, sweet-smelling aroma.”
He lifted me from the chair, balanced my limp, nauseated body in his arms and transported us to the rooftop patio. Along with everything else about Devereux’s building, it was both lovely and utilitarian. Motion-sensing lights illuminated the space, which wasn’t really necessary since the moon hung low in the clear sky, only a couple of days past full.
I’d just cleared my throat to demand he release me when he did exactly that. My feet hit the floor and I steadied myself and stared at the bloodied fiend standing in front of me.
“Blood agrees with you, Kismet.” He grinned. “It brings out the blue of your eyes and the ivory tone of your skin. Of course, your beautiful dress is damaged beyond repair.” His silver eyes glistened. “I hope it didn’t have any special significance for you.” He stroked his hand down my breast over the ruined silky material. It didn’t take a huge mental leap to understand he knew the garment had been a gift from Devereux. Disgusted, I recoiled from his touch and jerked backward a step. “Get your hands off me, you bastard,” I gasped through the fear contracting my throat. My voice came out thin and high-pitched. Hallow’s energy was suffocating.
His grin expanded, and he grabbed my upper arm, hauling me closer. “I don’t think I will. As much as I enjoy your keen mind — and you know I’m looking forward to exploring your abilities — it’s probably time to shift to the next level of my plan.”
I tried, without success, to free my arm from his grip. “You’re not exploring anything about me, you homicidal psychopath. I’m not participating in any of your sick plans. You’re a delusional monster.”
His eyes wide, he shook his head, adopting an expression of innocence. “Is this all the thanks I get for keeping that irritating boy from tearing your throat out? Name-calling? My dear doctor, I would’ve expected much more gratitude — and subservience. Oh well, It’s clear I have my work cut out for me.” His eyes narrowed. “You will make a marvelous lýtle.” He leaned in. “And perhaps more.”
I kept struggling, but his fingers were steel. He stared at me with his cold eyes and my awareness fragmented. His hypnotic gaze locked on mine, pulling like a magnet, enticing me into his dark aura, and my knees buckled. Only his grip on my arm kept me from falling. One part of me remained conscious of the fact that I was on the roof of Devereux’s building, held prisoner by a killer, but another part — the one with the hard nipples and damp crotch — eagerly dived into the mercurial lure of his eyes, unable to concentrate on anything but the need for his hands on me. I was sentient enough to understand my level of danger, but unable — or unwilling — to turn away.<
br />
He held me tight against him, entwined his free hand in my hair and tugged my head back, exposing my neck. The smell of blood overwhelmed me.
“Soon your only purpose will be to serve me,” he whispered, his mouth against my ear, “and you will do so willingly, craving me above life itself.”
The words sent rushes of pleasure down my body. Almost painfully aroused, I groaned, surrendering the use of whatever bones still remained. The sane part of my brain frantically screamed, “No! I don’t want this! Stop!” The inmates had taken over the asylum.
Want this...
His soft tongue licked down my neck before he plunged his fangs into the rich vein pulsing there, and I screamed with the beginnings of an almost overwhelming orgasm that rumbled through my entire body, bombarding me with chaotic emotions. As the pleasure intensified, my muscles spasmed, shaking me violently, as if I were having a seizure.
I never wanted it to end.
Loud voices startled me from my erotic dream and I opened my eyes — which I hadn’t realized I’d closed — to find several vampires in a circle around us. I tried to focus my eyes and hadn’t even time to wonder if Devereux was there when he leaped on Hallow and grabbed him from behind.
I collapsed.
Chapter 17
I lay on the ground as orgasmic aftershocks reverberated through me, my mind as boneless as my body while my brain smoked a mental cigarette.
A series of crazed noises finally penetrated the fog in my head and I shifted my gaze toward what sounded like rabid wolves fighting over a deer carcass. I goggled at the sight of Devereux and Hallow locked in immortal combat.
Their mouths were stretched in lethal snarls, their long, sharp fangs exposed, their silky hair, dark and light, flying about their heads.
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