The Vampire Shrink kk-1

by Lynda Hilburn

  He studied me silently for several seconds. Despite the controlled mask he’d made of his face, his eyes betrayed him by expressing the fear and self-loathing he usually kept locked away.

  The words ‘all alone’ had been said with such raw misery that my heart ached. In that moment I understood how difficult it had been for him to tell his story to a therapist – or anyone. I had a clear intuitive sense that he was afraid I’d . . . what? Run out of the room? Condemn him for being what he was? Grab a stake and hammer and leap on him?

  ‘I understand.’ I gave him a gentle smile and nodded. ‘He was all alone. Then what happened?’

  ‘I waited until everyone else had gone to bed and then I went to the boy and held him in the dark. I don’t know why I felt compelled to go to him – I usually have no interest in children. He was bleeding from his nose and mouth, and I licked the blood from his skin and rocked him. He began to remind me of myself when I was small. I could feel his pain building and as he was ready to leave his body, I drank him dry. At the last moment he put his arms around my neck and pleaded, “Don’t leave me, Daddy.” After his soul left his body, I stumbled out into the alley and threw up for the first time.’

  Shit. Where do I begin?

  I let him see the sympathy and compassion in my eyes and spoke softly. ‘That’s a heartbreaking story. Do you remember a time when you were small when you asked your daddy not to leave?’

  He stared at me with horrified, pain-filled eyes. ‘My father abandoned the family when I was five years old. I remember the night he packed to leave. I didn’t understand why he had to go away – I was sure it was my fault, that I had done something wrong, something bad. I begged him to stay. He laughed and pushed me aside. That was the last time I ever saw him. The following years were very lonely.’ After he finished sharing the memory, he frowned and stared down at his limp hands in his lap. A tear rolled down his cheek.

  ‘Do you think my experience with that little boy has something to do with my blood phobia? Because of my own father?’

  ‘I do, yes.’

  He plucked another tissue from the box and wiped away the tears now streaming down his face.

  ‘You must be right, because I already feel different. Would you mind if we ended our meeting for now? You’ve given me a lot to think about.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind at all. You do have a lot to process.’

  We both stood and he reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out an envelope and set it on the table. He sniffled a few times. ‘I don’t know what your fees are, but there should be enough in there to hold me for a while. Just let me know when you need more. I promise to make an appointment next time.’

  He extended his hand and I took it. The coolness of his flesh surprised me and I caught my breath. He noticed my reaction and released my hand.

  ‘I’m sorry. Since I don’t drink enough blood, my skin is always cold. I hope I can do something about that. Thank you for today.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I look forward to our next session. You might want to consider hypnosis – perhaps we can gently uncover more of the memory that’s causing the problem.’

  He gave a quick nod.

  I walked him to the door and opened it.

  He blew his nose on a fresh tissue, and left.

  I briefly considered sitting at my desk and writing up case notes for Apollo, but I was tired and wanted to go home. I’d write up the notes at home later with a glass of wine.

  It wasn’t likely I’d forget any of the details.

  I thought about Apollo’s story and the poor child who’d died in his arms. As sad as it was, I’d actually heard much worse from my human clients.

  Who would’ve thought that a vampire would have the same issue as anyone else – the universal experience of a crappy childhood? Maybe vampires weren’t really so different after all.

  Yeah, right.

  CHAPTER 20

  It was a miracle. A quiet, drama-free evening.

  The police escorted me out of the office and back to my townhouse without incident. After I wrote up my case notes for Apollo, I enjoyed a long, glorious, undisturbed shower, still wearing the necklace that wouldn’t go away. I stood under the spray until the hot water cooled, which was saying something because I had a very large hot water tank. My skin had got satisfyingly pruned. I slathered myself with the exquisite and obscenely expensive skin moisturiser my friend regularly sent me from her European exploits.

  I snuggled into my Sigmund Freud pyjamas – seriously, they’re white silk with Sigmund’s face splattered like black Rorschach inkblots all over the fabric. They were a hot novelty item at the last American Psychological Association convention in Las Vegas. If that wasn’t cosy enough, I dug out my furry Miss Piggy slippers, complete with snout and curly tail, and covered up with my ever-present pink robe. I pulled my hair, which occasionally can feel very heavy, up into a pony-tail on the top of my head and let it cascade down around my shoulders in spiral curls.

  I was in the midst of total and complete relaxation. Or total and complete denial, whichever you prefer.

  I’d just poured a glass of liquid bliss in the form of white wine when the doorbell rang.

  Cautious, I turned on the porch light and squinted through the peephole. Either there wasn’t anyone there or my visitor was hiding from view. Or some other option I didn’t even want to think about.

  After the events of the last week, none of the possibilities was good news.

  I chose the ‘when in doubt, do nothing’ approach and was rewarded by a repeat performance of the doorbell tones.

  Leaving the chain engaged, I cracked open the door barely enough to scan a small area, which turned out to be not the least bit helpful. I still couldn’t see anyone there. My intuition remained silent.

  I was just about to close the door when it occurred to me I should ask an obvious question. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘It is I, Kismet – Devereux. Please let me in.’

  Devereux? If it was Devereux, why was he ringing the doorbell? Why didn’t he just pop in unannounced, uninvited, as always? Why didn’t he simply swoop in like an intrusive bat and snatch me off to another creepy-crawly adventure?

  ‘Why are you here?’ I was batting a thousand with Questions for Dummies.

  ‘I have come to make love to you.’

  ‘What?’ I croaked. Couldn’t say I’d heard that one before.

  Since I was still staring at the floor in front of my door I recognised the black leather boots that stepped into my line of vision. I raised my eyes but could only see more black and a flash of what might have been blond hair.

  Apparently he could also see the floor on the other side of the door because he said, his voice oozing amusement, ‘What are you wearing on your feet?’

  I glanced down at the dual Miss Piggys and felt the need to defend them. Her?

  ‘None of your business. What do you really want?’ Although I had to admit I’d rather enjoyed the previous answer.

  ‘I spoke the truth. I have come to make love to you. Please open the door.’

  How arrogant! And you just assume that’s okay with me? That I’m just going to open the door and make another deal with the devil? That I’m even remotely interested in having sex with you after our last trip down the rabbit-hole?

  ‘Hold on. This is crazy. My street is filled with cops and reporters. Why don’t they see you?’

  ‘I have created an illusion in their minds. When they look at the porch, they see only what they expect to see.’

  ‘Uh, huh. Likely story. How do I know it’s really you? You usually materialise out of thin air.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  I heard that familiar little pop sound, felt a rush of air and suddenly knew he was behind me.

  I closed the door and turned, hands on my hips. ‘Hey! That wasn’t an invitation!’

  A dazzling smile spread across his face. ‘You forget I have that handy little mind-reading ability.’ He bowed from t
he waist and his platinum veil of hair flowed forwards then back as he straightened. Dressed in a variation of his usual leather-god outfit, he was a feast for the eyes. ‘I rang the doorbell because I thought you would prefer me to enter your home the normal human way. I understand you are weary of the drama that has taken over your life. I do not wish to contribute any further to your discomfort.’

  He brought his hands around from behind him. They held a huge bouquet of pink roses and a box of chocolates.

  ‘Gifts for you, my love.’

  He leaned in and brushed my lips lightly with his. The familiar, delicious scent of him filled my nostrils and my lips instinctively puckered in anticipation of more of the same.

  Instead he burst out laughing. ‘You have pigs on your feet!’

  He thrust the roses and box of chocolates into my hands, scooped me up into his arms and walked us over to the couch. As soon as he was seated with me on his lap, he reached over and lifted my feet, inspecting the colourful porcine coverings.

  ‘How interesting.’ The longer he stared at the fluffy piggy slippers, the harder he laughed. He pinched the snout between his thumb and first finger and pulled on the tail.

  ‘Hey! Are you actually going to tell me you never heard of Miss Piggy?’ I said. ‘If so, your contemporary education is seriously lacking. When I was young, she was one of the best-known television and movie characters. Kids loved her.’ I loved her. She was so audacious – everything I wasn’t.

  ‘I see. Television.’ He grinned. ‘Let me ask you this – why would a vampire spend time doing human activities? How could those things possibly hold interest for such alien creatures as the undead? We might share the world with mortals, but not your reality. Not to be rude, of course, but most of the programmes I have seen on modern television leave much to be desired. Why sit and watch pretend people and situations instead of creating an exciting life? There is so much to know and discover in the world. I have never understood the human tendency to be passive observers.’ He waved his hand towards my feet. ‘But I must admit that your Miss Piggy sounds charming. I look forward to further education. There were no such things when I was a child.’

  ‘Well, maybe I’ll get you your own pair.’

  ‘I would be honoured.’ His eyes twinkled with amusement.

  He was right about people spending too much time in front of televisions, as well as computers and other media. It had never occurred to me that his ‘species’ might be different in every way – living a parallel but separate existence. As annoying as it was to be laughed at, something about his mirth was infectious and I found myself chuckling in spite of myself.

  Once again, whatever resolve I’d built up against Devereux had leaked away in direct proportion to the number of minutes I spent gazing at his perfect face. It was a waste of time for me to argue that I was immune to his charm, or his eyes or whatever it was that caused my normal inhibitions to catch the first plane out of town. For the first time, it occurred to me that I genuinely liked him. He had an adorable little-boy quality.

  At some point I must have put the flowers and chocolates on the coffee table because my arms were free to ensnare his neck. Which quickly led to me being flat on my back in my Freud PJs and my piggy slippers with an absurdly gorgeous vampire on top of me, attached at the lips.

  So much for a quiet, relaxing evening.

  We made out on the couch like teenagers.

  As always with Devereux, I couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t run my fingers through his long, silky, aromatic hair enough. Couldn’t feast on his lips even remotely enough. Couldn’t imagine anything more important than having him inside me.

  Even counting my close call with Alan, I hadn’t technically had intercourse for two years and the muscles in my vagina contracted in gleeful, moist anticipation.

  He lifted his warm mouth from mine long enough to whisper, ‘Will you invite me to your bed, my love?’

  Geez, the guy’s voice should be a registered weapon. It could take you down in three seconds.

  ‘What happened to all the mind reading? I’ve been sending out the welcome committee for the last twenty minutes.’

  ‘I know.’ He raised himself up just enough so I could see his pleased expression. ‘But it is important to me to hear the words from your own sweet lips.’ He somehow managed to lift himself off the couch in a flowing motion while scooping me up at the same time. ‘Shall we?’

  He carried me up the stairs, the twin Miss Piggys bobbing up and down. But my mind was no longer on footwear. In fact, my entire brain was focused on the fastest way to get us both naked.

  We entered my bedroom and Devereux paused at the foot of my bed.

  ‘You have not changed the sheets since you shared your bed with Alan. I can smell him. I wish to be the only presence here with you.’

  He set me down and stood in front of me.

  I started to explain that I hadn’t ‘officially’ had sex with Alan and there really wasn’t any part of him left behind, but Devereux gently pressed a finger to my lips, ending the flow of words.

  ‘None of that matters. Nothing that happened before me matters. I simply wish to make love to you right now in your own bed on fresh sheets. Yes?’

  He removed his black leather duster and threw it in a chair in the corner.

  Enjoying the view of the physique that’d been hidden under the coat, I moved over to him and lightly kissed his lips. ‘Definitely yes.’

  I opened a brand-new set of silk sheets I’d had for a long time but never used, while Devereux stripped off the old bedding.

  Quite an efficient team, we smoothed on the new sheets, watching each other with hungry eyes.

  ‘Do you have candles?’ he asked.

  Uh, did I? I thought for a moment and remembered which box in the closet I’d stashed them in. I wouldn’t tell him that I’d only bought them in case the electricity went out and I needed emergency light. I was trying to learn to keep my unromantic, nerdy explanations to myself. At least under certain conditions.

  While I was in the closet I stepped out of the Miss Piggy slippers and put them back in their special place, next to my Glenda the Good Witch sandals.

  Okay. So I did let my inner child out sometimes.

  He took the candles and the holders I’d also retrieved, placed them on the nightstands on either side of the bed and stood back, appreciating his handiwork. He pointed a finger at each of the candles and the wicks burst into flame.

  He smiled at me and said out loud what I’d been thinking. ‘Indeed – more parlour tricks.’

  I turned off the light switch on the wall and basked in the lovely glow of the candles. The soft illumination was the perfect setting for Devereux. His eyes sparkled, his hair was a shining radiance and his skin assumed the hues of the candlelight.

  He stepped over to the window and closed the blinds, then circled back around to the door and silently sealed it. Gliding over to me, he gently released my hair from the ponytail and eased the long curls down over my breasts.

  ‘Your hair is beautiful.’ He nestled his face in it and inhaled the fragrance, then ran his fingers through it. ‘You are beautiful. I had given up hope of ever finding you. And now you are here. Now you are mine.’

  ‘I’m yours? What does that mean?’

  ‘It means we belong to each other. We always have. I want to share every part of myself with you, and I want to know every aspect of you. I am so happy you have finally come to me. I have been lost without you.’

  I started to question his assumptions, and he silenced me with a kiss.

  He reluctantly pulled away and leaned against the wall to balance himself while he removed his boots. He pulled his shirt off over his head in one slow, elegant motion.

  Vampire Chippendales.

  Even though I’d seen him without his shirt before, the effect in the candlelight was almost overwhelming. The muscles of his shoulders, arms and abdomen were perfectly chiselled, a magnificent work of art in flesh and
bone. I started to wonder what the odds were of a human being so exquisitely built, then remembered he wasn’t human. Not even close.

  But that didn’t matter. In a very short, intense time period, I’d gone from thinking Devereux was mentally ill – an unfortunate having psychotic delusions about being a vampire – to waiting breathlessly for that very same vampire to fill me with what was already making its presence known inside his tight leather trousers.

  I splayed my hands on his chest, relishing the firm warmth of him, and moved close enough to take one of his nipples into my mouth. He moaned and relaxed his head back, embracing me with his strong arms.

  I started to unbutton the waistband of his trousers and he covered my hand with his.

  ‘Wait. We must remove your shirt first.’

  Vampire rules? I didn’t ask why. He lifted my hair back behind my shoulders and unbuttoned my pyjama top. Letting the slippery silk fall away, he used his fingers to guide the fabric from my shoulders and down my arms. He bent and slid his face over my breasts, taking one nipple at a time into his mouth with a gentle sucking motion. He cupped both breasts in his hands and laid tiny kisses all over them before using his tongue to harden my nipples to painful, throbbing points.

  He straightened, lifted the pentagram necklace and brought it to his lips. He kissed the centre of the circular design then replaced it, all the time gazing into my eyes.

  I already ached for him, and couldn’t imagine being able to hold out much longer. My knees were barely functional.

  He stepped away and studied me, the expression on his face reflecting the maelstrom of feelings and desires he couldn’t hide.

  He caressed my breasts again and said, ‘You are very lush for such a slender woman. In all my eight hundred years, yours are the most magnificent breasts I have ever seen. I shall never tire of touching them, of sucking them.’