Irina dipped her slender finger in the liquor and licked it off. “You’re the last vampire I’d pick to take on the burden of turning a human.”
“I’m tired of being alone. I want a companion.” Eamon frowned. More questions about his choosing a new companion. Was he supposed to be satisfied with an endless parade of human females to keep him company as he’d done for the past four centuries? Did his age and power preclude his desire to have a vampire with him at all times? He swallowed more of the scotch. “Do you think you were burden for me?”
She twisted a lock of her sable colored hair around her finger and pretended to think for a moment. “No, but I’m nothing like the one you’re after. She’s complicated and not in a good way. You seem to have chosen on a whim. My friends think long and hard before turning a human.”
He covered his glass with his hand when she attempted to poke her finger back into the amber liquid. “I hardly think I’m comparable to the vampires you know.”
“Such an elitist.” Irina leaned into him and ran her fingers through his sand colored hair. “But, my Primigenio should be, I think.” She sat up on her knees and brought her lips close to his ear. “I’m by far the luckiest vampire in the world.” After a pause, she licked his earlobe and placed her arms around his neck. “Otyets, sozdatyel’, ya tyebya lyooblyoo.”
Eamon leaned further back into the sofa cushions. Irina was a master. She alone possessed the ability to crack the indifferent exterior he maintained, just by reminding him she loved and needed him. It still surprised him. Even though they were no longer a romantic pair, his affection for her remained as her maker. Even after nearly six centuries. Hearing her call him “father and maker” in her native Russian brought a smile to his face and a sense of pride flowed through him.
“Ya tyebya lyooblyoo slishkom, milochka” He returned her kiss after affirming that he loved her as well. “My Russian is becoming quite rusty, darling. You should spend more time with me.” Eamon leaned into the sofa cushions.
“Yes, I should. I’m afraid you’re going to forget about me with your new companion.” She watched him from the corner of her eye.
He noted the mocking emphasis on the word companion. “I don’t think that would be possible.”
“No, I’m rather unique.” Irina dragged her index finger down his chest.
“That and the fact you’ve been part of me for over five hundred years.”
She sat back. “I’m serious.”
He kissed the top of her head.
Irina brushed the copy of the Financial Times on his lap onto the floor and stretched her petite body across him. After a moment of silence, she lifted her blue eyes up to his face. “Are you hungry?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I could eat. Why?”
“I thought we might go out and feed together.”
“That would be nice. Did you have something in mind?”
“No. Tourists in Times Square? Or maybe find a dance club. I adore that.”
Eamon grimaced. “I don’t.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure? I suppose you’ll just feed from your secretary again.”
He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. “A more relaxed feed appeals to me. Not that I don’t enjoy the thrill of hunting. I do. Instead, I find eager submission is enough for me.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I prefer hunting.”
“That’s the Boyar in you.”
Irina sat up and tipped her head to the side. “You need to get out more.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean mix with your own kind. Drop your self-imposed barrier.”
He rolled his eyes. “Why?”
The last thing he wanted was his house full of vampire social climbers. Any vampire not of his bloodline would more than likely want something from him or just want to be associated with him. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with the social intrigue and politics that existed among day to day life among vampires. “You said I was an elitist.”
“I’m not suggesting you open your world to everyone.” She looked around Eamon’s living room and frowned at the formal surroundings. “However, keeping occasional company with other vampires might do you some good.”
“What sort of good?”
She opened her mouth to speak but stopped.
I’m waiting, he said in her mind.
“Too much human contact can’t be good for a vampire.”
“You never learned the value of humankind.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “They’re food and every now and again, entertainment.”
Irina had enjoyed his protection for so many years that she never learned to see the humans around her for anything more sustenance. To Eamon, they were a means to an end and not just in a nutritional way. Most of the time, they happily provided a service to or served vampires in exchange for something. Sometimes it was their life.
As a young vampire during the Middle Ages, he preyed on human fear. He found it to be a powerful motivator for servitude and loyalty. However, as humans gained knowledge and as the centuries rolled by, money and the allure of eternal life took the place of fear. The gift of being turned was what humans offered their service and loyalty for today.
“Humans are more than you give them credit for,” he said as he reached for his glass. “I’ve tried to teach you that for centuries.”
“Sometimes I think you’re much too attached to them.” She picked at the diamond bracelet on her wrist.
“You make them sound like pets.”
“Precisely! Or farm animals.” Irina turned the bracelet loose and rested her hand on his leg.
“Enough, Irina.” He lifted her up and walked to the liquor cabinet to refill his crystal glass.
“What?”
“Curb your feudal leanings.” He gave her a fatherly scowl.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Irina rearranged herself on his lap when he sat back down.
“If you had your way, you’d raise humans like livestock. You’ve never thought much of the humans who were of a lesser station than yours.”
“You’re a fine one to accuse someone of being a snob.”
“The situations are different entirely.”
“Only because you say so.” She looked him in the eye but then lowered her gaze. “But as my maker, I suppose you have the right.”
“Yes, I do. Your lack of respect for humans might one day be your undoing.”
Irina scoffed. “Not bloody likely.” She stood up and stretched. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to find something to eat by myself.”
“It’s not like you’re a newborn. You don’t need me to come with you.”
“Maybe I want you to. I like having you with me.” She shrugged into her leather jacket and fiddled with one of its silver buckles. “I won’t have that soon.”
“Find one of your like-minded friends to eat with.”
Irina leaned over and kissed him. Her lips softened as the kiss turned from social to more intimate. His lips turned in a smile and she pulled back.
“Jealous,” he whispered.
She stalked out of the room and he laughed. The sound of the door closing cut off his laughter. With all of the companions she had been through, it surprised him that she didn’t understand his need. And yes, it was a need. Irina didn’t count. Their involvement ended in the seventeenth century and his loneliness morphed into the drive to acquire as much wealth as he could. That goal had been accomplished long ago, but he was still lonely. There wasn’t anything left for him to divert all of his lonely energy into. He simply wanted to fix the problem.
CHAPTER THREE
Oh, Shut Up, Anthony, You Analyze Everything to Death!
Dr. Anthony Wilson gazed out of his office window down at the empty parking lot. Lauryl was late. Again. Her tardiness didn’t surprise him but, since this was going to be their last session together, he’d hoped maybe she would surprise him and arrive on time.
&
nbsp; He turned around and looked at her chart on his desk. It was now stuffed two inches thick with the chart notes on their sessions together. Some of the sessions were pleasant and she made excellent progress acknowledging her maladaptive behavior but some of them weren’t. Anthony placed his hand on the chart.
When Lauryl first came to him, neither one of them were prepared for each other. She didn’t want to go to an outpatient treatment center, so the dance company arranged for her to begin therapy with him. They’d met three times a week at first, then twice a week, and now once a week. The first thing out of her mouth when she walked in his office was “I hope you’re cool and not one of those over-analytical-type doctors.” She then wanted to know where his beard was because, she said, all therapists had beards and she wouldn’t be able to take him seriously without one.
Anthony’s intercom beeped and his receptionist whispered, “Dr. Wilson, Lauryl Mellis is here.”
He walked into the reception area. Lauryl smiled and scooted past him. When he followed her in, he noticed she already was settled into the chair she always sat in. Her chair, as she called it.
Anthony took a seat across from her. “So,” he began.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“I don’t think you are sorry. If you were, you wouldn’t be late all the time.”
“Okay, I’m not sorry,” she said and withdrew her apology. “Is that better?”
“It’s not better but it’s honest.” He looked at her. Her cream colored skin was now pink. “Been to the beach?”
She touched her cheek. “I guess I got a bit of a burn. It shows more on fair skin.”
“You still underestimate our sun here in the northwest,” Anthony said. “It’s just as wicked as in the south. You should wear sunscreen.”
“You sound like my grandmother,” Lauryl said with a grin.
Anthony steered the conversation back to a more professional path. “Today won’t be like our other sessions. Today will be a wrap up.” He looked away anxiously to keep from being distracted by her when she unfastened the tortoise shell barrette holding her long, auburn hair off of her face. She tousled the thick curls a few times and then gathered them back in the barrette. “This’ll also be my chance to say goodbye.”
“Okay.”
“It’s going to be shorter, too. Not the usual fifty-minute hour.”
“Sounds good.”
“Great. So shoot.” Anthony leaned over and turned on the little tape recorder on the table next to his chair.
So shoot. He began just about every session with those words. Lauryl stared down at her feet and then back at him. “I’m kind of sorry this is our last session. Believe it or not, I was beginning to get comfortable with this.” She reached over, grabbed a pillow from the nearby sofa, and hugged the cushion against her. “I even kind of like it.”
Anthony nodded. “I wish you had been that way when you first came here.”
She hadn’t been the most cooperative patient when she first left the hospital. She was confrontational but then sometimes she was passive. At the beginning of some of their sessions, they stared at each other, waiting for the other to give up and speak. Every session, she won.
“I’m scared to go back,” she said. “Maybe not scared, nervous though.”
“Nervous is okay. You’ve learned to deal with your fears and problems in a constructive manner.”
She twisted her shirt around her finger. “I just don’t want to lose control again.”
“Do you remember any of our discussions about that?”
After a few seconds, her expression brightened. “I know I don’t have to have all the answers today and its okay if I don’t have everything right away.”
He sifted through her paraphrased quotation. “Good. Keep that in mind.”
“I’ve got the things I learned in the hospital. I’ll try to go to meetings.”
Anthony knew that she wouldn’t go to Narcotics Anonymous meetings but he let it go. “We’ve talked about more positive coping mechanisms and techniques.” He leaned back in his chair and rolled a pen across the yellow legal pad in his lap. “If you feel like you need to talk to someone, you can call me. Or I can refer you to someone in Northup.”
She took a deep breath in and let it out. “No, I’m fine. I’ll find one on my own.” Lauryl twisted a string on her jeans and peeled it apart.
“I know a couple of ‘cool’ therapists in Northup. One even has a beard.”
“I promise. I’ll be fine.” She stared at him for a couple of minutes. “You’re coming to see me dance, right?”
“I planned on it.”
“The first performance should be in about a month.”
“Let me know and I’ll mark it on my calendar,” he said.
With a smooth stretch and extension movement, she pulled her knees up to her chest and sighed. “So I guess you won’t be my doctor anymore.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“Like crap. I feel like I’m losing something.”
“You’re losing something?”
“Yeah, I thought I would feel whole when I left here but instead I don’t.” Lauryl rested her chin on her knees.
“You’ve gained your independence and a better understanding of yourself.”
Lauryl tugged on her feet, flexing them upwards and then rotating them. “Then why don’t I feel happy?”
Anthony waited for her to process her feelings. She chewed her lower lip for a second and then put her head on her knees. He counted to twenty in his head in an effort to channel his wandering thoughts.
“I’ll miss you, Anthony. In some funky way, I’ll miss you.”
His cheeks reddened and his neck sprouted beads of perspiration. He banished his excitement that she was going to miss him. It resurfaced and he pushed it away before he lost his focus completely. He nodded.
“Me or the sense of protection and safety of this environment?”
“Oh, shut up, Anthony. You analyze everything to death.” She dropped her feet down to the floor and crossed her legs.
“Forgive me. That’s my job.” He laughed. Her quirky humor gave him an opportunity to relax. “You can always come back here, Lauryl. No matter what, you can come back here to me.” He hesitated for a moment when he realized what he said. “My office.” Concentrate, he told himself.
“Thanks, Anthony. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Are you going back to Northup today?” he asked and glanced at the small clock on the bookshelf across the office.
“When I’m done here.”
“Are you going back to your same apartment?” He recalled her description of her apartment. She told him it was only clean every fourth Tuesday and that dollhouses had larger bedrooms.
“I had to have a friend go over and clean it out. He told me he was flushing the toilet for about thirty minutes,” she said.
Anthony laughed and put his pen down. “Wonder what the street value of all that coke was?”
She stared down at her feet again. “I think back to then and I get scared.”
“Scared is okay. Recognize it and work through it. You have control over that now. Remember that. You have control.” There was a brief silence. “Is there anything else you want to say or ask?” He hated that the time was up. It had moved so quickly. Some days, time stopped. Those were days when they worked through a difficult issue or she was emotionally exhausted. Fifty minutes was like a lifetime. Today, time passed in an instant.
She leaned forward and picked up her purse. “No, I don’t think so. I think I’m good.” She took one last look around his office and the minimalist furniture and modern art. “Dr. Anthony Wilson, psychiatrist to the stars and IKEA shopper.”
Anthony nodded his head. “Always.” He took a few steps toward her and saw that her green eyes were wet with tears. “There is nothing wrong with tears, Lauryl. They can be a very healthy thing.”
Tears streamed down her face and she wiped them away with her han
d. “I guess I’ll see you in about a month.”
He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I remember when you proclaimed that you weren’t going to cry in here.” He offered her the box of tissues from his desk. She took one and they walked to the door.
Lauryl dabbed her eyes a few times. She stuffed the tissue in her jeans pocket and then extended her hand for Anthony to shake. He looked down at her trembling, little hand.
“This time we can hug.” He opened his arms and she hugged him. Anthony squeezed her again, memorizing the feel of her slight frame against him, the smell of her hair and anything else he could think of.
“Thanks for your help, Anthony,” she mumbled into his shoulder. She tried to rub away the pink mark her lip-gloss made on his Polo shirt but it ended up more ground in to the fabric. Lauryl put her hand on the doorknob and froze.
Anthony nudged her. “Go on, this is your cue. Or whatever it is you guys say.”
She nodded and wiped more tears from her face. With that, she walked out of his office but not out of his mind.
The receptionist turned to him. “Your next appointment canceled, Anthony.”
“Good,” he replied without hearing what she had said.
Anthony shut his door and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His caseload would be lighter now but, at the same time, he wouldn’t anticipate Tuesdays at two or two-fifteen or whatever time Lauryl managed to get to the office. Anthony suffered a unique emptiness at her leaving. In five years of private practice, this never troubled him. He sat down behind his desk and stared at her chair.
Over the last four weeks, he had spent his off time thinking about her, more than he should have. His thoughts at some point diverted away from professional and turned more intimate. His attraction to her increased until it was such a distraction that he almost consulted another therapist to work through it. But he didn’t. They would have tried to convince him lose her as a patient.
“It’s transference and it’s a no no,” he said aloud. Only if she’s a current patient, he thought. He had just discharged her. He was safe on a technicality.
Life in Moonlight: The Primigenio Tales: Book 1 Page 2