“I haven’t seen him.” I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was taking what I said seriously.
“He wasn’t one of the creatures who tormented you?”
“No, I could’ve understood that. The vampires I saw were strangers, although some seemed familiar after a while. Maybe it was because they were making return visits.” Mitch shuddered, then looked over at me with a half-smile. “I would’ve almost welcomed Max; at least I knew him, and had some experience dealing with him. Don’t you have any idea about what’s happening? I mean, you’re one of them. There should be some sort of common bond or knowledge that would help you out of this.”
I shook my head slowly. “No, and if what you saw was real, you’ve met more of them than I ever have.”
“Can you ask around, find out who Max’s friends were? Maybe they’ll have answers.”
I thought back about my discussion with Victor and gave a rueful smile. “Actually, I’ve already antagonized one of his closest friends. Do you remember Victor Lange?”
“Should I?” Mitch’s face grew puzzled as he struggled with the name. “No,” he concluded slowly, “I’ve never heard of him.”
“You met him, Mitch. He owns The Imperial. We had dinner there one night.”
“Really?” He sat for a while, his face expressionless.
“Mitch?” I reached over and touched him on the arm. He jumped and laughed nervously.
“Sorry, Deirdre, I was thinking. I have no remembrance of the man at all. He was a close friend of Max’s? And you ticked him off? What happened?”
“I told him exactly who it was who killed Max.”
“Jesus, Deirdre, why on earth would you do that? It could cause a lot of problems for us both; after all, I’ve gone on record saying that I killed him in the line of duty. Self-defense, remember?”
“And for that statement you spent two years institutionalized. I wanted to set the record straight with Victor for a lot of reasons. I don’t believe he’ll make trouble for me, and if he does, I can handle him. That really isn’t the issue here.”
“And what is the issue? You don’t want to marry me because you see Max on occasion? You’ve been living with that for two years; I’m sure I could get used to it. It’ll go away after a while.” His voice was so determined, I almost believed him.
“There’s more, Mitch. Unfortunately, Max was, or is, a creature of great appetites. As a result”—I stood up with my fists clenched and walked around behind the chair, trying to avoid Mitch’s eyes—“I’ve been involved in a sexual relationship with almost every one of my victims since I left this city.”
“Jesus,” he swore in a whisper. “Deirdre.”
I looked away, waiting for accusations and recriminations. When he said nothing more, I glanced back at him, curious as to why his usually rampant jealousy was not aroused. There was no anger, no revulsion in his expression, only sadness. My heart twisted and I wanted to go to him, to hold him, to tell him that none of this ever happened. But I could not.
“Mitch, I cannot justify my actions. It would be easy to say that all of this is Max’s fault, but we both know that Max Hunter is dead and buried. I suppose that Sam would say that his appearance in my life is due to my guilt over his murder, and that the sexual episodes are revenge against you for turning me away.”
I shrugged and put my hand into my pocket, coming across the locket I had put in there earlier. I pulled it out and held it in my hand, curling the heavy gold chain around my fingers. “And he would probably be right. But now I not only hear Max’s voice, but I see him, plain as day and as real as you. And I dream of him, vivid dreams of his past life, a life that I experience as if I really were him.” My voice sounded choked, panicked. “It scares me, Mitch, so much so that when I wake I’m not even sure who I am. I barely recognize my own reflection at times.
“So you see, we have two choices—that I’m completely crazy or that I’m possessed by Max. Either way, my life is not one you would want to share.”
I sat back down in the chair, still idly toying with Max’s locket. It fell open, and when I peered at the miniature within, I gasped in recognition and dropped it on the floor. “No, it can’t be true.”
“Deirdre?” Mitch’s voice was surprisingly clear and decisive. “What is it?” He got up from the couch and picked up the locket. “Where did you get this? It’s very old.”
“It was with Max’s things. And, yes, it is old, dating back to the late 1500s. The woman in the picture, I know her. I have never met her, but I know her. I know the sound of her voice; I remember the way she looked when she was young, how my hand fit so perfectly in hers.”
He looked at the picture intensely. “But who is she?”
I ignored his question, and in panic bolted toward the door. “Oh, my God, it can’t be true.”
Mitch moved faster than I did, and blocked my retreat. “Who is she, Deirdre? And what possible difference can it make?” He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me to him.
Pushing away from him, I stared up into his face. “It’s all true, Mitch, it has to be. But what can I do about it? I’ll never be free of him.”
“Deirdre.” His voice was shaking, and his fingers dug deeply into my flesh. “What’s this all about?”
“The woman in the locket; she’s Max’s mother. I dreamed of her. I know her. And if that is true, then I’m not crazy.” I began to laugh, deeply pitched laughter that echoed off the walls and sounded so much like Max that I wanted to tear myself apart. Instead, I flung myself against Mitch and clung to him like a small, frightened child. “Somehow, some way, Max lives within me. We may have killed him, Mitch, but he didn’t die. And he won’t die until I do.”
Mitch calmed me then, his hands stroking my hair, his lips brushing delicately against my ears and neck. The pounding of my heart changed from panic into passion as he cupped my breast in one hand and placed the other on the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to his in a hard, demanding kiss.
The desperate quality of his embrace startled me, but my body responded in kind, the heat of his lips thawing any resistance I might have offered. The taste of him and the feel of his body on mine broke down the last of my inhibitions. When the kiss was over, we stood for a moment, staring at each other, both out of breath and frightened by the sudden strength of our desires.
“I don’t care,” he whispered vehemently. “I don’t care whom you’ve been with or what you’ve done.” He spun me around and roughly pressed me up to the door, holding my wrists against the woodwork. His eyes glowed with the intensity of his emotions. “I’ve lost you twice and I won’t let it happen again. You won’t run from me this time, Deirdre. We’ll face this together. But you must promise you won’t leave me. Ever. I don’t give a damn about your excuses, your bloody morals about not wanting to share your tainted life. Just promise you won’t ever leave.”
I felt a smile begin to shape my lips even as the tears stung in my eyes. I nodded, not trusting the strength of my voice, and he dropped my hands, wrapped his arm tightly around my shoulders, and led me back to his bedroom.
It was like no other time with Mitch. His usual gentle manner was gone, his hands rough as they tore the clothes from my body. But his urgency was contagious; his passion caught me up and I surrendered completely, abandoning all thoughts of what I was, what he was, what lay between us. There existed only our two bodies, our mouths and our hands, our teeth and our nails.
“Don’t hold back,” Mitch hoarsely urged as he pulled me on top of him. When I felt him pulsing inside me, hard and insistent, I threw my head back and cried out, snarling, howling. His labored moans echoed my lust; his hands grasped my waist and my breasts until they worked their way to my neck and forced me down. Our lips met, his tongue pushed its way past my sharpened teeth, and the brief taste of his blood drove me wild.
“Deirdre, Deirdre,” Mitch repeated over and over again. My own blood pounded in my ears, in perfect rhythm with his frantic thrusts. My body undu
lated on top of his, writhing in that exquisite torment. And when his teeth grazed my shoulder, I began to laugh, manic laughter that both frightened and excited me. I was too far gone to recognize its source, too enslaved by this rapture to care. The rush of Mitch’s blood into my mouth, his small gasp of pain, made me realize that my teeth were buried as deeply into his neck as he was in me.
I could not stop, did not want to stop, did not have the power of will to fight the demon. I rode on the tides of his blood, and the bittersweet taste of him rushed through my system, its intoxicating heat causing me to break into a feverish sweat. I wanted to devour Mitch, drain him completely, carry him inside me forever. As if from a distance, I felt his climax and my own shuddering orgasm. I gripped him tightly within me, and it was only my mad gasp for air that enabled me to release his neck from my bite.
Rolling from him, I felt the trickle of his blood on my chin and wiped it away in revulsion. Mitch sighed and moved toward me, nestling against me, his hand resting lightly on my hips, his mouth breathing into my ear. “That was incredible,” he whispered weakly. “Absolutely incredible.”
“Jesus,” I swore at him, hiding my tears. “Incredibly dangerous is more like it. I could have killed you, Mitch. That can’t happen again.”
But he didn’t hear me. His shallow, labored breathing had already relaxed into a more normal pattern. He was asleep, beyond any comprehension of my panic, leaving me alone and sated with sex, blood, and guilt.
Chapter 22
After an hour, I slid the covers from me and quietly got out of bed. The panic that I had felt had not subsided, but continued to build deep within me. I knew that if I did not escape the room, the situation could quickly get out of hand. I found my clothes in the dark and began to dress. Mitch should sleep well, and with luck he would never know that I left. But the metallic hiss of my zipper roused him slightly.
“Deirdre?” Mitch’s sleepy whisper made me jump guiltily and spin around.
“Go back to sleep, my love.” My voice was soft and reassuring. “I’m just going out for a little air. I’ll be back soon.”
“Why’re you always leaving?” His petulant question only heightened my desire to leave.
“Hush, Mitch, and sleep. After all”—I walked back to the bed and smoothed his hair—“I promised. And I always come back.”
By the time I finished dressing, his breathing was deep and regular again. Silently, I slid through the apartment and out the door into the night streets.
Two blocks down I found a taxi and gave the driver the address of Mitch’s hospital.
A quick survey of the parking lot revealed Sam’s foreign sports car, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t know whether he could help me or not, but I decided it was worth trying. I couldn’t live my life as it was now, torn between two men, one dead and one living, but both central to my existence. And, I thought with a sarcastic smile, he would be more than pleased with the opportunity to delve into my unusual psyche.
With my customary shudder I entered the front doors of the hospital and walked to the nurses’ station. When I saw that Jean was on duty, I almost turned around and left, but she looked up from her papers and her face darkened in recognition, her expression a challenge. Formidable as she is, I thought, she’s still no match for me. I smiled my sweetest smile and was rewarded by her most hateful glare.
“Good evening, Jean,” I said courteously. “I wonder if I might talk to Dr. Samuels.”
“Not in,” she muttered. “I’ll leave him a message.”
“Oh, but Jean, I saw his car in the lot. And I’m sure he would be happy to talk with me. Be a dear and tell him I’m here.”
She bristled at my tone, as I had expected. “And who exactly are you?”
Suddenly I grew tired of her games and reached over the counter, grabbing her chin in my hand and pulling her up to eye level. “You know damn well who I am,” I said through clenched teeth. “Just call him—now.”
Jean’s eyes held their defiant stare for a few seconds, then dropped in failure. As her hand went for the phone, I loosened my grasp on her. “Dr. Samuels”—her voice admitted defeat—“Miss Griffin is here to see you.”
“Great.” I could hear the response from his office. “Send her right down.”
“Thank you, Jean,” I said in a softer tone. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I walked past her, but she reached a hand out to touch my arm. “Miss Griffin?” I felt her fingers tremble slightly. “How is Mitch?”
Behind her still-obvious dislike of me I could see tears glistening in her eyes and some of my animosity toward her dissipated. “He’s doing well, Jean.” I smiled honestly and her expression lightened, making her seem younger, prettier. “I’ll be sure to tell him you asked.”
“Thank you.”
I patted the hand still resting on my arm. She held it there for a minute, then moved away from me and back to her desk. Shaking my head in disbelief—it was hard to imagine that Jean had a softer side—I entered Sam’s office.
“How’s the shoulder?” He got up from the desk and took my hand briefly. “No complications, I trust?”
“It’s fine, thank you so much.” I sat down and looked around doubtfully. Now that I was there, I was reluctant to talk about my problem, not so sure now that Sam could help me.
“And how’s Mitch?”
“Mitch is fine too. I left him sleeping peacefully.”
Sam nodded, walked back to his desk, and sat down. He smiled at me, exhibiting just a slight bit of uneasiness. “Then what on earth are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you.” I paused, not knowing how to proceed. I had already pushed the limits of Sam’s beliefs; my next admission would probably be going too far for him.
He went into his top drawer and pulled out the cigarettes. I took one, lit it, and inhaled deeply. Closing my eyes, I leaned back in the chair and nervously licked my lips. When I raised my head, I saw that he was watching me patiently, tapping his lighter gently on the desktop.
“Do you believe in possession?” As I blurted out the question, my voice sounded light, as if I were making a joke.
But Sam knew me better than that; he glanced at me in concern. He got up, looked out into the hall, then closed the door. Taking a deep breath and exhaling loudly, he leaned back against the wall and gave a small, humorless laugh.
“Three days ago I didn’t believe in vampires. Now I don’t know what I believe anymore. Do you mean by possession the taking over of one person’s body and mind by a hostile spirit?”
“Yes.”
“And that person is you?”
“I think so.” I looked down at the cigarette in my hand, took one last drag, and stubbed it out in the ashtray. “I know you can hardly be an expert on the subject, but I had nowhere else to go, no one else to confide in.”
“What about Mitch? Did you talk to him about this?”
“I tried to, Sam. But he seems to think it’s all an evasion on my part to avoid making a commitment to our relationship. And that is in itself another totally different problem.”
“Your relationship?” Sam walked back to his desk and took a cigarette for himself. “You and Mitch are having problems?”
I threw my head back and laughed, then looked him directly in the face. “What do you think? How could we have anything but problems?” I got up from my chair and went to look out the window. “Damn,” I said softly. “I was a fool to return. And I was an even bigger fool to promise to stay.”
“But you love him and he loves you. I know that’s true. I see it in him and in you.” Sam’s voice acquired a sharp edge, almost accusatory in tone. “You can’t leave him again. You do him so much good.”
I felt a surge of anger but repressed it as much as I could. “But that’s not why I’m here. I don’t mean to involve you in my relationship with Mitch. It’ll work out or it won’t. Either way, it has nothing to do with you.”
“Sorry.” He accepted
my rebuke politely, professionally. “So, why don’t you tell me why you think you’re possessed?”
“Max.” I whispered the name as I brushed the condensation from the windowpane. “He never died. Max Hunter still lives.”
“But you said that Mitch killed him. A stake through the heart, the only thing that works with vampires. How could he be alive?”
I walked back to my chair and sat down again. “I don’t know, Sam, but I know it’s true.” Reaching over, I removed another cigarette from his pack but didn’t light it. “And he’s with me, inside me. I see him, I hear him, I feel him. I dream of his past life; I know things about him I could never know otherwise: his real name, how he became a vampire, the sound of his mother’s voice. I’m afraid to sleep, afraid to do anything that might draw him out.”
Sam looked over at me, his expression concerned but detached. “And you feel he represents a danger to you?”
The question seemed such a complacent textbook response that suddenly the rage I had been suppressing broke loose. I rose to my feet and leaned over him, looking him full in the face. “Don’t humor me, Sam. Why will no one take this situation seriously? No, he is no danger to me, he’s already done his worst to me.” I closed my fist over the cigarette I had been holding and crushed it, sprinkling the shreds of tobacco and paper over his desk. “But he’s a danger to everyone else I meet. Why don’t you understand? Max Hunter was, or is, a bloodthirsty murderer and he can control me. I’ve been walking the line between reason and insanity for these past two years. And . . .” I turned my back to him. My voice trembled as I felt tears well up in my eyes. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep him at bay.”
“Deirdre.” I felt Sam move up behind me and lay a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“No,” I said, spinning around to confront him. “Don’t touch me. I have to go now. I can’t stay any longer. You’re not safe with me here and alone. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Sam backed away from me. “Deirdre, don’t go yet. I’ll try to help you if I can. But I’ll need more details to get anywhere.” He sat back at his desk and opened his drawer, removing a file folder. “I could hypnotize you, maybe talk to this presence you feel. Find out why this has happened, give you some control over it.”
Hunger Page 48