Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist)

by Hilburn, Lynda

  “Okay, I get that you painted a picture of me a long time ago, and you believe we were destined to meet, but something else is going on. You have another agenda.” My voice held all the frustration I felt about his ambiguity. “When exactly are you going to explain all your cryptic remarks?”

  In a blink, he was standing in front of me. “Be patient, my love.” He pulled me close again and kissed the top of my head. “It would not be wise for me to overload your brain with such esoteric information.”

  Does he mean to be condescending, or does it just come naturally?

  “We must take things slowly,” he murmured next to my ear. “All will be revealed in time.”

  Goose bumps crawled up my arms: another evasive answer, not to mention an anxiety-producing one. Overload my tiny little brain with esoteric information? I met his eyes for a second, then quickly fixed my attention on the photograph of the Denver skyline visible over his left shoulder. I had no intention of being pulled into his magnetic laser beam again. I had to clear my throat a couple of times before I managed to speak. My knees were still threatening to buckle as I said, “I wasn’t expecting you tonight. I thought you said you’d be busy with coven business.”

  “Yes.” He ignored my unspoken question. “I did say that. And I must apologize.”

  Involuntarily, I found myself falling into those turquoise eyes as the familiar fog engulfed my brain. I forced myself to focus on his lips. Big mistake. The tip of my tongue eased along the edge of my teeth as I remembered the feel of his mouth against mine.

  Warm, soft, sensual, delicious … orgasmic …

  I had to will myself to trigger any still-functioning neurons and finally released him, stepped to the side, and mumbled, “Apologize? For what?”

  His lips curled into a devilish grin, and amusement flared in his kaleidoscopic eyes. He’d obviously read my embarrassing thoughts.

  Damn mind-reading vampire.

  Refusing to panic, I fought to regain control of myself. What the hell was wrong with me? Would I never be able to handle being in the same room with Devereux without acting stoned? Trust me to attract a male who’s a walking recreational drug.

  He inclined his head, and his platinum curtain of hair swung forward. He raised his hands, palms out. “Sincerely, you will get used to me. I will not always have this intoxicating effect on you. You may gaze into my eyes without fear.”

  I must have looked skeptical because he locked eyes with me and … nothing happened. Or at least, nothing more. I was still fuzzy and slow from his last dose.

  “So, uh, you said something about an apology?” I cleared my throat. “I’m all ears.”

  He quirked a brow and studied me intensely, probably looking for the elusive extra ears. Modern slang often confused him, though I was pretty sure I’d explained this phrase wasn’t literal when I’d used it before. He never appeared convinced, though. He’d lived in Denver for only thirty years and hadn’t made much of an attempt to Americanize himself, or to join the twenty-first century. Since he could move effortlessly through time and space merely by thinking and preferred earlier centuries and European countries, he tended to spend most of his time there. He’d admitted that he couldn’t imagine vampires adopting “passive” human activities like television- or movie-watching; the undead usually chose more active pursuits. Yeah, like draining mortals and clawing their way out of coffins.

  Humor has always been my best defense. I smiled at the unlikely image of Devereux digging through clumps of earth—under any circumstances. The Master with dirty or bloodstained fingernails? No way!

  “Yes, apology.” He frowned, apparently choosing to disregard my singularly unflattering train of thought. “In my attempt to organize my various enterprises after the … unpleasantness on Halloween—”

  “Hmm. About that. We haven’t had time to discuss Lucifer. I know you said I’m safe and you have your people protecting me twenty-four/seven, but he’s one scary bloodsucker. How is it he’s managed to stay away from you? What’s going on with the search for him? I still have nightmares …”

  He straightened, his expression and voice flat. “You have nothing to worry about. I am completely in control of the situation. Now, as I was saying, I allowed my priorities to become skewed. Instead of arranging time alone with you, which is what I truly want, I found myself swept up in a mass of vampire bickering and infighting, and now I cannot find a moment of peace without someone insisting I settle a disagreement or deal with one problem or another.”

  His chin lifted. “In olden times, no one would have dared bother me with such nonsense. But today a Master’s role is more diverse.” He clenched his fists. “And I have had a pressing matter on my mind.” His eyes went cold. “I have unfinished business with someone who overstepped his bounds: a situation I have vowed to rectify.” He relaxed his hands and stared out into the night. Then he shook his head and visibly calmed himself.

  Whoa! That was an impressive mood shift—too bad psych meds don’t work on the undead. And why the hell didn’t he answer my questions about Lucifer?

  I moved around my desk and sat in my chair. “This might sound like a cliché but I’m here if you want to talk about whatever’s going on with you. Obviously somebody’s pissed you off.”

  And apparently you have one helluva temper.

  He sauntered around behind my desk and bent to run a gentle fingertip across my lower lip. “Yes, someone did indeed piss me off, and I am having difficulty keeping my anger under control.” He stood, giving me the not-so-subtle signal that the topic was now closed. “I appreciate your willingness to listen, but he is not worth our time. This is the longest we have been together in days without interruption.” He smiled wryly. “And had it not been for a human customer at the Crypt inquiring about the club’s plans for New Year’s Eve, I would have completely forgotten the importance mortals place upon this date.”

  Momentarily confused, I blinked to slough off the last remnants of Devereux’s eyeball voodoo and his emotional ping-pong. “Oh, yeah—this is New Year’s Eve, isn’t it?” I laughed. “Obviously I’m not one of those mortals who marks the date on my calendar.”

  Although after the week I’ve had, tossing back a few glasses—or bottles—of bubbly sounds pretty good.

  Surprise flashed across his face, followed by disappointment. “This is not a holiday you celebrate? Have I misunderstood yet another contemporary custom?”

  “Oh no.” I patted his arm. He took everything so deadly seriously. “You didn’t misunderstand: it is a big deal, for lots of people—it just hasn’t been on my radar for a couple of years. Basically, I can take it or leave it. Why would you feel the need to apologize?”

  Doubt flickered in his eyes as he lifted one of my long curls and tucked it behind my ear. He sat on the edge of my desk. “I should have made plans with you for this important evening. It was my responsibility to create a memorable occasion for you, and I almost failed in my duty. For that, I apologize.”

  “Your responsibility?” I frowned and rubbed my forehead. “Where did you get that idea?” I grew up with people deciding every aspect of my reality: been there, done that.

  His eyes widened at my stern expression. We’d had this discussion before. “Perhaps ‘responsibility’ is too strong a word. Let us say instead it is my pleasure. I realize a modern woman neither expects nor wants her mate to arrange her life. But might I assume you would enjoy a surprise were I to offer one?”

  I decided to ignore the “mate” reference. He was exceptionally clever about sneaking that word into our conversations, although without ever explaining it, of course. I was beginning to realize that Devereux was astoundingly single-minded.

  “A surprise?” My stomach tightened. Even the notion of what might constitute a surprise for a vampire made my mouth go dry. “What kind of surprise?” I did my best to keep suspicion out of my voice.

  “Something that will appeal to your professional curiosity and provide you with additional inf
ormation about my world,” he said, ignoring my inner fear-fest.

  Hmm. That sounded reasonable enough—but I remembered the last time he’d offered to educate me about the vampire universe: by taking me to a protection ritual around Halloween he’d organized on my behalf that completely destroyed every idea I’d ever had about the nature of reality. The bizarre mix of bloodsuckers, magic, and the appearance of Devereux’s dead mother totally rewrote my inner script about possible versus impossible. And I was pretty sure it had permanently fried a few brain cells in the process.

  “Yes.” He responded to my unvoiced concerns, frown lines once again creasing his brow. “The ritual was challenging for you. My world—the world of the vampires—bears little resemblance to that to which you are accustomed.” He smirked. “But as you have often said, you set yourself upon this course, so it behooves you to learn as much as you can about your preternatural clients.” He did that nifty Old-World head-bow thing again. “I am pleased to be able to assist in that endeavor.”

  He still hadn’t told me what the surprise was. Why did I think I wasn’t going to like it? “This surprise will appeal to my professional curiosity? What does that mean, exactly?”

  “You shall accompany me to a vampiric handfasting ceremony, the bonding of two important immortals—a pagan wedding. The rite is ancient and intimate. You will witness things no mortal has ever seen.”

  And lived to tell about it, I’ll bet. …

  I became temporarily distracted by a mental horror movie featuring hundreds of vampires feasting on the blood of enchanted, unwilling humans. Then the scene quickly shifted to another, this one of hapless mortals being thrown into pits filled with ravenous bloodsuckers in a feeding frenzy—

  “Kismet?” Devereux tapped my shoulder, his face a mask of distaste. “I fear you are doomed to disappointment if that is what you are expecting to find at the gathering. It is for all intents and purposes a simple party.”

  “A simple party?” My laugh held a sardonic incredulity that I suspected would tick him off. “Like the last event you brought me to was a simple ritual?”

  Clearly impatient, he rose, circled to the front of my desk, and shook his finger at me. He’d just opened his mouth to respond when a familiar bloodsucker-moving-through-time-and-space pop! preceded the arrival of a beefy long-haired vampire.

  The unexpected visitor materialized near Devereux and bowed from the waist, sending purple-streaked black hair cascading to the floor. “Excuse me, Master, but your attention is needed in the shipping area. The coffins you ordered have arrived.”

  “Why does that require my attention?” Devereux barked. “Deliveries of all kinds take place every night. You may sign for the merchandise, as always.” He flicked his fingers in dismissal.

  “There’s a problem, Master.” The messenger fidgeted, twisting his hands together, his eyes wide. “It appears the coffins are already … occupied.”

  “Occupied?” Devereux stared at the messenger for a few seconds.

  It took me a moment to realize he was reading the other vampire’s mind. “What’s going on?” I asked halfheartedly. As curious as I always was about the things vampires didn’t say out loud, I really couldn’t get too enthusiastic about anything having to do with coffins—especially occupied ones. I had started to realize there were things I really didn’t need to know—at least if I wanted to stay sane. Could a human brain even process such an unnatural experience as the one I’d stumbled into? I wondered what would happen to mine if I kept trying. Maybe that was what Devereux meant by esoteric information. Could someone truly be driven mad by exploring a nonhuman reality? There’d been no mention of that possibility in any of the popular vampire movies.

  “It looks like there was a mix-up at the mortuary, and instead of sending six empty coffins as usual, they mistakenly delivered the remains of half a dozen humans who perished in the recent cult suicides here in Denver.”

  I cringed at the reference to the grisly event currently saturating the daily news. Yet another charismatic guru had convinced his flock that death was the answer. Funny thing, though—the leader himself hadn’t smoked any of the tainted marijuana.

  Six empty coffins? As usual? I wondered what story Devereux had told the mortician to explain why he needed regular deliveries. Of course, he probably didn’t have to say anything—he could use his handy little mind-control trick. Or maybe the funeral home director wasn’t human. I still wasn’t used to how many vampires nested in the Mile High City.

  “I am sorry, Kismet,” said Devereux, sighing, “but once again duty calls. It is important for me to confront the mortuary director in person. He has been creating problems, behaving erratically. We will exchange the coffins and erase the memories of any mortals involved.” He lifted my hand and kissed it. “I shall call for you at your home soon and look forward to sharing many uninterrupted hours together.” He sent a silent message to the other vampire, who disappeared, then turned back to me. “Until then.”

  “Wait!” I hurried from behind the desk and grabbed his arm. “What should I wear to this simple party?” I imagined something floor-length, with long sleeves and a high collar. A very high collar. Or maybe a hazmat suit. Hopefully I wouldn’t be the entrée. I trusted Devereux to keep me safe from his less-civilized minions, but I’d learned that his ideas of “normal” inhabited a far different galaxy from mine.

  “Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me. Your clothing for the event has been transported to your bedroom. You will find everything you need. And please, wear your protective pentagram. Now, if you will excuse me—”

  Why did he mention the pentagram if this is just a simple party?

  He vanished.

  Chapter 2

  I was surprised and pleased to find my town house pretty much as I’d left it.

  No bodyguard vampires camped out in my living room. No undead handmaidens ordered by Himself to attend to my every need. No snarly Luna—Devereux’s personal assistant and evil human-hating bigot—waiting for an excuse to relieve me of my O positive.

  I’d had a talk with the Master about his tendency to be overbearing, to assume he knew more about what was best for me than I did, and he’d sworn to respect my personal space. Of course, what that meant to a vampire was anybody’s guess. In his defense, it had to be a challenge to stop giving orders after centuries of doing so, but I could tell he was trying.

  He was true to his word about my clothing, though: a stunning silver dress shimmered like liquid mercury on my bed. I lifted the silky moonlight by the shoulders and held it up to eye level. So much for my high-collar fantasy. The only way to transform this beyond-plunging neckline into something less fang-tempting was to wear a turtleneck sweater underneath it.

  I was thankful my mother’s contributions to my DNA hadn’t started to droop yet, because apparently a bra was out of the question.

  Despite the plunging neckline, I had to admit the dress was beautiful, and my wish for a floor-length skirt and long sleeves had been fulfilled.

  A matching hooded cloak lay draped over the back of a chair. Silver stiletto-heeled sandals sat conspicuously next to my dresser. I’d just pulled my hair up into a bun and pivoted to head into the bathroom for a quick shower when something glittery caught my eye. I moved over to the nightstand to find an antique-looking necklace, a large cross—at least three inches long—made of what appeared to be diamonds.

  Devereux never ceased to amaze me.

  He’d explained religious symbols had no effect—negative or positive—on vampires, so it wasn’t likely he expected me to fend off his bloodsucking colleagues by waving the necklace at them. But as clever and intelligent as Devereux was, he didn’t have much of a sense of humor, so why would he give me a cross? I scooped it into my hand to test the substantial weight. I didn’t even want to think about the fortune that would be dangling in my cleavage.

  And he needn’t have reminded me to wear the pentagram necklace. At my request he’d removed the spell he cas
t on the symbol that had made it a permanent accessory, thereby forcing me to wear it. But after the insanity with Lucifer, one of the evil personalities of the maniac who’d stalked me and almost killed Devereux, I never removed the charm from around my neck. I’d take any edge I could get.

  The fact that Devereux forgot I always wore it provided more evidence of his distracted state of mind. I hadn’t known him long enough to have any meaningful opinions about his normal behaviors, but he’d been setting off my therapist’s alarm since he recovered. I knew the crazed Lucifer wouldn’t give up so easily—I’d become a psychological fixation for the mad killer—and I was glad to have magical protection while I studied everything I could about the various forms of Dissociative Identity Disorder, formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder. Not that gathering knowledge would keep me safe from the horrifying lunatic, but delving into familiar subject matter gave me the illusion of control in the midst of the chaos.

  After I finished my shower, I wet the ends of my long hair so the curls would re-form and reapplied my makeup—opting for a more dramatic look than usual, given the circumstances. I focused on accenting my sky-blue eyes, which stood out against my pale skin and dark hair. I’d noticed mascara was plentiful at vampire gatherings. Maybe the undead owned stock in some of the various cosmetic companies. Studying myself in the mirror, my reflection reminded me of Margaret Keane’s “Waif” paintings. The subjects of her portraits expressed both wide-eyed wonder and stunned horror. I wondered which description applied to me.

  I was halfway through shaking several aspirin into my palm when I realized the headache had almost vanished. Only a vague, spacey sensation remained, along with a slight tension at the base of my neck.

  “Well, yay! The hot shower did the trick!”

  Had it really been less than three months since I’d fallen through the vampiric Looking Glass and landed in a dark night of the soul? I didn’t understand why such frightening things fascinated me. Why in the world would I choose to hang out with predatory blood-drinking creatures? Did I have a death wish? If I were my client, I’d wonder if I had something to prove.