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

by Hilburn, Lynda

  But then, how many therapists ever got the opportunity to explore a nonhuman species and write about it? Wouldn’t it be professionally irresponsible of me to pass on the chance? Scientists put themselves in harm’s way all the time. No guts, no glory.

  Thinking about the bizarre research lottery I’d won made me wish I could tell my therapist, Nancy, the truth about my vampire clients and my new … boyfriend, for lack of a better word. That conversation would be worth recording with my cell phone camera. “Oh, by the way, Nancy,” I said aloud. “I forgot to tell you I’ve been treating actual vampires. Authentic fanged nightwalkers. The so-called bloodsucking fiends we all know and fear. Despite their negative PR, turns out they aren’t all horrible monsters. Some are actually afraid of the dark or terrified of blood.

  “And not only are vampires real, I’m having mad, passionate sex with the Grand Pooh-Bah. Not to mention the fact that I let him drink my blood. And I like it!” I laughed, thinking about the expression on her face. Of course, I’d only be laughing until the men with the straitjacket and the butterfly net arrived. After that, I’d be making clay animals, staring out of the window, and swallowing my meds like a good girl in one of Denver’s psych wards.

  Needing someone to talk to had become a serious problem. There was always Lieutenant Bullock, the cop I’d worked with during the paranormal murders back in October. She knew the truth about the vampires. As did Cerridwyn, a savvy tarot reader whose psychic abilities were second only to Devereux’s. Or maybe my trusty FBI friend, profiler, and forensic psychologist Alan Stevens. But I didn’t feel I could confide totally in any of them, Lieutenant Bullock and Cerridwyn because I didn’t know either well enough to share intimate details, and Alan because, well, Alan and I had some unfinished personal business of our own. I doubted if he’d enjoy hearing about Devereux.

  Maybe there’d never be anyone I could talk to.

  I took a breath to dispel the morbid thoughts, clicked on the radio, and stepped into the silver gown. The snug fabric molded to my upper body and hips, then flared out into a fluid skirt. It fit perfectly. Of course, it would. Devereux never missed.

  The stiletto heels added inches to my usual five feet, eight inches. I’d become better at walking in the wobbly shoes but appreciated not having to when I was with Devereux, thanks to the vampire ability to move via thought. There was nothing like the fear of falling off one’s footwear to heighten the appeal of flashing through time and space.

  The mercurial gown’s daring V-shaped neckline plunged down below my navel. If the material hadn’t been so tight, Mother Nature’s bounty would have been in danger of bursting free, causing me to draw more attention to myself than I already would by being mortal. Just to be safe, I decided to apply two-sided tape on the inside of the dress to keep the fabric anchored on the modest side of my nipples.

  The radio station played number thirty-five of the Top 100 songs of the past fifty years. I couldn’t resist spinning in a circle, enjoying the sensation of the silky skirt floating out around me as I sang along with an old Beatles tune my parents often listened to. Not being particularly graceful, I wasn’t much of a dancer, but it was fun to move.

  Singing louder, I lifted the long chain of the cross necklace over my head, letting the relic fall just below my breasts. The moment it touched my skin, heat radiated from it. I palmed it to see if I was imagining things but found the warmth noticeably there.

  Suddenly the familiar fuzzy sensation commandeered my brain as a dull pain gripped my skull.

  “You are truly beautiful, my love.”

  I startled and choked mid-lyric, released the cross, and turned toward Devereux’s voice. I pressed my hand over my pounding heart and hurried to turn off the radio. “Hey! No sneaking up on me. You know I’m still a little paranoid after the horror show we went through on Halloween. Cough or clear your throat or something, okay?”

  “I am sorry.” He bowed his head. “I did not try to sneak up on you, but I was so engrossed in watching you dance that I forgot to announce myself. Forgive me. I will say again, you are truly beautiful. I knew that dress would suit you.”

  “Thank you, for the compliment, and the dress.” My cheeks warmed with discomfort.

  Speaking of beautiful … Now that my heart had resumed its normal rhythm and my brain had turned off the “flight or fight” warning, I studied the gorgeous vampire in front of me. He wore a black European-cut tuxedo with a shirt made of the same fabric as my dress. Although saying he “wore” it didn’t begin to cover the situation. Like a high-fashion model, he displayed the suit. His platinum hair flowed down the front of his chest like a silky veil. The blue-green of his mesmerizing eyes looked amazing contrasted against the dark of his lashes and eyebrows. Perfectly sculpted bones framed a flawless face. Full, expressive lips parted in the most inviting manner before white, fangless teeth flashed in a breathtaking smile.

  I felt like a teenager going to the prom with the school heartthrob. Thanks to his brain-numbing effect, my mouth went slack and I hoped I wasn’t drooling. As his spicy scent filled my nostrils, I hyperventilated and wondered why we were standing so far apart when we could be skin-to-skin and doing so many other interesting things.

  He must have noticed my eyes glaze over because he stepped close, lifted my chin with his finger, and stared at me. The skin between my eyebrows—what Devereux called my third eye, of all things—tingled and itched before pain crisscrossed my forehead. “Ouch! Dammit.” I rubbed my finger across the painful area. “What the hell did you just do?”

  There’d better not be a lightning bolt on my forehead!

  “I have once again added a layer of protection over your sixth chakra so you will not become so easily entranced or affected by me, or any vampire.”

  I opened my mouth to take issue with his New Age reference to my sixth chakra, but the fog and discomfort in my brain had already started to clear so I kept my thoughts to myself. Or at least as much to myself as was possible around an intrusive mind-reading immortal.

  He laughed, letting me know he’d picked up my mental monologue.

  His mind reading and the fact that he found me amusing were fast losing their charm. I was willing to put up with a lot to meet my professional goals, but he’d crossed a line.

  “Listen, dammit!” Shaking off a few more mental cobwebs, I put a no-bullshit expression on my face and braced my hands on my hips. “Knock it off. This isn’t funny. I mean it. It’s bad enough that my brain turns into cotton candy whenever I’m near your neuron-melting energy, but you need to stop invading my privacy. It’s disrespectful. Chauvinistic.” I poked my finger into his chest, forcing him to back up in surprise. “If you want us to spend time together, my brain can’t be an open book to you.” Poke. “I’m a separate person, not one of your minions.” Poke. “You need to make a new decision because I’m not going anywhere if you won’t discipline yourself. If you need to exert that much control, I’m sure there are many other women—besides me—who’d be happy to accommodate you.” Whirling, I plopped down on the edge of the bed, adjusted the high-heeled sandals, and tried to hold onto my anger.

  “My apologies,” he said, his tone contrite. “You are correct—I have been indulging myself, and that was wrong. I will respect your wishes. In my defense, it is challenging not to notice that which is broadcast so strongly. Thoughts are powered by emotions, and yours are exceedingly potent—”

  “What?” I stood slowly. “Are you saying you’re forced to read my thoughts because they’re strong? That it’s my fault? You can’t be expected to restrain yourself?”

  “No!” His brows rose over wide eyes. “Certainly not.” The shocked expression on his face was worth the price of admission. I’d bet it had been centuries since anyone questioned any of his behaviors. He paused a few seconds before speaking. “I was merely explaining, but I understand what you are saying, and I am truly sorry. I swear I will try my best not to intrude.” He lifted a finger into the air, which often preceded one
of his mini-lectures—in addition to giving him the added benefit of shifting the topic—and began pacing back and forth. Sensuality in motion. Devereux valued the acquisition of knowledge and enjoyed his role of teacher. “I would like to correct one thing, though. The notion of chakras is much older than any New Age practice.” He saw my lips tighten, and he stopped, thrusting his hands toward me, palms out. “Do not be angry. I picked up that thought before you insisted I stop reading you. And since you often ask me to share bits of my history, I thought you might be interested in the fact that working with the energy centers in the body was common among the Druids of my time, as well as in other cultures.”

  “Druids?” My acceptance of his lane change let him know I realized he hadn’t intentionally broken his word, but the jury was still out about his willingness to avoid ransacking my head. “Oh yes, of course: you said there are secret Druid groups still in existence, groups we humans aren’t aware of. You’ll have to tell me more about that sometime. I know nothing about Druids, outside of human sacrifices.” As the dots connected in my mind, I frowned. “Hey, wait—are you saying that Druids were vampires?”

  “Human sacrifices?” One perfect eyebrow arched. “Druids were far too advanced to participate in anything so primitive. You must be thinking of the Incas, who—if I recall my time there—did indeed practice the death arts. But it is true that many Druids were vampires. In fact, it was a highly revered state of being. Many a young Druid, myself included, lusted after immortality before we realized what it meant. We worked very hard to join the ranks of the undead.”

  My brain screeched to a halt. What? His time with the Incas? Death arts? Vampire Druids?

  “You chose to be a vampire?” I asked, half-afraid to hear the answer. “Why would you choose that?” But then, his deceased mother did tell me it isn’t easy to become a vampire. One has to have “pure intention”—whatever that means.

  “Yes,” he said softly with a frown, looking uncomfortable. I didn’t know if he’d gone back to reading my thoughts or if my judgmental tone had given him all the information he needed. “I was … mentored by a powerful immortal from a neighboring clan. To my people, living forever—or at least for a very long time—was the next evolutionary step. Drinking human blood was understood to be a way to pass knowledge from one being to another. Much of the wisdom and experience held by the donor is transmitted to the recipient. It was considered a sacred rite.”

  Drinking blood passes knowledge? What kind of knowledge?

  And the media thought the sensationalist notion of aliens landing in spaceships to probe human orifices was the hot story. Devereux had just shared enough strange material to fill hundreds of episodes of Unexplained Mysteries.

  I wanted him to talk more about how one became a vampire. He’d been very mysterious about it so far. “But what do you mean—?”

  He stepped forward, helped me to my feet, and wrapped me into his arms. He kissed my forehead. “Let us not spend our brief time together tonight discussing such weighty topics,” he coaxed. “There will be ample opportunity for you to learn more about my history. For now, the celebration awaits.”

  Was he avoiding the subject again? What was the big secret? I inhaled his signature fragrance, sighed with pleasure, and decided it didn’t matter. For some reason, talking about his background made me tense and anxious. I’d rather enjoy my Date Night with the Vampire.

  He released me and strolled over to the chair holding the silver cloak. He lifted the shining fabric, arranged it around my shoulders, and fastened the ornate Celtic knot clasp at my throat. His lips curved in a soft smile. “I will be the most envied male at the gathering tonight. You are truly a vision.”

  After a lifetime of being the quintessential nerd and therefore invisible to men, I sometimes found Devereux’s compliments overwhelming. It was very frustrating to be so confident in my professional abilities, yet so insecure about the personal. “Thank you,” I said, meeting his gaze, then averting mine. Such intensity was blazing from his face that I searched for a topic to distract him from whatever he was about to say. I’d seen that look in his eyes before, and wasn’t ready to navigate the emotional minefield lurking there. I couldn’t handle talking about my being his mate. “So why did you give me a cross to wear?” I wrapped my fingers around it. “I thought religious items had no effect, one way or the other.”

  “Ah,” he said, “yes, indeed. Back to light and pleasant conversation. I gave you the cross, which is an heirloom from my birth family, because it marks you as mine.”

  And here we go again. …

  “Yours?” I reached to remove the antique chain from around my neck. “I thought we came to an agreement about your possessive tendencies. No woman—”

  “Wait,” he said, gently grasping my hands, “that is not what I meant. Once again, you are interpreting the situation from a human viewpoint. This is not about possessiveness. We will be among some of the most powerful of my kind. The fact that you accompany me will send a clear message to everyone about your standing in the vampire hierarchy. But I do have enemies, those who would find it amusing to challenge me—as Bryce did—by focusing on you. The cross holds my essence, and my family’s, so no misunderstandings can occur. No vampire with any ability to perceive will be able to ignore the fact that you and I are extensions of each other. At least while you wear the totem.”

  “I see,” I said, not seeing at all. “How is it different from my pentagram?”

  “The pentagram protects you specifically. As you discovered, it responds to hostile touch. The cross, on the other hand, alerts me to any danger you might be in, any change in your physical or psychic state—even faster than my sensing your emotions firsthand. While wearing it, you are always in my consciousness, even if I am elsewhere. So, needless to say, please do not remove it tonight.”

  “That sounds ominous.” His serious expression raised my heart rate. “Are you sure you don’t want to dab some of your blood behind my ears to fend off your undead comrades?” I laughed at what I thought was a ridiculous notion.

  He obviously didn’t share my opinion because he stared intently at me. “You want my blood?”

  “No!” Had I said something important without meaning to? “I was just kidding. Yuck. Lighten up, Master Devereux. Isn’t this supposed to be a fun evening?”

  “It will be, but you have raised an interesting option.”

  “Seriously?” Oh my God! “You want me to go out in public painted with blood? No way!”

  “Not painted, but if you would consent to drink another sip of my blood, our connection would deepen—you would be strengthened. And I would be able to sense you even more easily than with the cross alone.”

  “What do you mean, another sip?” This absurd discussion was getting way out of hand. “I’ve never drunk your blood before. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing is the matter with me. In this case, it is your memory that is faulty. At the protection ritual you drank from a chalice that contained not only my blood but the blood of many other powerful vampires.”

  I froze as the horrible realization hit home. My God! He’s right. No matter how much I want to deny it, I can’t.

  “Well, so much for the so-called protection ritual. I drank that horrible concoction for nothing!” I ratcheted up my anger to mask emotions I didn’t want to deal with. “Lucifer got me anyway!”

  His expression darkened as he straightened. “Yes. He did. I apologize yet again. You may trust that he will be dealt with. If you would take more blood—”

  What is wrong with him?

  “No!” I shook my head theatrically. “Really, Devereux. No! No more talk about me drinking blood. I’m weird enough as it is without starting to act like some of my vampire-wannabe clients. You’ll just have to settle for the cross. Now, please”—I touched his arm—“can we at least pretend this is a normal date and not scare me anymore tonight?”

  His expression relaxed instantly. He smiled and extend
ed his elbow. “Certainly. Shall we go?”

  I linked arms with him and realized I hadn’t asked an important question. “Wait. Will I be the only human there?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “Perhaps—”

  Where’s the garlic?

  “Perhaps? Are you saying I’ll be the only food source in the room?” My stomach contracted so tightly I felt as if I’d swallowed rocks.

  “No.” He patted my hand. “Had you permitted me to finish my sentence, I would have assured you that while you might be the only mortal guest, and therefore off-limits, there will, of course, be donors present. Did you assume otherwise?”

  “Donors.” I sighed. “Of course.”

  How silly of me to think this would be a blood-free nightmare.

  Chapter 3

  A gentle breeze blew the hair back from my face as Devereux mentally transported us into a tunnel wide enough for a school bus to drive through. I experienced the familiar dizzy sensation as my physical body struggled to adjust to the new location. Traveling via thought was extraordinary, but unnerving. I doubted I’d ever get used to it.

  We moved a couple of feet along the smooth cement, footsteps echoing, before I felt steady enough to let go of his arm. The passage smelled of moist earth, its walls painted a dull institutional green. The spooky place reminded me of a horror movie I’d seen where zombies invaded New York City and barricaded themselves in an underground mortuary. I shivered from the memory, as well as the cold and damp, noting that the eerie tunnel gave off a subtle creepy sensation.

  “This doesn’t look much like a party spot,” I said, hugging myself to ward off the inner and outer chill. I surveyed the long, empty corridor as we walked. Motion sensor lights flicked on ahead of us. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” I asked, an edge of suspicion in my voice.