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

by Hilburn, Lynda

  “Yes, this is the private entrance—”

  I shivered.

  He stopped walking and gathered me against him, his arm tight around my shoulders. “How thoughtless of me to forget you would be sensitive to the cold in your lightweight cape. Inexcusable. Here.” Frowning, he released me, slipped out of his jacket, and draped it over my shoulders, pulling me close again. “Does that help?”

  He looked so appalled at what he obviously considered his faux pas of forgetting I would experience the cold as a human rather than a vampire that I had to smile. He really could be a sweet man, if the word man could be used to describe an eight-hundred-year-old immortal.

  “Yes.” I snuggled into the jacket. Warmth from his body lingered in the fabric along with his enticing fragrance. Since I knew drinking blood raised his physical temperature, I wondered where he’d gotten his meal. It hadn’t come from me, and I realized I didn’t know how I felt about that. Was I jealous? Did I want my vampire to suck blood only from me? The absurdity of that question made me mentally roll my eyes. How deep into insanity had I sunk? “Thanks. If I’d known we’d be tromping around in the cold, I would have worn long underwear and”—I lifted a foot to display a silver sandal—“hiking boots.”

  He smiled and began walking again, propelling me along. “I sincerely am sorry. I have so much to learn.”

  Either he really hadn’t read my silent question about who he had drunk from, or he chose not to address it.

  “Hey, everything’s fine. I’m not that fragile. So where are we?”

  “Aspen.”

  Having his velvet voice so close to my ear caused a visceral reaction in several of my body’s erogenous zones. Steady, Kismet. “Aspen? Colorado?”

  “Indeed. On the outskirts of the town, in the forest.”

  “Well, huh.” I pulled the edges of his jacket closer around me and angled sideways, slipping out from under his arm. As nice as it felt to be tucked against him, I knew what happened when I spent too much time breathing in his vampire pheromones, and I didn’t want to have sex on the cement floor of a tunnel. “I guess she was right.”

  “Who was right?”

  “I had a client last year who came down from Aspen for a session. She told me Aspen is full of vampires. I assumed she was referring to the psychic-vampire variety, but now I’m not so sure. She said I should look for the beautiful people wrapped in politically incorrect furs and wearing expensive cowboy boots the next time I explored the nightlife down here. According to her, those are the vampires.”

  “I shall inform my associates that they are being noticed. It is never good to become too comfortable in a human environment. Drawing attention to oneself tends to have sharp consequences.” He grinned.

  “Hey!” I bumped his hip with mine as we walked. “You made a joke. I’m impressed.”

  He eased his arm around my waist, holding me gently. “I frequently say amusing things. I am told I have an excellent sense of humor.”

  “Yeah. Told by your adoring devotees, who worship every pearl that drops from your lips. I’ve yet to see much evidence of this alleged sense of humor.”

  “Ah, you wish to see evidence? I will take that as a personal challenge. Although you might discover that vampire humor is quite different from the human sort. It involves a lot more blood—”

  Yuck. Of course it does. Change the subject. …

  “So.” I freed myself from his grasp again and put a few inches between us. As attracted as I was to him, I didn’t want him to think he could control me as easily as he had Nicky earlier in my office. He had to remember that my life didn’t revolve around him. “What is this place? Do your friends live in some kind of underground bunker?”

  “In a manner of speaking. You will appreciate this, Doctor Knight.” He sailed a hand through the air to indicate our surroundings. “We are now in one of the sublevels of an abandoned insane asylum—quite an infamous institution, if I recall—built in the early nineteen hundreds. Thirteen humans were murdered here under mysterious circumstances.” He no doubt heard my intake of breath. “And before you assume the deaths were caused by vampires, let me assure you that was not the case. As a matter of fact, those thirteen deaths were not the first to occur in this cruel location.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Between the notorious murders, other suspicious fatalities, and the building having been erected on pagan ritual lands, ghosts abound. I believe the homicides were committed by a delusional patient claiming to be possessed by several resident spirits. The current owner of the building tells me the haunting continues.” He stroked my arm. “After hearing about your experience with the ghost in the mirror during my unfortunate confrontation with Bryce and Lucifer, I am sure you will enjoy communicating with our non-corporeal guests tonight.”

  What? Am I part of the entertainment? Me and the fortune-tellers?

  “You could have warned me,” I grumbled, glaring at the amused vampire. “Discovering I can see ghosts again wasn’t good news, although I didn’t realize that was what I was seeing as a child. The last thing I need is another so-called ability to add to my innate weirdness. Now I’m not only a nerd—I’m a paranormal nerd. Lucky me!”

  I turned to look behind me to make sure we’d actually been moving forward. “Have we stepped into a never-ending tunnel? Some vampiric wormhole through the fabric of time and space?” This place had started to feel like one of those bad dreams where the hallway just keeps extending and you never arrive anywhere. The motion-activated lights brightened as we approached and dimmed after we passed, leaving both ends of the passage in darkness. “What’s up with this tunnel? We’ve been here a long time. Are we caught in a timeloop?”

  He glided in front of me and walked backward, his movements as graceful as if he were on ice skates. His eyes sparkled mischievously. “What is the hurry? I am thoroughly enjoying this undisturbed time together.” He grazed my lips with his. “Tell me more about nerd. You have mentioned the term on other occasions, but there was no opportunity for me to ask questions. What is a nerd? And why do you believe you are one?”

  In our short acquaintance, it was unusual for him to be so playful, and I couldn’t help but smile. “I didn’t think up the title for myself. It was bestowed upon me in childhood. I skipped grades in school a couple of times and wound up being much younger than my classmates, which meant I didn’t have the socialization skills normal for that grade level.” Sadness washed through me. “Being a nerd means to be socially strange, focused on unpopular activities, and bookish. That was a perfect description of me. Plus I heard and saw things nobody else did. All in all, a recipe for a miserable childhood.”

  Devereux reached out and took my hands, still effortlessly gliding backward. “I am sorry you had to endure such discomfort, but all those challenges made you the woman you are today, and for that I am very grateful.” He stopped suddenly, and my forward momentum propelled me against his chest. He pulled me in for a hot, sizzling kiss. Then another. My toes curled in my stiletto shoes. The man really does have marvelous lips.

  The kiss ended much too quickly.

  “Okay. Kissing is good. Very good. No bloodstains. Do we really have to go to the party?”

  He stepped back, his eyes mesmerizing in the dim light. “I gave my word that I would attend this handfasting, so I appreciate your willingness to accompany me. But please do not forget where we left off. …” He traced his fingertip along my lower lip. “We will leave early enough for other activities.”

  Yikes. The words other activities caused my nipples to harden.

  He stepped to the side and pointed to a set of wide, ornate double doors at the end of the tunnel, which we’d finally reached. “We have arrived.”

  “Why didn’t you just think us into the place? Why did we have to take the tunnel?” I’d become very conscious of my toes going numb in the uncomfortable stilettos.

  “First, I wanted time alone with you before we joined the others, and second, it
is considered disrespectful and rude simply to pop into another powerful vampire’s lair. This location is owned by a master vampire, Valentino, who is older than I am.”

  “Valentino?” I held back a snicker. “That’s an interesting name for a vampire.”

  “It is a nickname that reflects both his chosen profession and his romantic tendencies—like his namesake, he is an actor and an icon. His real name is quite difficult for English-speakers to pronounce. Many vampires refer to him as Louis, the character he played in a well-known vampire movie. He will never live that role down!” Devereux hooted. “He said it was fun to play such an angst-ridden bloodsucker when he is actually much more similar to Lestat, who enjoyed the kill. Valentino wanted to try his hand at theater again in the modern world. The last time he acted was in sixteenth-century England, where he was equally famous. He tells me he is thoroughly enjoying himself. Especially since he turned his latest wife.”

  “Wait.” My mouth dropped open. “Are you talking about who I think you’re talking about? He’s a vampire? And his wife—?”

  “Indeed.”

  “No way. That’s absurd. Is this you showing me your sense of humor? Okay, you win. That was pretty good—you almost had me going.”

  “I do not understand what you mean. What is absurd?”

  “Please. The idea that … Br—er, Valentino—is really a vampire. I’ve seen lots of his movies, and they all have scenes shot in the daylight. How does he pull that off without bursting into flames?”

  “Ah.” Devereux gave a half-shrug. “You find it hard to believe someone so famous could hide his truth from the world. I suppose it does sound impossible. All vampires must be discreet. The movie scenes that absolutely must be filmed during the day feature a very unique body double. Valentino seeks out humans who resemble him at whatever age he is pretending to be and entrances them. They undergo surgery to become more perfect duplicates, which the attending doctors assume is merely celebrity obsession, and take over for him during the filming when necessary.”

  “He collects humans? Like the vampire version of an entomologist?” Oh. My. God!

  “Hmm. Perhaps. Of course, he controls their minds and even possesses them psychically during important parts of the script. I told you we are able to communicate through dreams and the unconscious. It is very easy to manipulate humans, especially if the humans cooperate. You will likely notice several of Valentino’s doubles here this evening. He takes very good care of them.”

  Oh, yuck. He takes good care of his clones? Why do I keep expecting vampires to have human ethics?

  “Will I be meeting Valentino himself tonight?”

  One of the most famous actors in the world is a vampire who owns a haunted insane asylum in the mountains outside Aspen. His wife is a vampire, too. What’s next? Werewolves, zombies, and faeries? Big Foot?

  “Of course—Valentino and his wife are looking forward to it. They know how important you are to me.”

  “Do they know why I’m important to you?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Well then, maybe I can ask them about it, and they’ll tell me.” I removed his jacket from my shoulders and handed it to him.

  “There is no need.” He slipped the jacket on, leaned in, and kissed my forehead. “You may trust that I will tell you everything when the time is right. Come.”

  But will the time ever be right? And why are you resisting?

  His slippery response gave me an idea. Since we were going to be surrounded by Devereux’s immortal chums, what would be the harm in asking a few innocent questions? Finding out what they knew about his real motivations? He didn’t seem shy about sharing his thoughts concerning me with his otherworldly pals. What was the use of being a trained therapist if I couldn’t manipulate—er, encourage people to tell me their secrets?

  Devereux took my hand, stepped up to the door, and knocked.

  The doors magically opened to reveal a beautiful young woman, dressed as a servant from an earlier century, who curtsied politely. “Welcome, Master Devereux. Enter.”

  We stepped inside, and my senses boggled.

  The interior of an immense castle stretched out before us—but not just any castle. I’d taken several professional trips to England over the years, and my favorite place was Warwick Castle. While I experienced an affinity with many locations in Britain, visiting Warwick made me feel the most at home, as if I really had lived there. Not that I truly believed in reincarnation, but it was a pleasant fantasy. And now someone had replicated the historic landmark, right down to variations of the antiques and paintings.

  I couldn’t comprehend how such a gigantic castle had been constructed underneath the asylum. They must have had to dig deeper into the rock than my intellect could grasp. The spacious entryway flowed into a grand dining hall on one side, and an elegant salon on the other. Copies of the artwork, tapestries, and ancient weapons similar to the ones I remembered from the actual castle—and the piles of postcards I’d purchased—adorned the walls, and exquisite furniture filled the space. Suits of armor lined the hallways. An exotic mix of sandalwood and patchouli scented the air. And equally amazing were the hundreds of stunningly dressed vampires milling about the place.

  My midsection tingled, signaling that my Vampire Alert System had gone online.

  Bloodsuckers of all shapes, sizes, and colors mingled throughout the breathtaking estate, acting like normal party guests. Nearby, a short, fat, bearded male dressed like a Viking stood talking with a woman in a black burqa, along with a tall, lovely Latina wearing the costume of a flamenco dancer and a regal dark-skinned male who looked like an African king. It was a freaking meeting of the Undead United Nations.

  Still speechless, I glanced at Devereux and found him beaming at me.

  “I recalled you mentioning your love of British castles once, so I knew you would be pleasantly surprised. Valentino’s family actually owns Warwick, and he built a likeness here. Of course, one can never be sure which castle holds the original art and furnishings. He commissioned such good copies of everything, it is simply impossible for most to determine the real from the fake. We may very well be in the presence of the originals.”

  I’d been so flabbergasted I hadn’t noticed the young woman who’d opened the doors still standing there, waiting for me to relinquish my cloak.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said as I snapped back to awareness and released the clasp. Devereux handed the wrap to her, and she curtsied again and walked away.

  As soon as I removed the garment, I felt exposed. Vulnerable. Tasty. I unconsciously placed a protective hand around my throat.

  “You are perfectly safe here, my love,” Devereux said, either noting my discomfort or breaking his promise.

  “If you say so.”

  I feel like I just parachuted into the Serengeti, dipped in bloody au jus.

  Safe? I didn’t feel safe. Why had I agreed to come? Why did I keep putting myself in danger? After all the terrifying things I’d seen in the last three months, any sane person would have realized she was in over her head. What was it with my need to lift up every rock to see what’s underneath? I suddenly remembered what curiosity did to the cat.

  Devereux took my arm, and we strolled into the ornate salon. Red and gold brocade covered the walls, and a hand-crafted golden fireplace dominated the room. Large portraits of men and women in regal attire hung neatly, side by side. I scanned the area, looking for the donors he’d mentioned earlier, half-expecting to find them chained to walls or spread-eagled on dining tables with rubber tubing transporting the crimson elixir from their veins into collecting basins.

  “Where are the donors being held?”

  Devereux made a tsk sound. “You are letting your imagination run away with you again, Doctor Knight. I told you there would be nothing unpleasant. Look.” He pointed to a section filled with individuals dressed in white sleeveless scoop-neck robes. “Those are the donors. As you can see, they are enjoying themselves.”

  That d
id appear to be the case. They laughed among themselves while circulating around a large wooden table heaped with a banquet of human food. The aromas wafting from the feast made my mouth water. Platters of roast beef, turkey, and ham were complemented by almost every side dish a hungry human could ask for. Champagne flowed freely. Vampires certainly knew how to throw a party.

  The words “fattening up the cattle” suddenly popped into my mind.

  Am I being paranoid or perceptive?

  I tapped Devereux’s arm. “I don’t think I ever asked you about human food. I know you said vampires don’t eat it, but is that because you can’t or you just don’t want to? Does the smell or taste of it make you sick?”

  He angled his arm around my waist and moved me closer to the banquet. “Our bodies are not made for solid nourishment. Newborns discover quickly that attempting to ingest human fare always turns out badly. The smell can be unpleasant, but most of us have grown accustomed to it and no longer notice. Here.” He picked up a small crystal plate from the table and handed it to me. “Have something. You probably have not eaten much today.”

  Nodding in agreement, I sidled alongside the table, selected various appetizers, and added them to my plate. He was right. It had been hours since I’d eaten anything.

  Sampling the delicious options, I moved back to stand with Devereux, observing the two-legged cuisine. As I watched, a tall bald male approached one of the female donors and reached out his hand. She set her drink on the table walked over to the man, and exposed her throat. He eased behind her, snaked his arms around her waist, and sank his fangs into her neck. Judging by her erect nipples, she appeared to be enjoying it. Her head dropped back against his shoulder, and her facial muscles visibly relaxed.

  I’d certainly seen my share of vampires feeding, but each time it took me by surprise. There was just something so wrong about it. Humans weren’t supposed to be food. Unless, of course, it was me willingly donating to a certain blond-haired immortal. But that was different. Wasn’t it?

  Watching such an intimate thing began to feel creepy, and I was glad when the bald man retracted his fangs and released the woman. He eased around in front of her, lifted her hand, and kissed it before he bowed and drifted away. She breathed deeply, retrieved her champagne glass from the table, and raised it in salute, then rejoined her companions as if nothing unusual had happened. The donor didn’t look any worse for the experience, which had been oddly sterile.