The Vampire Shrink (30 page)

He bent down and pressed his lips against mine in a sweet kiss, and I took the first exit to Euphoria. Again. I reached up and held his face in both my hands and pressed my body against his, deepening the kiss.

First I punch him, then I kiss him. I've given new meaning to the words “mood swing.”

We stood melded together for not nearly long enough. I let my hands slide down his face, then stepped back. It took me a couple of tries to find my voice.

“What is it you should've told me?”

“This might take some time.” He reached for my hand. “It is better to be comfortable.”

Hmmm. The vampire version of “Let's get in the backseat”?

He led me over to the bed, gathered up all the dresses, and draped them across the back of a throne-like chair. He crawled onto the bed—which was itself a very arousing thing to watch—sat against the headboard, and patted the space next to him, inviting me to join him. I did.

I had a brief thought about what it meant that I was in bed with another man after spending the afternoon in a very intimate encounter with Alan. Was I now being unfaithful to Alan even though we'd made no promises to each other? We hadn't pretended our sexual attraction had any future implications. Or had I been unfaithful to Devereux? For some reason, that concept felt more troubling.

Wait a minute! Am I channeling a soap opera or something? I barely know either of them, and I haven't made any commitments to anyone. I'm a free agent and can do as I please. A curse on all those old Sandra Dee movies my mother used to make me sit through! Any minute now I'm going to get up and go home.

I immediately became distracted by the fact that the bed felt so soft and welcoming, and I was half tempted to close my eyes and drift away. I forced myself to open my eyes very wide and concentrate on the painting of Devereux's mother that was visible from my vantage point.

She was so beautiful. Almost as beautiful as her son. I think her eyes were slightly more greenish-blue and his more bluish-green. Or maybe not. They resembled each other strongly, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what made Devereux so masculine—perhaps his jaw was slightly stronger than hers, or his cheekbones more defined—but whatever it was, I couldn't ignore his pure maleness. Dangerous male. Yummy male.

I giggled, of all things.

“Kismet?”

“What?” I realized my mouth was hanging open, and my eyelids were at half-mast.

“You are clearly more exhausted than I thought. Perhaps you should lie down and rest for a while.”

“No, really, I'm fine. Just let me catch my second wind.” I blinked my eyes several times and sat up straighter, then turned to him. “Or coffee, maybe. Yeah, that'll do it.”

He crawled down to my feet, grasped my ankles, and tugged on them gently until he'd pulled me into a prone position with my head on the pillow.

“Hey, I don't want to lie down. I don't want to—”

Sleep must have ambushed me, because that's the last thing I remember.

Until the dream.

CHAPTER 16

I
'm walking through a run-down, old, abandoned house. The darkness is relieved only by the full moon shining through the large broken windows. There's an unpleasant musty smell masking something metallic—sweet—something familiar I can't identify.

I hear a child crying somewhere in the house, and I run toward the sound, yelling, “Where are you?” The corridor stretches out ahead of me, extending itself as I stumble along, feeling like I'm wading through tar.

Now the child's voice pleads, “Help me, help me,” and my feet become heavier with every step. “Help me, help me.” A heart-wrenching cry.

“Please,” I scream, “tell me where you are. I want to help you.”

My mouth is dry, my heart pounds, and I force myself to keep moving. I open every door along the unending hallway and finally come to a furnished bedroom where a sobbing boy sits on a huge four-poster bed next to a small table where a candle burns. The child reaches out his little arms as if to hug me, and I lean in to embrace him. His arms encircle my neck, and he rests his cheek against mine. I rock him gently as he quiets, and then he resumes his chant, “Help me, help me, help me …”

I ask, “How can I help you?” and he suddenly rears back, exposes long, pointy fangs, and sinks the horrible teeth into my neck. I fight against him, trying to push him off me, to break his vise-like hold, but he has strength beyond imagining.

Finally I fall back onto the bed, barely breathing, and another voice—a terrible, disgusting voice I've heard before—takes up the child's plea. “Help me, help me, help me …” I close my eyes, expecting death, and the familiar voice says, “Ah, we meet again.” My dream eyes fly open, and I'm no longer lying on the bed in the old house. I'm buried alive in a rotting coffin …

“No! Let me out!” I screamed, struggling to sit up. My heart raced, and my skin felt hot, as if I'd been heated by a fire.

Twin points of pain throbbed on my neck, and my lungs ached as I gasped for air. The hideous tones of the voice echoed in my ears and slithered across my skin. The same repulsive voice I'd heard outside the Crypt before my brain shut down. I pushed and fought against the hands holding me as if my life depended on it.

“Shhh. Kismet, it was only a dream. You are here, safe with me.”

I gasped and forced my eyes open. Devereux was sitting next to me on his bed, holding me down, a concerned expression on his face. I realized I'd been flailing my arms and kicking my legs. My cheeks were wet, and my body trembled.

“It was only a dream. No one will harm you.” Devereux pulled me up into a hug and rocked me as I'd rocked the child in my nightmare.

“Only a dream. I don't know what that means anymore.” I didn't feel normal with my eyes open or closed, and somewhere along the way I'd lost hold of the thread of sanity I'd been clinging to.

I closed my eyes again for a moment and sank into the soothing motion, enjoying being close to Devereux. I burrowed my face into his silky hair, loving the spicy smell of it. I didn't know what it was about him that felt so right to me, so familiar. In the midst of the madness my life had become, I was almost willing to stop thinking and just trust.

He picked up a bottle of water, cracked the seal, removed the top, and handed it to me. I downed half of the water in one long pull and only realized how dry my mouth had been after it wasn't dry anymore. I set the bottle on the table next to the bed and suddenly felt awkward. There I was, in a magnificent bed being held by a blond god, and all I could think about was that my sweat suit was all rumpled and my mouth tasted sour, which didn't bode well for the state of my breath.

Devereux smiled and stroked my hair. “Your breath is fine, but after you rest a while longer, if you wish to refresh yourself in order to feel confident, I can provide everything you need. Now I think you ought to lie back down. You still look pale.”

“That's something, coming from you,” I teased self-consciously, in an attempt to change the subject.

“Yes.” He grinned. “I suppose you could say I have no need of suntan lotion.”

He put his hand behind my head, grasped it gently, and guided it down toward the pillow. It did feel wonderful to surrender into the soft mattress again. He stretched out next to me, our bodies touching, his head propped on his palm, facing me.

“Kismet, are you having more dreams lately? More than usual?”

I thought about the child's fangs in my neck, and my skin went clammy.

“It isn't that I'm having more dreams. I always dream. It's that the dreams, the nightmares, are horrible. Graphic and bloody and violent. Completely unlike my usual dreams. Why do you ask?”

“The same thing is happening to me and many others of my kind—an increase in dark visions and nightmares.”

I lifted my head, stared at him. “Are you saying that vampires dream?”

He opened his eyes wide and raised a brow. “That is the first time you have referred to me as a vampire. Do you realize that you have just accepted what I am? What has happened to change your belief?”

“Well, it was mostly because of talking to Alan. And what I saw at your club last night.”

At the mention of Alan, a heavy feeling settled in my stomach. Chinese food with a side of Guilt poured over Shame. I hoped Alan was still sleeping soundly on my couch. I didn't know if Devereux was aware of my sexual interlude with Alan earlier, but I knew Alan wasn't aware of my relationship with Devereux.

What a tangled web we weave …

“Yes.” Devereux responded to my thoughts. “I am aware of your time with Alan, but you are a grown woman and able to make your own decisions. As much as I wish I could have been there for you this morning, that was not possible. I am glad someone was. Of course, you will never find yourself in such a predicament ever again, so there will be no need for you to turn to anyone but me.” Then he chuckled. “Feeling guilty? You surprise me. I would not have expected such a thing from a modern woman. Why would you feel guilty? You did nothing wrong.”

“Well, Mr. Mind Reader, I don't really. It's just old programming, cultural baggage. Most women have some of it—the idea that we're bad if we express our sexuality freely. I know all the therapeutic reasons why guilt isn't useful, but I still feel it anyway.” I sighed. “Yesterday Tom walked in on me in the bathtub, and if he hadn't behaved extremely badly, I might have had sex with him. Then last night I just about tore your clothes off at the club, and today I was with Alan. After two years of celibacy, that's a lot to deal with. I really don't know what's wrong with me. I'm usually so repressed.”

His voice wrapped me in aural fur as he stroked my cheek with the side of his finger. “It is not necessary for you to be so hard on yourself. You have had a lot of changes to integrate and understand. Being in the presence of a vampire has altered your normal behaviors. As I mentioned before, we have that effect on humans.”

“What do you mean? What effect?”

“Expanded appetites of all kinds. So turning to Alan for comfort was a natural thing to do. You had been through a terrible ordeal.” Anger flashed in his eyes. “An ordeal that will never happen again, I promise you. You are
mine
to protect now.”

I felt the air crackle, and my skin tingled.
Wow. He's capable of some impressive mood swings himself. This probably isn't a good time to talk about the “mine to protect” thing.

He took a slow breath, and his eyes returned to their calm, magical turquoise.

The corners of his mouth curved gently. “But we were talking about dreams. You asked if vampires dream. Yes. We have access to levels of consciousness that are unavailable to most mortals, and when we turn inward during the daylight hours, our minds—or souls, if you will—journey to other realms, dimensions that cannot be explained with words, worlds that exist beyond the waking and sleeping dreams that humans know. Are you willing to share your nightmare with me?”

“I thought you could read my mind. Why do you need me to tell you the dream?”

“For some reason, I can only sense it as a series of emotional impressions—fast-moving pictures. If you tell me what you experienced, perhaps I can help you understand what it is trying to communicate to you. That is what psychology teaches, yes?”

“Yes, that's true, but I still don't understand why you want to know.”

“Honestly, I am not sure. I simply feel compelled to find out. Unless it is too unpleasant to recount again so soon?”

“No. I believe that dreams are metaphorical messages, so I might as well figure out what this one really means.”

I gave him all the details of the nightmare, along with all the feelings it triggered in me. He listened quietly, his brows contracted, his lips compressed.

“We must make time very soon to discuss the symbols in your dream. It is fascinating that so many are having similar visions. It is also important for us to have a conversation about vampires and what acceptance of us will mean for you. I wish we had time to begin the dialogue now because I would have preferred to explain tonight's ceremony to you in greater detail, but we must hurry.”

“Wait a minute.” My stomach tightened. “I don't care for the sound of that. What will this ceremony consist of? What would you have explained?”

A knock sounded at the door, and a petite, five-foot-nothing, twentysomething woman stepped into the room. She looked more pixie than vampire, at least until she spoke and exposed very visible, highly distinctive fangs. She had bright red hair that curled around her shoulders and large brown eyes. She wore a sheer black dress under which was, apparently, nothing but skin.

“Master, it is nearly time for the ceremony. The others are arriving.”

Master?