The Vampire Shrink (32 page)

He looked spectacular. He was dressed in cream-colored soft leather, and his pants were obviously cut specifically for his lean, muscular frame. They fit his body like a perfect glove, the waistband riding just above his hips. A line of soft platinum hair snaked down his lower stomach and disappeared into his pants. With the exception of those enticing little strands, his chest was smooth and hair-free. The state of his chest was apparent because he wasn't wearing a shirt. The muscles in his abdomen were toned and obvious, and his nipples peeked out occasionally from beneath the open floor-length duster, which moved like something much softer than leather. Or maybe that was how expensive leather moved.

Shining in the center of his chest was the same antique medallion he'd worn the first time he'd come to my office.

The color of his hair matched his clothing, and it spilled down over his shoulders, long, soft, and delectable. The blue-green of his eyes sparkled with a fire from within. They shone like the alchemical blending of emeralds and sapphires.

As he swayed with me in our inadvertent dance, I became entranced by the sight of him in all that leather without a shirt. The pink of his nipples peeped out from the edges of the coat, vivid against his pale skin, and captured my attention—and my imagination. A trick of the light made the medallion seem to pulse against his skin. I had to fight the desire to run my hands over his chest.

We stopped moving, and I finally found my voice. “You look amazing.

I just want to run my fingers through your hair and lick your chest.”

My outburst startled me, and I felt my face grow hot with embarrassment.
Geez, did I really say that out loud? Have I been sucked into the cult?

He let go of me, then took my face in his hands.

“Thank you for that. I have never been so flattered. I hope you will still feel that way when we are alone later.”

When we're alone later? At least he assumes I'll get through this ceremony in one piece.

He smiled. “As I have said, I swear you will be safe.”

“And when did I give you permission to read my thoughts again?”

“My apologies.” He bent his arm at the elbow and lifted it for me to take. “The journey to the ceremonial site might cause you to be dizzy and momentarily uncomfortable. It will pass quickly.”

What? Every time I start to acclimate, he says another weird thing.

I had a brief panic attack and considered bolting out the door, but decided I wouldn't get far in the high-heeled shoes. I had to clear my throat a couple of times before I could speak.

“Where are we going? How will we get there?”

We walked into his main office and headed toward what appeared to be a solid wall.

“Our destination is another dimension, and we shall move through thought.”

Before I could complain or raise my hand up to keep my head from colliding with the physical boundary in front of me, I heard a swoosh of air again, as I had when Devereux brought me from my house. My hair was blown back gently from my face, and my equilibrium shifted. I'd say we'd been moving, but it wasn't like any kind of motion I'd felt before. It reminded me of an experience I had in an elevator once, when the car plummeted down several floors in free fall before the automatic controls took over and stopped the downward motion. My stomach churned, and if Devereux hadn't been holding me, my knees would have buckled.

I'm not sure when, but I'd apparently closed my eyes, because when I sensed we were stationary I opened them.

And words failed me.

I was standing on a cloud in a huge candlelit room surrounded by what looked like hundreds of other people.

Devereux brushed his finger gently across my cheek, and I turned to him. He took my hand and walked me forward a few steps.

“It is my pleasure to introduce you to Lady Amara.”

A beautiful woman with long pale-blond hair approached. She wore a breathtaking white gown and a warm smile and resembled Devereux so strongly she could have been his sister.

She moved in very close to me, lifted the pentagram necklace resting on my chest, and met my eyes.

“Welcome, Kismet. You have come at last. I am Devereux's mother.”

CHAPTER 17

D
evereux had been correct in predicting that I might feel queasy after our interdimensional road trip. My head felt fuzzy, and a loud buzzing filled my ears. Part of me figured I'd fallen and hit my head, and that was why I was having both auditory and visual hallucinations.

Talking to Devereux's dead mother? Walking on a cloud?

After I accepted my temporary madness, I relaxed and enjoyed the experience. After all, it was obviously just a dream: a marvelous, esoteric, lucid dream. It made perfect sense to me that I'd called up the beautiful blond woman's image from the portrait in Devereux's room, and that the cottony feeling in my head might be symbolically translated into a cloud.

“Okay.” I gave what I thought was a supportive smile, and trilled, “Sure. Absolutely. Devereux's mother. It's nice to meet you, Lady Amara.”

“Amara, please.”

The two of them exchanged a look. Devereux stepped in front of me and raised my chin with a gentle finger so he could search my eyes.

“Kismet?” He frowned. “Are you well? Your mind is racing like a film on fast-forward.” He removed his finger from beneath my chin but continued to stare at me.

“Oh, sure,” I said, dazed. “This is a great dream. Much more fun than all the bloody, scary ones I've been having.”

He glanced at the blond woman, and they shared a smile. Devereux moved over to her and drew her into a hug. “It is wonderful to see you, Mother. It has been so very long.”

They held each other tightly, both reluctant to let go.

Amara finally stepped away from his embrace, wiped a tear from under her eye, and stood in front of us. Shifting her gaze to each of us in turn, she said in a trembling voice, “My beautiful son, I am so happy you have found your mate and that your heart will be at peace. I cannot remain long, so we must begin.”

His mate?

Surprised by this confusing new development, I scanned the immediate area, searching for the mate Amara had referred to.

Before I could ask any of the multitude of disturbing questions that had commandeered my partially functioning brain, Devereux positioned himself between us. He offered us each an arm, and we were suddenly in the middle of a cavernous room. The dreamy quality of the experience began to recede, and the sounds, colors, and sensations lost their vague edges and became hyperfocused. My sensing system shifted to high alert, and my inner defenses rallied the troops and pulled up the bridge over the moat.

My stomach turned, and my breath went shallow. I was suddenly afraid. All around me were people I didn't know, and we were still walking on a damn cloud. Candles floated in the air of their own volition, just like in the
Harry Potter
movies, and the flames were overly large and multicolored. Every few seconds each candle sent up a spark of mini-fireworks, but no one else paid any attention.

Maybe there was something funny in that water he gave me. Some kind of occult drug from one of those strange bottles he has in his bedroom.

The air was thick and heavy, as if it was very hot, but it wasn't. There was a wall of murmuring sound, which I soon discovered to be the whispered conversations around me.

Devereux guided us into a large, cloud-free open circle. As if on cue, all the other guests surrounded us, forming themselves into several concentric rings, one behind another. On the floor of the open area were symbols similar to the ones in Devereux's private room. An ornate, jewel-encrusted chair with a high back sat in the center of the circle.

Amara grasped my hand and led me over to the fancy chair, indicating I should sit. I gazed into her eyes, searching for any sign that I was in danger, but all I saw was kindness, warmth, and compassion.

Since I didn't know what else to do—or what else I
could
do—I sat in the chair. The moment my hind end touched the seat, the people in the circles began singing. Or maybe chanting would be a better word to describe the sound, some repetitious melody in a language I didn't recognize. The vocalizing started out softly, harmonies flowing over and under the tonic, but as it went on, it got louder, then louder still, until I could feel the vibration of the sound in my bones.

The song was mesmerizing, eerie, and lovely. My eyelids drooped, and my head fell forward. I was still fully conscious but had the distinct impression that my body had gone to a different time zone. I concentrated on lifting my head and was finally able to raise it just enough to have the motion cause it to flop back against the chair.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amara step next to me. She took my hand, and I tried to produce sounds, but nothing came out.

I don't know what Devereux had been doing all this time, but he suddenly appeared next to me in the center of the circle, and all the singing stopped. I mean everyone literally stopped chanting at exactly the same second. Devereux raised both his hands in the air.

“Welcome, my friends. I am grateful for your willingness to join us in this ceremony of protection today to hold the sacred space. It is truly a momentous occasion and a special time for me because my mother is here. Please welcome my mate, Kismet, to the circle.”

What? I'm his mate? When did I sign up for that? Why isn't my brain working properly?

He gestured toward me with a graceful, flowing hand-and-arm movement, and everyone said words in unison in that exotic-sounding language.

Ever since the singing ended, my mind had begun to clear and my body was operating at my command again. Amara released my hand but continued to stand next to me.

Devereux extended his hands out in front of him, and a large golden chalice appeared from nowhere. He held the chalice over his head and moved around the inside edges of the circle, keeping up an ongoing monologue in that mysterious sonorous language. He was quite a sight to behold, gliding like a dancer, his duster billowing out behind him, his naked chest gleaming in the candlelight.

My mind was clear enough to find him compelling, and my body was aware enough to be aroused—in fact, for some reason I was intensely aroused. My suddenly hard nipples thrust against the silky fabric of my dress, threatening to burst free from the restraining corset, and the area between my legs grew slick with liquid heat.

Then he came and stood in front of me, set the chalice on the floor at my feet, threw off his duster, and, for lack of better words, performed an erotic dance for me.

Vampires dance? Who knew? Well, he did say it was a pagan ceremony.

His movements were totally unlike his usual elegant, contained presentation. His hips undulated, his stomach muscles rolled, and his arms sliced through the air in deliberate, graceful motions. He threw his head back, his platinum hair flew, and his face went slack, as if he'd gotten lost in ecstasy.

A potent energy sparked off Devereux as he danced. I felt the tension building inside myself and thought that if he didn't touch me soon, I'd literally explode. As I caught some of the expressions on the faces of the other participants, I saw I wasn't the only one having that reaction.

Devereux's skin shone with sweat, like liquid diamonds. He moved his hands seductively over his body, locking his eyes with mine. Bending toward me, he opened his mouth and slowly and deliberately licked his upper lip with his tongue. His canines were fully extended, and he kissed me, catching my lower lip with his fangs, then backed away.

I gasped, thinking he'd bitten me, but I tasted no blood. All my erogenous zones were frantic with desire—literally aching with need—and my heart pounded double time. I was so excited and aroused by his dance that I doubt if I'd have complained even if he'd taken a pint.

I scooted to the edge of the chair, ready, I supposed, to leap onto Devereux at the earliest chance. Oddly enough, thinking about making a public display of myself with Devereux didn't upset me. All that mattered was doing whatever I had to do to get him to touch me again.

He picked up the chalice and glided over to the circle of people. Pandemonium broke out.

As Devereux approached the crowd, a madness built. Excitement spread around the circles, and all variety of wails, moans, groans, and howls rent the air. Some of the participants' bodies convulsed, limbs twitching and jerking in random spasms as their heads flopped back and forth on boneless necks. Others jumped up and down with manic intensity, as if they'd been taken prisoner by a sadistic puppeteer.

Holding the chalice in his left hand, Devereux magically manifested a knife or dagger in his right. He stared into the eyes of the woman in front of him in the circle, and she offered her arm. Using the knife to make a small cut on her wrist, he caught the dripping blood in the chalice. A roar went up from the crowd.

Arms shot out from everywhere as the noise level rose.

Devereux navigated the ring, repeating the process with as many wrists as it took to fill the chalice with blood.

I'd been so shocked by Devereux's sudden shift from lust object to phlebotomist that I hadn't noticed the other really bizarre situation that was unfolding.

People were sucking on each other's wounds.

Well, technically, I guess you couldn't call them people.

Vampires
were sucking on each other's wounds.

And not merely sucking—feeding frenzy would be more accurate.

I felt my jaw drop as I watched the bloodsuckers attach themselves to wrists and necks, some falling to the floor together in passionate midsuck. A few of the revelers had gotten so swept away by the feasting that clothes were discarded and other parts of the body were invited to play.

Vampire orgy. Perfect.

I instinctively sat back in the chair, hoping the lunacy wouldn't spread to me. Amara took my hand again, and I turned to her. Her eyes were large and shining, greener than Devereux's, and she said, “He would never hurt you. You must trust him.”