Kismet Knight, Vampire Psychologist 3 - Dark Harvest (19 page)

I was certainly changing, but was that a good thing?

“Is the hypnosis helping your fear of the dark? Are you still keeping a light on in your coffin while you sleep?”

Jerome visibly shuddered. His large brown eyes stared, unblinking, from his pale face. “The hypnosis isn’t helping yet. I keep telling myself that I’m not afraid of the dark, but
myself
isn’t listening. So, to answer your question, yes. I am keeping a light on. In fact, I saw a portable lamp on television that runs on batteries, so I sent away for several. They’re working great. Since my coffin is the extra-large size, I can pretty much stay in there all the time. Except for when I need to get blood, of course.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “I suppose you could stay in your coffin all the time, but that wouldn’t help your agoraphobia. But let’s talk about how you acquire blood. Are you still ordering pizzas and feeding on the delivery people?” His expression told me what I needed to know. I couldn’t figure out why the pizza restaurants didn’t notice their drivers always returned in a dazed state from one certain delivery address.

Jerome must be better at entrancing humans than he let on.

He lowered his gaze to the floor and mumbled. “Yes. I know I promised I wouldn’t do that anymore, but I get so hungry. I don’t kill anybody, honest, but I can’t go out, Dr. Knight. I try to make myself, but my legs won’t work. Even though I live in a perfectly good basement apartment in one of the master’s buildings, most days I can’t even make myself get out of my coffin. I think my depression is getting worse.”

Page 119

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“But you’ve told me you’re capable of transporting yourself through thought. Why don’t you simply do that? Is it easier to hide?”

He frowned, pouting.

Poor Jerome. We revisited the same emotional territory every session. Psychotropic medications simply didn’t work on the undead, so all I could offer were behavioral techniques—which hadn’t been very helpful so far. “Do you want to get better, Jerome? Are you happy with the way your life—er, your existence—is?”

He sat silent for several seconds, then raised sad eyes to mine. “You know I never wanted to be a vampire. I’m simply not equipped for this kind of life. I was always a morning person. My stepfather only bit me to get rid of me. He thought I wouldn’t survive the transition.” He swiveled his head toward the window. “I wish I hadn’t. I’m miserable.”

Shit. Where’s Maude when I need her?

Since none of my usual interventions were useful, I felt justified in grasping at straws. “Jerome, is there anything that would make you happy? Something you could get excited about? Life without a purpose—for mortals or vampires—can feel empty. Is there anything that you have passion for?

Anyone?”

He turned to me, an odd expression on his face. “I’ll tell you if you won’t get mad.” He pursed his lips.

“You aren’t going to like it.” His voice sounded even younger than usual and he seemed to physically shrink into the cushions of the couch.

“Tell me,” I said gently. He was treating me like his mother again, which was normal in therapy, but I needed to figure out what had triggered the transference.

“I am passionate about figuring out a way to end this terrible existence.”

I nodded. “Well, if you’re feeling miserable, I can understand wanting to relieve the pain.” I paused.

“Have you figured it out yet?”

Does he have a plan to off himself? Is it even suicide if the person is already dead? How could I stop him, anyway? There’s no 9-1-1 to call. No undead suicide hotline. I’m not trained for this!

He seemed suddenly agitated, shifting his gaze back and forth between the carpet and my face. “I think so.”

The air became thick. My stomach tightened, and goose bumps prickled my arms.

Holy shit. What’s going on now?

“What are you doing, Jerome?”

He stood and moved with vampire speed, looming over me, effectively trapping me in the chair. I tried to slide off the seat and onto the floor, but he jammed one of his legs between my knees. “You probably don’t know what Devereux said he’d do to anybody who hurt you. He was quite graphic about providing a quick and non-negotiable death. I’m sorry to involve you in this, because you’ve been very nice. I’ve enjoyed our time together, but it’s the only way. I just can’t take anymore.” Dark red replaced
Page 120

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

the brown of his eyes, and his fangs descended. “And, to be totally truthful, I’ve had a few passionate fantasies about you, too.”

Fear tackled me. My heart pounded; sweat broke out under my arms. “Stop, Jerome! Don’t do this. I can help you. Things really can get better, please!” I pushed ineffectually against his chest, feeling his breath on my neck. Just as his teeth scraped my skin, he was suddenly gone—lifted away from me.

“I hate to interrupt this tender moment, but that had to be one of the biggest piles of melodramatic bullshit I’ve ever heard.” Hallow laughed, holding the struggling Jerome in the air by the back of his shirt.

“I suppose I could be a good sport and turn this pitiful specimen over to Devereux for disposal, but I’m just not a team player. Killing is so rewarding. I never waste an opportunity to revel in the thrill of the slaughter.” He nodded toward Jerome, who was making high-pitched keening sounds as he flailed his arms and legs. “This whining sot is a blemish on vampires everywhere. He’s not even fit food. And besides, Devereux’s off following the trail of crumbs I scattered for his benefit. If I recall, he’s never gotten into the spirit of the hunt. Always taking the joy out of everything with his lofty philosophies. What good is it to be a vampire if you’re not going to be the meanest predator on the block? I like to set a bloody example.”

Hallow grabbed a fistful of Jerome’s hair and jerked my attacker’s head to the side with such force—and so quickly—it was ripped away from his body, making a wet, bone-crunching, sickening sound. Blood arced in all directions. I gasped as the thick, red fluid hit me in the face.

I screamed, frantically wiping at the blood dripping down my nose.

Hallow watched me for a few seconds, then gave an evil grin. “I always have such fun when I’m with you. It’s a pity we can’t leave today, but I have responsibilities to take care of. I’m sure you understand.”

He glanced down at his hands, chuckling, as if he was surprised to find himself holding two parts of a ravaged vampire. He threw Jerome’s body on the floor and raised my former client’s severed head aloft, staring up at it. “Do you want this as a souvenir? After all, the unfortunate boy was just about to commit suicide by draining the therapist.”

He angled Jerome’s bloody head over his open mouth, drinking the dripping liquid. Crimson streams spread down his face, through his hair, and onto his shirt, saturating the dark fabric. He enthusiastically licked his lips, fangs glinting menacingly from between them.

The horror of what Hallow had done upended my brain and I sat, numb, staring. A ragged portion of Jerome’s spine protruded from the torn skin and I felt my head spin. Knowing I was in shock and dangerously close to throwing up, I lowered my head between my knees and tried to breathe. I heard something hit the floor with a squishy crunch as the gleeful monster laughed. I shifted my gaze just in time to watch Jerome’s head roll against the toes of my shoes. I groaned.

“I keep forgetting what sissies humans are. One unexpected beheading and you’re reaching for your barf bags. Let’s get you some air. I prefer your natural, sweet-smelling aroma.”

He lifted me from the chair, balanced my limp, nauseated body in his arms, and transported us to the rooftop patio. Along with everything else about Devereux’s building, it was both lovely and utilitarian.

Motion-sensing lights illuminated the space, which wasn’t really necessary since the moon hung low in the clear sky, only a couple of days past being full.

I’d just opened my mouth to demand he release me, when he did exactly that. My feet found the floor and I steadied myself, staring at the bloodied monster who stepped in front of me.

Page 121

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“Blood agrees with you, Kismet.” He grinned. “It brings out the blue of your eyes and the ivory of your skin tone. Of course, your beautiful dress is damaged beyond repair.” His silver eyes glistened. “I hope it didn’t have any special significance for you.” He stroked his hand down my breast over the silky, ruined material. It didn’t take a huge mental leap to understand Hallow knew the garment had been a gift from Devereux. Disgusted, I recoiled from his touch, jerking a step back. “Get your hands off me, you murdering bastard,” I croaked through the fear contracting my throat. My voice came out thin and high-pitched. Hallow’s energy felt suffocating.

His grin expanding, he grabbed my upper arm, hauling me closer. “I don’t think I will. As much as I enjoy your keen mind—and you know I’m looking forward to exploring your abilities—it’s probably time to shift to the next level of my plan.”

I tried, without success, to free my arm from his grip. “You’re not exploring anything about me, you homicidal psychopath. I’m not participating in any of your sick plans. You’re a delusional monster.”

His eyes wide, he shook his head, adopting an expression of innocence. “Is this my thanks for keeping the irritating boy from tearing your throat out? Name calling? My dear doctor, I would’ve expected much more gratitude and subservience. Oh, well. It’s clear I have my work cut out for me.” His eyes narrowed. “You will make a marvelous
lýtle.”
He leaned in. “And perhaps more.”

I kept struggling, but his fingers were steel. The crazed maniac stared at me with his cold, silver eyes, and I felt my awareness fragment. His hypnotic orbs locked on mine, pulling like a magnet, enticing me into his dark aura. My knees buckled. Only his grip on my arm kept me from falling. One part of me remained conscious of the fact that I was on the roof of Devereux’s building, held prisoner by a killer.

But another part—the one with the hard nipples and damp crotch—eagerly dived into the mercurial lure of his gaze, unable to concentrate on anything but the need to feel his hands on me. I was sentient enough to understand my level of danger, but unable—or unwilling—to turn away.

He held me tight against him, fisted his free hand in my hair, and tugged my head back, exposing my neck. The smell of blood was strong.

“Soon, your only purpose will be to serve me. You will do so willingly—craving me above life itself,” he whispered, his mouth against my ear, the words sending rushes of pleasure down my body.

Almost painfully aroused, I groaned, surrendering the use of whatever bones still remained. The sane part of my brain frantically screamed, “No! I don’t want this! Stop!” But the inmates had taken over the asylum.

Want this.

His soft tongue licked down my neck before he plunged his fangs into the rich vein pulsing there. I screamed with the beginnings of a powerful—almost overwhelming—orgasm that rumbled through my entire body and bombarded me with chaotic emotions. As the pleasure intensified, my muscles spasmed, shaking me violently, as if I were having a seizure.

I never wanted it to end.

Loud voices startled me from my orgasmic dream. I opened my eyes—which I hadn’t realized I’d closed—to find several vampires in a circle around us. I tried to focus my eyes and hadn’t even had time to wonder if Devereux was there, when he leaped on Hallow, grabbing him from behind.

Page 122

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

I collapsed onto the floor.

I lay boneless on the ground. Orgasmic aftershocks reverberated through me while my brain smoked a mental cigarette.

A series of clamorous noises finally penetrated the fog in my head. I turned my gaze toward what sounded like rabid wolves fighting over a deer carcass, and goggled at the sight of Devereux and Hallow locked in immortal combat.

Their mouths were stretched in lethal snarls, long, sharp fangs exposed; silky hair flying.

In the face of so much preternatural insanity, all I could think about was how beautiful they both were.

I rolled onto my side and raised myself into a sitting position. Even that small movement was harder than it should have been. It was as though my muscles had forgotten their programming, or the bridge between the thought and the action had been washed away in the unnatural, hormonal flood.

The lustful part of me—or the hormonal adolescent, as Victoria called her—still quivering in the afterglow, wanted to leap into the fray, seize Hallow, and force him to pierce my neck again with his paroxysm-inducing fangs. She was annoyed that her good time had been interrupted.

But the logical part—my Inner Psychologist—was scowling, arms crossed.

A temporary impasse. My psyche was at war with itself again, and I wasn’t sure which part of me would prove to be the victor.

No telling what would have happened if I hadn’t gotten distracted. One of the vampires in the circle—a male I hadn’t seen before—reached out to help me up. I stared at the pale hand for a few seconds before grabbing onto it. I didn’t hesitate only because he was a stranger, or because I was busy having a lust-instigated psychotic break, but also because I wasn’t sure my legs would hold me if I managed to become vertical. His hand was unpleasantly cool and I released it as quickly as I politely could, giving him a nod of acknowledgment. I had a momentary thought about how it no longer seemed unusual or frightening to me to be surrounded by vampires. That couldn’t be good.

I backed against the railing and gawked at the spectacle.

Inhuman growls, snarls, and hisses erupted from the fighters, the bizarre sounds causing a temporary itching sensation on my skin—like hundreds of tiny bugs crawling on the surface. The unpleasant sensation wasn’t too much of a surprise, since I’d witnessed copious evidence of the ability of a vampire voice to elicit pleasure or pain.

Watching them was very exciting for one part of me and terrifying for another. Devereux and Hallow tore at each other’s throats, carving bloody gashes that immediately healed, only to be ripped open again.

God-like zombies. One second they wrestled on the ground, then the next they levitated in the air, before smashing one another savagely into the nearest wall. I’d never seen anything as viciously, primitively violent. Their shirts were shredded and discarded.

In the midst of the carnage, Hallow laughed, which obviously incited Devereux. With renewed vigor, he
Page 123

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

wrestled his opponent to the ground, displaying impressive skills and power. A flash of confusion shadowed Hallow’s face at Devereux’s surprising abilities. Watching the two of them, muscles straining and rippling across sculpted shoulders and chests, was confusing. One part of me found it arousing, but my more rational aspect—the one who couldn’t imagine life without Devereux—was terrified that the ancient monster might prevail. I gasped in fear.

My inadvertent sound must have distracted Devereux, causing him to shift his gaze to me and to lift his hands from Hallow’s neck, where he’d been gouging at the flesh of the madman’s throat. In that instant, Hallow vanished, reappearing next to me. That was odd. Couldn’t Hallow transport himself while Devereux focused on him? Was it Devereux’s physical touch keeping Hallow from blinking from one place to another? Or was it Devereux’s attention?

Hallow shook his head, blood spraying from his long hair like water shaken off a wet dog, and spoke in a booming voice, “What marvelous entertainment you’ve provided, Devereux. I can’t remember when I’ve had such a rousing time. I look forward to our next rendezvous, but I have much to complete before ending my work here.” He grabbed my hair and pulled my face to his, pressing his lips forcefully to mine before releasing me just as abruptly. Lust donned her party dress and grabbed her coat, ready to check into Hotel Hallow, while the other—cautious—part held a metaphorical bucket of cold water at the ready.

Devereux sprang to his feet and growled, recapturing my gaze, chanting in the strange language he used when working magic, as he stalked like a dangerous predator toward us. Hallow bowed from the waist and laughed again, pointing at me. “I will leave her in your care for a while longer.” He raised an eyebrow. “If she’s willing to stay. But don’t get too comfortable. She’s mine now.” He disappeared.

Enveloped in a strange fugue, I had the odd, dissonant sense again—the schizophrenic need to be with Hallow and to run from him. My two conflicting parts jockeyed for position while arguing in my head.

Having two, clear aspects take center stage was definitely new. And frightening. I’d always been aware of—and comfortable with—my inner cast of characters. Like everyone, I had certain characteristics that dominated my psychic landscape. But my sub-personalities usually took turns sitting in the driver’s seat. I now had two pilots in my consciousness cockpit, neither wanting to relinquish the controls.

I had to believe the compassionate, wise part of me would find a way to triumph. All other outcomes were unimaginable.

Victoria’s description of my behavior at Devereux’s club—and my inability to remember the time in question—was classic dissociative amnesia. That was bad enough. But this was different. I was fully aware of both parts of myself, and their differing agendas. I feared I’d detoured onto the entrance ramp to madness.

Looking like a bomb-blast victim at a cover model convention, Devereux studied me for a few seconds before flicking his fingers in a dismissive gesture at his companions. “Leave us.” They did.

His clothes were torn and bloody, his hair coated with thick red liquid, but his body showed no physical damage from the undead brawl he’d just participated in. He put his arm around my waist and propelled me toward a wooden bench against a brick wall. When we sat, I slumped against him, mentally and physically exhausted.

Lust strolled over to a shadowy corner of my psyche and stood waiting, an amused expression on her face. She let me know she wasn’t going anywhere, but she would allow me the illusion of control. For the moment. I wondered what would happen if I couldn’t retain my portion of our joint reality. Would she
Page 124

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

simply take over my whole personality, or would the entire structure collapse?

I shifted my gaze to Devereux’s serious profile. Lust peeked over my mental shoulder to leer at his glorious, bare chest before she retreated back to her patch of darkness, laughing.

“What the hell just happened?” I raised my fingers to the throbbing bite on my neck and they came away bloody. Touching the wound caused my body to spasm dramatically, as if the memory of the orgasm was still there, eager to rejoin the party. Devereux grabbed me, steadying me on the bench. I held my breath, waiting for my alter ego to do something outrageous, but she only watched, impish smile in place. What was she up to?

Devereux smoothed a strand of hair from my cheek. “The demon has reestablished his influence over you. I can sense the chaos in your mind, but your thoughts remain obscured.”

I shivered—either from the cooling temperatures of the evening or in reaction to Hallow’s bite—and Devereux lifted me onto his lap, holding me tight against his chest. “Come. We will return to the penthouse.”

“No. Not yet. Let’s sit here for a moment and enjoy the night.” I didn’t want to go back inside the building. The fresh air felt good in my lungs and the open sky gave me a sense of normality. Whatever that was. Lust stepped forward inside our shared mind, tapping an imaginary watch on her wrist. What the hell was that supposed to mean? How bizarre was my mental meltdown going to become?

If I survived having two, radically different personalities, I’d never question my dissociated clients’

accounts of their experiences ever again. I wondered if Dr. Jekyll had to consciously live through the exploits of Mr. Hyde.

Devereux rocked me gently for a few seconds before he spoke again, his cheek resting against my hair.

“I must accept full responsibility for what has happened to you. I refused to see what was clearly in front of me. I knew Hallow was powerful and that he used his wiles to ensnare women, but I believed my vampiric abilities and magical skills could keep him in check. He is more dangerous now than he was the last time I encountered him. I was overconfident and you have paid the price.” I started to sit up, and opened my mouth to assure him I knew he’d done everything he could, but he pulled me close against his body. “Wait, please. Let me finish.” I shut my mouth and relaxed. He obviously needed to talk. “Victoria shared some of her concerns with me about Hallow. She spoke of her visions—how she had seen Hallow in your townhouse and on a stage of some kind with you. She said she saw him bite you. I was so certain that my spells would protect your home, that I did not consider the possibility that Hallow is not subject to any rules—human, vampire or magical. Even after she shared her insights, I did not take action quickly enough.” He was silent for a few seconds. “I am angry because I do not know how to protect you from his malicious intentions. In all my eight hundred years I have rarely been bested. It is a bitter fruit to swallow.”

He went very still, his breathing and heartbeat growing faint. I knew those human-like functions were under his direct control, and I wondered if he’d simply forgotten about them.

Hoping to break whatever introspective spell he’d woven around himself, I spoke louder than necessary.

“Can I sit up now?” In his intensity, he’d been holding me so tightly, I was sure there’d be bruises on my arms.

He released his grip, shook his head, and heaved a huge sigh. “Yes, of course. I apologize. Once again, I have behaved obliviously. You must truly think me a thoughtless cave dweller by now.”

Page 125

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

His heart jolted back to life in his chest, and I could feel his breath against my hair. He’d told me he only bothered with things like breathing when he was around me or another mortal. I appreciated his efforts, because I certainly took breathing for granted and didn’t think I was ready for him to constantly remind me of his corpseness. There was no need for me to give him any lectures about his previous arrogance, or his tendency to gently bulldoze, because he was being harder on himself than I would’ve been, so I tried to lighten the mood.

“Oh, yes. You’re a regular Fred Flintstone.” I laughed.

“Fred Flintstone?” He lowered his voice and locked eyes with me, as if the topic warranted the utmost seriousness. “Is he one of your clients?” Articulating the words very clearly in his antiquated manner, he invested them with great importance. I laughed. How he’d managed to become the successful billionaire he was, functioning in the modern century, was a mystery, since his education about anything he didn’t consider pertinent was meager. But I guessed someone of Devereux’s age and temperament might find society’s focus on the superficial to be uninteresting.

He obviously doesn’t have a television in his coffin.

“No. He’s a cartoon character. But that’s not important.” I knew he was going to take offense and ask if I thought he was one, and I didn’t want to go there. “I don’t think you’re a thoughtless cave dweller, although if you’d asked me that a couple of days ago, I might have given you a different answer.”

He recognized the humor in my face and smiled. “Yes. And I would have deserved it.” His expression became serious again. “I have since discovered that Hallow created the trouble between the two vampire covens I have been attempting to resolve. His mind control abilities are second to none. He knew exactly how to distract me, and I was a fool to allow myself to be manipulated. In my mistaken belief that, as the master of the largest coven in this part of the country, I was the only one who could settle the dispute, I walked right into his clever ruse. It is true that the covens were in need of mediation, but only due to his intervention. I should have realized this much sooner. And I should have been more available to you. I should never have left your side.” He kissed my forehead.

My therapeutic lecture on the parental roots of the tendency to “should” oneself sprang to mind.

Apparently I couldn’t ever stop being a therapist, even in the midst of a psychic brain split—but I didn’t think he’d appreciate the unofficial counseling session. He was being so sweet and beating himself up so badly, I thought it was time for me to own up to my own participation in the problem. Damned ethical training.

“Well, as fascinating as your self-flagellation is, I have to admit I didn’t make it easy for you to remain by my side. And I didn’t listen to you when you said Hallow was influencing me. I had no idea what you meant then, but I do now. I wasn’t aware of his ability to force me to forget my logical, practical self, and to become a more primitive aspect of my nature. I didn’t realize he was a literal monster until I watched him kill the radio show guy in front of my eyes.”

He went still. His relaxation immediately morphed into rapt attention as his body adopted a rigid posture.

“What do you mean? When did you witness such a thing?”

The cool air—and the energetic buzz of Devereux’s impending anger—was becoming uncomfortable and I needed a few minutes to organize my thoughts. For the first time I noticed my feet were bare and wondered what had happened to my shoes—as if my brain needed something simple to focus on. “If we’re going to have that discussion, I want to go back inside.”