Kiss Across Swords (Kiss Across Time Series) (38 page)

Brody and Veris had been systematically working through their own personal memories and discovering the changes that had taken place. So far, nothing earth-shattering had been uncovered. Most of it had been interesting, though.

“Ms. Taylor?” the receptionist called. “Dr. Cruz will see you now.” She waved from the desk toward the door where, presumably, the doctor’s office was.

They all stood up.

“I’m sorry, only your husband is permitted to accompany you in Doctor’s office for the consultation,” the receptionist said primly.

Taylor looked her in the eye. “They
are
my husbands,” she said flatly.

The receptionist’s mouth opened as her jaw descended.

Taylor looked at Brody and Veris. “Come on.” She stalked over to the door marked “Dr. Cruz,” her temper already simmering.

When they got inside the consultation room, Brody kissed her cheek soundly. “Damn, I love you, woman.”

Veris crossed his arms. “Just mind her claws there. She’s ready to bite.”

“Hell, yeah,” she growled. “I’ll abide by common sense rules, but being dictated to by a star-struck teenager quoting ‘da rulz’ pisses me off.”

“Tell us something we don’t know,” Brody suggested. He leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Figure we have another forty minutes in here now?” He dropped his sunglasses to the edge of his nose and looked at her over the end of them. “Your blonde-model fucking doctor is not endearing himself.”

“Not with me, either,” Taylor admitted.

“Then why are we here?” Veris asked.

“Now? To make a point,” Taylor told him.

Veris smiled. “How much of a point can we make?”

“Just don’t be cruel.”

“
Moi?”
He touched his chest.

Brody straightened up, pulled the band out of his hair and put away his sunglasses. He dropped the coat off his shoulders. Underneath, he wore outrageous death metal band clothing—low-rise skinny jeans, ripped in several places. Two tee shirts in different colors, also with designer rips and tears and chains, and the band’s logo in pitted and rubbed iron hanging from his neck. Leather cuffs around his wrists were studded with iron. Neither tee shirt had sleeves, which emphasized his nicely muscled arms. His black eyes and brows seemed to scowl at everything and everyone.

He was the complete antithesis to Veris, who wore a silk, dark-gray business suit that gleamed with polish, good taste and obscene expense. His blonde hair was pulled back into a neat little band at the back and his blue eyes radiated power and blazing intelligence.

Taylor looked down at her pleated skirt, stilettos and stockings. The skirt came to her knees, the stilettos were a conservative three inches high. She wore a cardigan, buttoned up, in dove gray, that matched her eyes and the gray in the tartan of the skirt. She wouldn’t raise browse in the middle of the street like Dr. Edward Cruz’s blonde did. But one of the changes that had taken place when they got back was her hair. It was down to her waist now—full, thick and with bangs cut to fall over one eye. She wore it loose as often as was practical and was rewarded by Veris and Brody plunging their hands into it and turning her head for a kiss and more, or simply just playing with it.

Under the skirt she wore a garter belt to hold up the stockings and nothing else. When Brody and Veris had discovered
that
new habit they had driven her mad with delight with their habit of running their hands up under her skirt, or simply throwing her over their knee and flipping her skirt up…

She had Brody to thank for that inspiration.

“Should we sit down?” she suggested.

“No, I don’t think so,” Brody said.

There was a sound outside the office. Voices talking. “The receptionist,” Veris said softly. “You’ve been recognized, Brody.”

“That’ll work for us now,” Brody said.

The door opened and Dr. Edward Cruz sailed into the room, only to be brought up short by the fact that Brody and Veris weren’t tucked in neat and tidy into the two miniature consultation chairs sitting in front of the desk. Cruz almost ran into them and stepped back a half a step, looking up at them.

Cruz was a much different man from the cocky, suave doctor Taylor had consulted ten days ago. He looked at least ten years older, although that wasn’t possible. The thirty or forty extra pounds he carried could account for him looking older. Stress and unhealthy living would claim the rest. He had silver in his hair that hadn’t been there before and dark rings under his eyes. He wore a wedding ring Taylor hadn’t noticed before.

His clothing was department store cheap, the striped shirt straining at the buttons, to cover the excess bulge around his belly.

Cruz pulled his white coat in around himself, glancing up at Brody, then up higher at Veris. “I…er…” He looked at Taylor. “Ms. Yates, I only need you and your husband for this consult.”

“These are my husbands,” Taylor said. “Brody Gallagher and Professor Veris Gerhardsson.”

Brody was the one who held out his hand. Veris crossed his arms.

Cruz nervously shook Brody’s hand, then smoothed down his tie and moved around to his side of the desk. “Would you like to sit down?”

“There’s not enough seats,” Brody pointed out. “We’ll stand.”

Cruz put down the file he was carrying and glanced at Brody. “My receptionist says that you are in a rock band, Mr. Gallagher.”

“Fuck that,” Brody said. “I wouldn’t touch rock music with a ten foot barge pole. Nocturnal Rain does death metal.”

Cruz cleared his throat. “I see.” He turned his attention to Veris. “And are you the Gerhardsson who wrote the paper about the preservation of the Latin language as the language of sciences until the nineteenth century and its contribution to medical nomenclature?”

“I am,” Veris replied calmly.

Cruz shifted his gaze from Brody to Veris and back. Taylor knew he was trying to assimilate the differences between the two and how Taylor could possibly be with both of them at once.

Brody straightened his shoulders, pushed his hand through his hair, and twisted it back off his shoulders. “Dr. Cruz, you have been in your office for two and a half minutes and so far you have failed to address any direct medical concerns about your patient at all. Instead you have quizzed me and Professor Gerhardsson on our resumes. Added to that, the forty-minute wait in your reception area, which was neither necessary, nor apologized for. I find this utterly unacceptable behavior for a member of the medical profession. I will be reporting it to the California State Medical Board.”

Cruz paled.

Veris grinned. “Isn’t Percy Brown the Chair of the Board there? I was part of the hearing when he defended his professorial thesis at UCLA. We go back a long way, Percy and I.” He winked at Cruz. “You might want to add that to your resume check.” He picked up Taylor’s hand. “Let’s go, Taylor.”

Brody pulled out his cell phone. “Yes, I’ve got someone much more suitable in mind. He makes house calls and he knows how to be on time, too.”

Cruz stood up as they turned to leave. “I think there has been a misunderstanding!”

Taylor looked at him over her shoulder. “Yep, you did get it wrong.” She shut the door after them.

* * * * *

For the first time in weeks, the weather had broken and that night, it was cool enough to light a fire, although it wasn’t cold enough to huddle by it. The firelight was just decorative, lending ambience to the downstairs level of the library.

Taylor sat on the Craftsman chair watching the flames, wondering what on earth Brody was up to. He had made her dress up, even picking out the white dress. Now she sat here alone.

She heard voices and looked up as Brody and Veris came downstairs, arguing. Not strenuously. Not seriously. But Brody was forcing some sort of issue that Veris didn’t like.

Brody had been doing that a lot, lately, she realized.

“Just shut up and get in there,” Brody finally said, exasperated. “She’s waiting for you.”

A long moment of silence, while Taylor’s heart thundered. She sat up straight, watching the doorway.

Veris finally appeared, Brody behind him, carrying a tray with a bottle of champagne and an ice bucket.

The champagne and ice bucket and her white dress told her what this was.

Brody was recreating her birthday, three months ago. Before everything had changed. Before she had destroyed it all by making that awful, fateful request of Veris.

Only, why? What was Brody doing?

Taylor clasped her hands between her knees and remained silent. Veris, wearing the more casual black leather pants and sleeveless white shirt she preferred than the professor outfits he wore in public, pulled the other matching chair over close by her.

Brody put the champagne on the table next to Taylor. As neither of them could drink the stuff it was a symbolic ritual to open the bottle and pour glasses. But Veris loved the symbol and the smell. He insisted the human ritual be maintained, especially around Taylor. So they had opened the bottle for her birthday. Now, even Taylor could not drink it. Brody pulled up a third chair from across the room and settled into it after handing them all a frosty tall glass.

Veris took breath. And another. “This is to be your birthday present. The one we failed to give you.”

She nodded. “I gathered.”

His gaze skittered away from her face and came back. “Brody insists you need to know this. I…think otherwise.”

“Or your courage would have you wish otherwise,” Brody said.

Veris twirled the champagne in his glass. “Yes,” he said flatly. “I do not deal well with…these matters. Not when they are unhappy ones.” He held up the flute. “I would give anything to be able to drink this. Dutch courage.” He put it on the table with a grimace.

Taylor swallowed. “You don’t have to do this, if it makes you feel this bad—”

“Yes, he does,” Brody interrupted. “We’ve shielded him long enough. We’ve read his mind, interpreted, made allowances, stepped around him and tried to understand him long enough. It’s time he met us halfway. It’s
time
. He left you weeping in that chair and fled to Europe to sulk because you asked for a favor. A
favor
.” He put his glass down. “Veris, you have to tell her why. She needs to really understand. She stepped in front of a stake for you, she killed Davina for you. She’s going to be the mother of your child.
Our
child.” He paused. “I still have trouble believing that one,” he murmured and shook his head. “All that and you’re going to baulk over revealing a few ugly truths about your ugly nature?”

Veris’ chest lifted as he drew a breath. “Put like that…”

Brody sat back in his chair.

Veris let out his breath again, studying Taylor. “It’s still difficult,” he confessed. “Made harder, now I know I left you crying that night.” He rubbed his temple. “You shocked me, asking to be turned. I wasn’t ready for it. I didn’t think you would ask for years yet. Not until you noticed your first gray hairs and your metabolism started to slow. I was so sure of it, I had completely relaxed.” He sighed. “What made you ask?”

“You did,” Taylor said. “When we were in old Norway and you were so happy to be human. So in love with the pleasures of it. I said something about the compensations of immortality. I don’t quite remember what I said, but I remember exactly what you said. It is carved on my heart. You said ‘You think watching those you love age and die isn’t a high enough price?’”

Brody swore softly.

Veris closed his eyes.

Taylor could feel her tears building, but there was nothing she could do about them now. She had to keep going. “We keep time jumping and living this dangerous life and just being human is dangerous enough these days. Disease and crime and heaven knows what. You two are impervious to it all. Do you spend your time worry about if I’m going to come home in a body bag each day? If you’re going to get a call from the police about how I got mugged? That I was in an accident? Or I get the bad news from the oncology department about some rapidly spreading cancer? A brain embolism and you can’t reach me in time to do anything about it? A stroke?” She wiped her cheeks dry. “I suddenly realized that you two must live with those fears about me every day. So I thought I would take that fear away from you. Forever. If I was vampire, if you turned me, then you wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

She put her glass on the table and pressed her hands between her knees. “I didn’t get the reaction I was expecting when I asked to be turned.” She shrugged.