The Vampire Shrink (29 page)

“No,” I said, frowning. “I guess I'm a laughingstock now.”

He stared at me for a few seconds. “I'm going to borrow your therapist hat for a moment and mention something you're working hard to ignore. You've been through a lot of bad shit in a short period of time, and you're probably still in shock. It's okay for you to admit you're not doing very well, if that's true. What would you tell a client who was trying to keep a stiff upper lip in the face of so much insanity?”

I heaved a heavy sigh, and my shoulders sagged. “I'd say it was only delaying the inevitable.” I sat silently, studying his concerned expression. My vision swam as tears gathered in my eyes. “It was horrible. I was so afraid when I woke up in that terrible place this morning. I'm still afraid. Not remembering what happened makes me doubt myself. Everything has been out of control for days. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know what's real—”

Alan reached for me. Suddenly there was a popping sound accompanied by a slight breeze, and Devereux materialized in the middle of my living room.

CHAPTER 15

“K
ismet!”

I sat up straight, blinked to clear the tears from my eyes, and snapped my attention to Devereux.
What the hell? How'd he get here? And holy shit—would you look at him?

Instead of his usual tight leather, Devereux was decked out in a luscious charcoal-gray suit and a magnificent turquoise silk shirt. The color of the silk made his eyes appear even more spectacularly kaleidoscopic than usual. His hair shone like liquid moonlight. He could've stepped right out of the pages of a European high-fashion men's magazine.

Since I had no idea what he actually did with his time, I couldn't begin to imagine where he'd been, spiffed up like that. I felt a brief twinge of jealousy at the thought of him dressing up for a woman. Maybe his assistant, Luna, or one of the other perfect female specimens he had working for him at the Crypt.

But who was I to be jealous when I'd spent part of the afternoon taking a shower and playing “you show me yours, and I'll show you mine” with a fixated, well-endowed FBI agent?

Devereux glided over to me, swung me up off the couch with his arms around my waist, and kissed me thoroughly. Then kissed me again.

I was stunned but apparently willing, because I looped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. Interesting to discover this entirely new set of instinctual behaviors I appeared to have acquired regarding Devereux.

I've lost my mind. I've never behaved this way with anyone.

He pulled back slightly, slid his lips close to my ear, and whispered, “I have never felt so helpless as when I could not find you. There would have been no end to my vengeance had you been harmed.”

My own personal avenging angel. He looks like a god but talks like a character from a historical romance novel. I can sure pick 'em.

“Are you well? Did the dark one harm you?”

“Uh …”

There it is again—that brain-melt thing that happens to me whenever I'm within ten feet of Devereux.

Alan leaped up from the couch, his face a mixture of confusion and outrage. “Hey! Devereux! What's going on here? What are you doing?”

Despite the fact that it was difficult to appear threatening while wearing short pink sweatpants and a decidedly feminist T-shirt, Alan managed to gather up sufficient testosterone to get his point across.

Apparently, Devereux wasn't interested in butting heads with anyone. He lifted me up into his arms, then glanced over at Alan and whispered gently in that amazing voice, “You are tired, my friend. Lie down on the couch and sleep now.”

Damned if Alan didn't do just that.

He arranged himself into a fetal position, made a few soft snorting sounds, and drifted off, smiling.

Wow. That's impressive. And disturbing. Shouldn't I be putting up some kind of fuss? Should I worry about getting used to being carried around like this?

Devereux refocused on me. “You must come with me now.”

“I must?”

There was a swoosh of air, a sound reminiscent of the crackle of electricity, and we were suddenly standing in the middle of Devereux's private room underneath the Crypt.

He released me and I stood, head spinning, stomach churning, trying to make sense of something that was impossible to make sense of. Whatever had just happened definitely messed with my equilibrium. I wasn't sure my legs were up to their usual task of keeping me vertical.

“Please, come and sit. You do not look well.” Devereux fetched a small chair, pushed it gently against the back of my knees, and I sat. I scanned the room, recognizing all the paintings on the walls, the art supplies, and the stash of bottles and strange artifacts on the table.

As I perched there, trying to reclaim my balance, I became more and more annoyed. The journey through Devereux's invisible transporter—or whatever it was he'd used to get me from where I had been to where I was—had definitely rained on the good feelings that kissing him had inspired in me, and I was royally steamed. Not to mention extremely tired of finding myself in locations chosen for me by some male or another without my consent. Something in my brain snapped.

No. That's it! No more manipulating me and jerking me around.

I vaulted up from the chair with the fury of a woman pissed, shaking with rage, and got right in Devereux's face. All the anger that had been stuffed during the previous hours burst out like a five-alarm fire as I yelled at him, “I don't
want
to sit. I
don't
want to be here. You had no right to bring me here. I didn't tell you to snatch me. I'm tired. I want to be in my
own
house, in my
own
bed, away from all your bullshit!” I punched his stomach with my fist, and then, outrageously shocked at myself, retreated a couple of steps. Definitely a case of temporary insanity.

He gasped and bent forward slightly. He stared at me, shocked, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide, eyebrows creeping up toward his hairline. “Well.” He straightened, recovering his poise, and grinned at me. “I wondered when you would let your feelings out. I am glad you have chosen to share them with me.”

I gave him a hard frown. I didn't appreciate his apparent enjoyment of my outburst. In fact, he was acting downright superior about it, as if he'd arranged it.

With that, the last remaining fragment of the dam burst. “Share them with you?” I screamed. “I'll show you how I'll share them with you, you pompous bastard!”

I had no idea how, but I managed to fling myself on him—flying through the air, as it were—my hands out in front of me, grasping toward his neck. It didn't occur to me that attacking a vampire might have bigger ramifications than I'd anticipated. There was still some part of me that continued to have a hard time accepting that Devereux could be something as horrible as a blood drinker. Although he did seem to have an extraordinary amount of physical strength. Not to mention that traveling-through-thought ability.

In an effortless movement, he caught my wrists in one of his hands, curled his arm around my waist, and wrestled me down to the floor, laughing.

Of course, listening to him laugh only made me angrier, and being restrained pretty much undid any remnants of control I still pretended to have. I struggled to get away from him and screamed at his apparent amusement. He hadn't even worked up a sweat keeping me his prisoner on the floor.

“Are you laughing at me, you Fabio wannabe?” It was great to see him be playful, but I wasn't in the mood for fun and games.

He laughed harder, and then stuck out his lower lip in a pout.

“Fabio? Is he still around? Surely he must be a senior citizen by now. My dear Kismet, you know very well that the two of us do not resemble each other. My hair is much lighter, my eyes more soulful. I have been told I am much more handsome and desirable than that particular gentleman. In fact, some well-known young European musicians resemble me much more than that over-the-hill cover model.”

Okay, it was a cheap shot. Devereux is more beautiful than most men, a young Fabio included. But what arrogance!

I vainly struggled to get loose. “Well,
you're
not conceited. Tell me more about how handsome and desirable you are.”

He shifted so he straddled me, still holding my wrists down against the floor. The bright turquoise of his eyes, already noticeably heightened by the color of his shirt, now radiated a surreal glow, as if his irises were gemstones come alive. Long, pale hair fell across my face, and he threw it back with a toss of his head. His signature fragrance wafted through the air and into my nostrils, caressing the pleasure centers of my brain.

It appeared that no matter what else was happening, my attraction to Devereux remained parked at the curb, motor running.

He locked his gaze on mine. “Shall I tell you how beautiful and desirable
you
are?”

That squeezed some of the juice out of my anger, and I forced in a couple of deep breaths to keep my chin from quivering.

Well, I'm just pitiful. One compliment and I regress back to being a needy five-year-old. I must be exhausted. Or seriously screwed up.

Embarrassed by both my erratic behavior and my sloppy wardrobe, I stared down at my crumpled sweat suit. “Oh yeah, tell me how beautiful I look and how arousing this outfit is, Mr. Fashion Model.”

He studied me for a moment. “You are indeed beautiful, and if you wish to dress accordingly, I can accommodate you.” He chuckled. “Is it safe to let you up now?”

I snorted and tried to shake him off of me, which made him start laughing again.

How annoying that he has such a great laugh.

“I will take that as a yes.” With another burst of his unexplainable speed, he suddenly loomed over me, then reached down to take my hands to pull me up.

The temper tantrum had exhausted most of my remaining energy. I frowned and gave him my hands. “What do you mean, you can accommodate me?”

After he assured himself I was up and steady on my feet, he glided over to the bed I'd seen during my first visit to this secret room. Spread out on it were several beautiful evening gowns in various colors and fabrics.

“I bought you a few gifts.” He pointed to the dresses. “I hope you enjoy them. I would be pleased if you would wear one tonight.”

“Oh, I see.” I scraped the bottom of the energy barrel and revved my anger back up again. “You have another plan for me to follow? Something else you'll manipulate me into doing, whether I want to or not?”

“Absolutely not.” He flashed a wide smile. “If you prefer to wear your charming sweat ensemble, that is perfectly fine with me.”

I glanced down at the baggy sweat suit again and then over at the silky creations on the bed, and was torn between wanting to touch them and not wanting Devereux to know how much the stunning dresses had captured my interest.

He waited silently while my inner demons wrestled with each other, and I saw the corner of his mouth twitch slightly as he fought to suppress a smile. I hated that my emotions and thoughts were so transparent to him.

I mumbled under my breath and inched over to the bed. The gowns were lovely, almost works of art. Even someone with my limited fashion sense could see they were amazing. My eyes were immediately drawn to a shimmering blue garment, and I ran my fingers along the soft fabric with a sigh. The dress already felt as if it belonged to me.

“I love the dresses. They're beautiful. But I don't understand why you bought them for me. Where would I wear such things? And it isn't only the dresses.” I examined my bare feet. “If you'd told me you were going to zap me out of my living room, I would've put on shoes.”

He strolled over to an ornate wooden armoire, opened the tall doors, and pointed to boxes of shoes and drawers of exquisite lingerie. All conveniently in my size, no doubt.

He bowed from the waist, a sweep of his arm indicating the collection as if he was one of those game-show models. “I believe we have everything you require.”

What is this? Vampire Cinderella? Should I be flattered or creeped out?

“Why did you buy all those things for me? And why do you want me to wear them?”

He sat on the corner of the bed near me. “You are a beautiful woman. You should adorn yourself with beautiful things. It is appropriate for you to dress for the ceremony.”

“Ceremony?” I instinctively stepped back. “What ceremony?”

Sacrificing a virgin? Not in this lifetime. Bride of Dracula? Dinner for the coven? Whatever it is, count me out.

“A ritual of protection. You have been taken by the darkest spirit I have ever encountered. I can feel his presence even now.”

“Ritual of protection? Wait a minute—how do you know who kidnapped me? Did you have something to do with it? What do you know about my ending up in a graveyard?”

He held up a graceful hand, palm out. “I had nothing to do with your abduction, but as soon as I awakened this evening I reconnected with your mind, read your memories, and discovered what had happened. You are in great danger, and I must protect you.”

I was torn between being frightened by what he was saying and annoyed by his bossiness.

“You know, this is sounding more and more like something from a horror movie, and I don't think I want to play. I want you to call me a cab so I can go home.”

I rushed toward the door, and he was suddenly there, standing in front of me, blocking my path.

He placed a finger under my chin and lifted my face up so that we locked eyes, his expression very serious. “I should have been more forthcoming with you from the beginning. I should have anticipated your need to understand and analyze everything. I did not wish to frighten you away by acting too quickly, but I see now that I have blundered. Please allow me the opportunity to make it up to you.”