The Vampire Shrink (52 page)

The usual struggle took me hostage: My body instinctively wanted to move toward Devereux like a flower bending to the sun, but my brain—at least the tiny part that wasn't missing in action thanks to his innate vampire juju—reminded me that I barely knew this attractive, scary male and that I was tired of people deciding what I should and shouldn't do.

I shook myself to break the spell Devereux's appearance always cast on me, sucked in a deep breath, and licked my dry lips. “That's incredibly annoying, you know.”

“Annoying?” He tilted his head, looking deceptively innocent. “To what are you referring?”

“Yeah.” I took a step back from the doorway, and from Devereux, in a vain attempt at self-control. “As if you didn't notice the pseudo-lobotomy my brain gives itself whenever you show up. I thought you said I'd get used to your vibration, or your aura—whatever the vampire version is—and I'd stop turning into the village idiot in your presence. Oh, wait, no, I mean the
hormone-riddled
village idiot. But what am I saying? You probably like it.”

He laughed, which was even more annoying, propped a shoulder against the doorjamb, and folded his arms across his muscled chest. “I promise you will acclimate.” He pretended to pout, which wasn't very effective because his mouth kept twitching as he fought a smile. “Soon I fear you will have no reaction at all to my arrival, and I shall be reduced to competing with all your human suitors.”

I didn't have any human suitors at the moment, and he knew it. He'd cleared the decks. But that wasn't anything I'd admit, or a subject I wanted to discuss, so I switched channels. “What did you do to Nicky? Why was he walking so strangely?”

Devereux chuckled. “His body resisted the command I sent to his brain. He is too young to understand the futility of fighting a directive from one so many centuries older than himself. He will learn.”

He thinks mind control is amusing?

He moved effortlessly, with surreal vampire grace, stepping inside my office and closing the space between us. He sniffed the air. “Mmm. Such an enticing aroma.” His eyes tracked down my body to the invisible-to-humans bloodstain on my black slacks. “Why do you have vampire blood on your clothing? Did Nicky misbehave?”

“Er, not really. Just a little messy self-soothing.”

He leaned down to me until our lips were almost touching, then shifted his head slowly until his mouth slid over my skin down to my neck.

My heart was slamming against my ribs like the drums of a marching band, while my imagination was rolling out the red carpet.

He licked along my pulsing vein. “Of course, nothing can surpass the scent of your sweet blood, my love,” he whispered into my ear, then straightened and gave me the full effect of those baby-blue–greens.

A feeble groan escaped my lips just before he kissed me. He gently pried my fingers off the chair I'd grabbed onto and pulled me tight against him as he took the kiss deeper. A low growl rumbled in his throat.

Without conscious thought my arms slid around his waist and my lips settled in for the duration. When Devereux touched me, nothing mattered but him. My brain pressed the
pause
button, and all competing impulses disappeared in a haze of yearning. My bones melted along with my resistance as his spicy, intoxicating aroma overwhelmed my senses and made my head spin.

He whispered in my mind, “Yes, I desire you also. We are finally together.”

Finally together? Like a bucket of cold blood, his words snapped me back to full awareness, and I stiffened. He'd been saying things like that since I first met him, and I still didn't understand what he meant. He seemed to be experiencing a different reality. To my mind, there was no
finally
involved. We'd known each other just over two months, and for three weeks he'd been in some kind of mystical death coma. Maybe he'd suffered a form of undead brain damage while he floated “between the worlds,” as he called it. I didn't know how else to explain his strange fascination with me. What could an ordinary Denver psychologist possibly offer to so intrigue an eight-hundred-year-old vampire? Even my blood type was average.

“There is nothing average about you, Doctor.” As he raised his mouth from mine to answer my silent question his enticing voice caressed my ears. “On the contrary, you are indeed special. I have waited for you my entire life. My heart belongs to you.”

What?

“I really don't know what you mean.” I pushed back from him and raised my eyes, although I kept them firmly anchored on his chin. I didn't want to become any more entranced than I already was. “How am I special? Why does your heart belong to me? Did I miss the first chapter of this book?” I took another step back and bumped into my potted ficus tree.
Damn. So much for a graceful retreat!
I recovered and shifted over to lean against my desk.
Why do I always act so weird around him?

“Okay, I get that you painted a picture of me a long time ago, and you believe we were destined to meet. But something else is going on. You have another agenda.” I could hear in my voice all the frustration I felt about his ambiguity. “When exactly are you going to explain all your cryptic remarks?”

In a blink, he was standing in front of me. “Be patient, my love.” He pulled me close again and kissed the top of my head. “It would not be wise for me to overload your brain with such esoteric information.”

Does he mean to be condescending, or does it just come naturally?

“We must take things slowly,” he murmured next to my ear. “All will be revealed in time.”

Goosebumps crawled up my arms. Another evasive answer, not to mention a frightening one. Overload my tiny, little brain with esoteric information? I met his eyes for a second, then quickly fixed my attention on the photograph of the Denver skyline visible over his left shoulder. I had no intention of being pulled into his magnetic laser beam again. I had to clear my throat a couple of times before I managed to speak. My knees were still threatening to buckle as I said, “I wasn't expecting you tonight. I thought you said you'd be busy with coven business.”

“Yes.” He ignored my unspoken question. “I did say that. And I must apologize.”

Involuntarily, I found myself falling into those turquoise eyes, and the familiar fog engulfed my brain. I forced myself to focus on his lips. Big mistake. The tip of my tongue eased along the edge of my teeth as I remembered the feel of his mouth against mine.

Warm, soft, sensual, delicious … orgasmic …

I had to will myself to trigger any still-functioning neurons and finally pulled away from him, stepped to the side, and mumbled, “Apologize? For what?”

His lips curled into a devilish grin, and amusement flared in his kaleidoscopic eyes. He'd obviously read my embarrassing thoughts.

Damn mind-reading vampire.

Refusing to panic, I fought to regain control of myself. What the hell was wrong with me? Would I never be able to handle being in the same room with Devereux without acting stoned? Trust me to attract a male who's a walking recreational drug.

He inclined his head, and his platinum curtain of hair swung backward. He raised his hands, palms out. “Sincerely, you will get used to me. I will not always have this
intoxicating
effect on you. And I give my word I will not entrance you tonight. You may look into my eyes without fear.”

I must have looked skeptical, because he locked eyes with me, and nothing happened. Or at least, nothing
more
. I was still fuzzy from his last dose.

“So, uh, you said something about an apology?” I cleared my throat. “I'm all ears.”

He quirked a brow and studied me intensely, probably looking for the elusive extra ears. Modern slang often confused him, though I was pretty sure I'd explained it wasn't literal when I'd used that phrase before. He never appeared convinced, though. He'd only lived in Denver for thirty years and hadn't made much of an attempt to Americanize himself, or to join the twenty-first century. Since he could move effortlessly through time and space merely by thinking, and he preferred earlier centuries and European countries, he tended to spend most of his time there. He'd admitted that he couldn't imagine vampires adopting “passive” human activities like television- or movie-watching; the undead usually chose more active pursuits.
Yeah, like draining mortals and clawing their way out of coffins.

Humor has always been my best defense. I smiled at the unlikely image of Devereux digging through clumps of earth—under any circumstances. The master with dirty or bloodstained fingernails? No way!

“Yes, an apology.” He frowned, apparently choosing to disregard my singularly unflattering train of thought. “In my attempt to organize my various enterprises after the …
unpleasantness
on Halloween … I allowed my priorities to become skewed. Instead of arranging time alone with you, which is what I truly want, I found myself swept up in a mass of vampire bickering and infighting, and now I cannot find a moment of peace without someone insisting I settle a disagreement or deal with one problem or another.”

His chin lifted. “In olden times, no one would have dared bother me with such nonsense. But today a master's role is more diverse.” He clenched his fists. “And I have had a pressing matter on my mind.” His eyes went flat and cold. “Unfinished business with someone who overstepped his bounds. A situation I vow to rectify.” He relaxed his hands, and stared out into the night. Then he shook his head, took a deep breath, and visibly calmed himself.

Whoa! That was an impressive mood shift—too bad psych meds don't work on the undead.

I moved around my desk and sat in my chair. “This might sound like a cliché, but I'm here if you want to talk about whatever's going on with you. Obviously somebody's pissed you off.”

And apparently you have one helluva temper.

He sauntered around behind my desk and ran a finger across my lower lip. “Yes, someone did
piss me off
, and I am having difficulty keeping my anger under control.” He stood up straighter, giving me the subtle signal that the topic was now closed. “I appreciate your willingness to listen, but he is not worth our time. This is the longest we have been together in days without interruption.” He smiled wryly. “And had it not been for a human customer at The Crypt inquiring about the club's plans for New Year's Eve, I would have completely forgotten about the importance mortals place upon this date.”

Momentarily confused, I blinked to slough off the last remnants of Devereux's eyeball voodoo and his emotional ping-pong. “Oh, yeah—this
is
New Year's Eve, isn't it?” I laughed. “Obviously I'm not one of those mortals who mark the date on my calendar.”

Although after the week I've had, tossing back a few glasses—or bottles—of bubbly sounds pretty good.

Surprise flashed across his face, followed by disappointment. “This is not a holiday you celebrate? Have I misunderstood yet another contemporary custom?”

“Oh, no.” I patted his arm. He took everything so deadly seriously. “You didn't misunderstand. It is a big deal for lots of people, it just hasn't been on my radar for a couple years. Basically, I can take it or leave it. Why would you feel the need to apologize?”

Doubt flickered in his eyes as he lifted one of my long curls and tucked it behind my ear. He sat on the edge of my desk. “I should have made plans with you for this important evening. It was my responsibility to create a memorable occasion for you, and I almost failed in my duty. For that, I apologize.”

“Your
responsibility
?” I frowned. “Where did you get that idea?” I grew up with people deciding every aspect of my reality—been there, done that.

He smiled at my stern expression. We'd had this discussion before. “Perhaps responsibility is too strong a word. Let us say instead it is my
pleasure
. I realize a modern woman does not expect nor want her mate to arrange her life. But might I assume you would enjoy a surprise if I were to offer one?”

I decided to ignore the “mate” reference. He was exceptionally clever about sneaking the word into our conversations, although without ever explaining it, of course. I was beginning to realize that Devereux was astoundingly single-minded.

“A surprise?” My stomach tightened. Even the notion of what might constitute a
surprise
for a vampire made my mouth go dry. “What kind of surprise?” I did my best to keep suspicion out of my voice.

“Something that will appeal to your professional curiosity and provide you with additional information about my world,” he said, ignoring my inner fear-fest.

Hmm. That sounded rational enough, but I remembered the last time he'd offered to educate me about the vampire universe: He took me to a protection ritual he'd organized on my behalf, which completely destroyed every idea I ever had about the nature of reality. The bizarre mix of bloodsuckers, magic, and the appearance of Devereux's dead mother totally rewrote my inner script about possible versus impossible. And I was pretty sure it had permanently fried a few brain cells in the process.

“Yes,” he responded to my unvoiced concerns, frown lines once again creasing his brow, “the ritual was challenging for you. My world, the world of the vampires, bears little resemblance to what you are accustomed.” He smirked. “But as you have often said, you set yourself upon this course, so it behooves you to learn as much as you can about your preternatural clients.” He did that nifty old-world head-bow thing again. “I am pleased to be able to assist in that endeavor.”

He still hadn't told me what the surprise was. Why did I think I wasn't going to like it? “This surprise will appeal to my professional curiosity? What does that mean, exactly?”

“You shall accompany me to a vampiric hand-fasting ceremony, the bonding of two important immortals—a pagan wedding. The rite is ancient and intimate. You will witness things no mortal has ever seen.”