Kismet Knight, Vampire Psychologist 3 - Dark Harvest (4 page)

The vampire hunter showing up just kicked the schedule’s butt a little. I spoke up because I wanted to make sure you realized what you’re dealing with. I think it’s highly meaningful that he wanted to talk to you, specifically.”

I licked my lips and cleared my throat, finally shepherding my wandering thought sheep into a herdable mass. “Why
did
he want to talk to me? I’ve only been involved in the vampire community for a few months. I’m no expert—yet. Why focus on me?”

“That’s a good question. Wish I had an answer. But one thing’s certain: he wasn’t telling you the whole story, and somehow you’re involved. Whether you want to be or not.” She paused, studying me. “I guess being the love muffin of the most powerful vampire in Denver has its downsides, eh? You probably had no idea about all the undead drama you’d get tangled in. I’d be willing to bet nothing in your education or training prepared you for the last six months.”

I opened my mouth to respond, then pressed my lips together, still watching her. Victoria had given me an opportunity to vent some of my frustrations—to share my confusion with someone involved in the freak-show weirdness. Working as a therapist was a lonely occupation anyway, and choosing such a

“unique” clinical focus meant I couldn’t even consult with colleagues. Having no healthy outlet for my own issues was a recipe for professional disaster. And it wasn’t as if I didn’t like Victoria. From the first moment we’d met when I came to look at the office Devereux offered, she and I had clicked. Our Inner Children had bonded. But something made me hold back. Maybe it was just my suspicious nature, but since she worked for Devereux, discussing him with her felt like crossing a mental field strewn with hidden psychic land mines.

She chuckled. “I hope you’re not a poker player, because your face reflects every emotion you feel.

You wouldn’t last ten minutes at the gaming table! Of course, I’m more perceptive than most, but you’d be a lamb to the slaughter.” She smiled softly. “I just want you to know that I’m available anytime you need a shoulder or a pal. Yes, I do work for Devereux, but my first allegiance is to myself. I’m a very loyal friend. And, I happen to know Devereux very well—warts and all. I’m aware of his intense personality. He’s been a powerful immortal for so long that it doesn’t usually occur to him that others might have different needs and desires. He tends to wear people down—like charming Chinese water torture!”

I relaxed and smiled. That was a perfect description of how Devereux behaved with me, and I hadn’t come to terms with the dissonant emotions his gentle bulldozing caused. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to share a little.

“Charming Chinese water torture? What a great description of Devereux’s communication style. You know, he’s wonderful in so many ways—handsome, intelligent, creative, thoughtful—the man of my dreams who just happens to be a walking corpse. But he wants me to acknowledge that I’m his
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long-awaited ‘mate,’ and he isn’t shy about pushing me in that direction. For some reason, my acceptance of that title seems to hold more importance than it should. I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.” I shook my head. “Why can’t he just let our relationship unfold slowly so I can get used to it?

“He’s always popping in, unannounced, doing his best to convince me that his plan for the evening is better than mine. I know he’s gorgeous, and he smells good, and the sex is great. And there’s no question that traveling through thought is amazing. But he’s so … so
bossy!
He’s always digging up yet another thing I need to be protected from—coming up with one more reason to treat me like his fragile possession. He just lifts that magnificent chin into the air and makes proclamations, as if I have no opinions. And so far, nothing he’s warned me about has proven to be problematic. Talk about crying wolf. Most of the time I can’t decide whether I want to jump on him or run, screaming, into the night.”

Victoria snickered, fanning herself.

I paused, realizing I’d said more than I meant to. Apparently, I really did need someone to talk to. My therapeutic persona was definitely in danger of springing a leak. “I’m sorry. I know better than to keep all my emotions bottled up, because when they finally spill out, it’s messy. Being a therapist is easy for me because my role is clear—strictly defined. But dealing with the rest of my life? I’ve never been good with that.”

She smiled gently and took my hand in hers. “You’re so hard on yourself. If you think that controlled bit of self-disclosure was messy, remind me never to call you in the midst of one of my PMS-driven, chocolate-fueled pity parties. You’d have me locked up! Hey, I know. You should come to one of my coven’s rituals. A little wild, sweaty dancing around a fire would do wonders for you.” She hooted out a laugh and squeezed my hand. “Or maybe not. Since you just looked as horrified as if I’d asked you to run naked down the Sixteenth Street Mall, I’ll assume your dance card for strange experiences is currently all filled up. Perhaps we’ll put off your visit to Witch Central for a while longer. But here’s some unsolicited advice about Devereux: he is one of the most terrifyingly powerful creatures on the planet, but he’s got a loving soul. And he’s trainable. If you let him manipulate you, he will. It’s human—and vampire—nature. But if you say ‘no,’ he’ll have to deal. Stop being so nice!”

She guided my hand back to my lap and patted it maternally. “Don’t take any of his shit!” Giving a theatrical, stereotypical witch’s cackle, she stood, waving her arms through the air to indicate her territory. “I’m always here and my circle’s always open to you.”

“You should’ve been a therapist.” I stood. “You’re pretty good at this interpersonal stuff.”

“I
am
pretty good at it. But therapy has too many rules. It’s too restrictive. I get plenty of opportunities to build my skills as the Healer and Seer for my coven. It’s more fun to make stuff up as I go along. I hope this is only the first of many conversations we’ll have. Remember: take no shit!”

“Take no shit!” I yelled, thrusting my fist into the air over my head. It felt good to get into the spirit of things. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d just had fun. Professional persona be damned!

Victoria’s eyes went wide and she clamped her hand over her mouth. She was staring at the area behind me and I turned to follow her gaze. Hesitating just inside the glass entrance door was a group of people, huddled together. They appeared more inclined to bolt away rather than make the trek across the lobby.

My first client, her fiancé, and both sets of parents were right on time.

Shit.

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The view from the bank of the west-facing windows in my office was spectacular. I stood watching as the sun gracefully descended behind the high peaks of the Rockies—making its daily journey into the archetypal underworld. A solar Persephone honoring its pledge to rendezvous with the darkness.

Surreal colors arced across the sky, creating otherworldly designs, like angelic Rorschach blots. Soft shades stroked visual hands along the contours of my soul, saturating my eyes and making me catch my breath. Sharp hues exploded, sparking ancestral memories.

Watching the amazing color and light show unfolding above the mountains helped me to put life—mine and my clients’—into perspective. This enjoyable ritual gave me a few minutes to weave the threads of the day into a larger tapestry. To cling to the illusion of control.

Remembering the expressions on the faces of the clients I’d startled in the lobby after my conversation with Victoria made me smile. I suppose I could’ve made up some excuse for the behavior they’d witnessed, but I decided to follow the first rule of psychotherapy: when in doubt, say nothing. I’d developed the “therapist nod” into an art form. That gentle up-and-down head motion performed by all counselors. A compassionate invitation to surrender—the quintessential soft place to fall. There is something to be said for silent, unconditional, positive regard.

In the midst of my decompression daydream, my inner radar suddenly engaged, and I sensed the change in the room’s energy before I heard the faint “pop” sound, indicating the arrival of a vampire.

“Good evening, Dr. Knight.”

Hand extended, I moved toward the elegantly dressed man who’d materialized into the center of my office. He clasped my hand in his. “Hello, Mr. Roth. It’s good to see you. Right on time, as always.

Please be seated.”

He gave a brief nod before settling himself in the middle of the nearest couch and arranging his ever-present briefcase next to his feet on the carpet.

Mr. Roth was a successful Denver attorney. As was his habit, he wore a handsome, gray, Italian-designed business suit, complete with a crisp white shirt and a red tie. His short, black hair was slicked back from his wide forehead—Dracula-style—and dark brown eyes shone with intelligence underneath thick, arched brows. His nose was slightly too small for his slender face, and his chin a bit too large, as if he’d been taken apart and put back together using the wrong parts.

Although he gave the impression of being serious and businesslike, he’d introduced me to his sense of humor during our first session. When I’d asked about his decision to become a lawyer after decades of being a vampire, he’d said it was natural for a bloodsucker to be an attorney. In fact, he said, the words were synonymous.

Since vampires had no need of attorneys, he represented the worst kinds of human perpetrators: murderers, rapists, child molesters—mortal monsters of all varieties. I’d inquired about why he represented the dregs of humanity, and he said he enjoyed the game. I assumed he meant the legal game, but he’d corrected me, saying it was all about winning the case—setting the person free—before taking matters into his own fangs and draining him dry.

Justice, vampire-style.

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Let’s hear it for instant karma.

He’d come to therapy after resisting draining one of his fouler clients. He was afraid it set an unhealthy precedent. We’re exploring the issue.

I’d wondered how he managed his law practice in the day-based legal world, and he’d mentioned a human colleague. He said his inability to function during normal business hours was inconvenient, but it wasn’t an insurmountable problem. Apparently, Denver has a busy night court system.

I gathered my writing pad and pen before sitting in my usual chair.

He lifted his index finger. “Before we begin tonight, Doctor, I must apologize.” He paused dramatically.

The combination of the mesmerizing tone of his vampire voice and the skills he’d perfected while orating before juries was impressive. It took all the grounding techniques I knew to remain unaffected. I didn’t think any human juror could resist his arguments. He had the most compelling voice I’d ever heard, and tonight it was especially hypnotic.

Whoa. I just got the chills. Is he apologizing for something he did, or something he’s going to do?

Sometimes I wish religious symbols really did affect vampires. It sure would be convenient to hide behind a cross or a Buddha statue once in a while.

“Apologize, Mr. Roth?” I smiled to mask my reaction to the sudden tingling in my solar plexus. He’d never done anything out of order, but he was a vampire and I’d be a fool to forget that.

He shook his head, folding his hands in his lap. “Ah, now I must apologize twice. First for needing to cut our session short this evening due to a rash of unexplained deaths, and second for allowing my distress over those deaths to cause my energy to be so intense that I frightened you. Please forgive me.”

My deodorant just said “fuck it.”

I wouldn’t even bother to claim I hadn’t been afraid. He’d obviously sensed—or maybe scented—my fear. And I’m sure my heart was pounding loud enough for him to dance to. Even though he wasn’t as skilled at telepathy as Devereux, he’d promised to mute his mind-reading abilities while we were in session. He’d been diligent about keeping his word until tonight, so clearly something troubled him.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” I smiled. Whatever I’d felt from him earlier had dissipated. My radar quieted. “Tell me about these deaths.”

He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment and crossed his legs, his brows contracted. “It’s all very strange. As you know, most vampires—especially weak, young ones—have little control over their appetites and impulses. Their world is violent, harsh, and dark. It isn’t until we survive beyond the first few years that our true personalities emerge once again, and we have choices. Most of us can’t even regulate our heart rate, breathing, or body temperature for centuries. So, given that environment, new bloodsuckers occasionally turn up truly dead for one reason or another. Usually, only a few per week, at most.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Over the last month, there have been scores. All over the city. Vampires dying like flies. And some humans, too.”

Uh-oh. Déjà vu.

“How are they dying?” Was there some kind of vampire virus afoot? Chemical warfare? A mob of
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marauding vampire killers? Another bloodsucking serial killer on the loose?

“That’s the odd part. There’s no cause of death. None of the victims were drained of blood. No apparent wounds. They simply ceased existing.”

My notepad fell onto the floor. “But, how is that possible?”

“That’s the question. And I don’t have an answer. In the meantime, I have the uncomfortable task of defending clients who are actually innocent—who simply managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He checked his watch, and stood. “As I said, I must end our session early this evening. So much carnage—so little moonlight.”

He bent and kissed my hand. “I will see you at our regular time next week. Hopefully, I will have good news. Until then.”

He vanished.

I retrieved my notepad from the floor, rose, and walked over to the window, contemplating the disturbing information Mr. Roth had shared. I couldn’t imagine something powerful enough to kill vampires and humans without leaving a trace. I hoped none of my clients would be affected by this dark turn of events. Devereux probably had information, but he was out of town, so I couldn’t ask him. Yet.

The unexpected change in schedule left me feeling disconnected and set adrift. I hated to admit it, but I’d come to rely on Devereux’s companionship. When he was off being master of the vampires or international mega-corporate genius, I missed him.

You’re pitiful, Kismet. Time to get a life.

An enticing aroma caressed my nostrils and a velvet voice whispered, inches from my ear, “What kind of life would you like? The possibilities are unlimited.” Soft lips trailed kisses down my neck and my brain cells scrambled.

Devereux …

My breath caught and it took me a couple of tries before I found my voice.

“You’re back. There’s something I wanted to ask you. If I could only remember what it was …”

Or why I’d want to use my mouth for talking when it could be put to such better uses.

“Later.”

He kissed my jaw and I was undone.

As always when Devereux was near, my body had a mind of its own. I relaxed against his chest and reveled in his arousing fragrance and the feel of his soft hair tickling the side of my face. My heart rate increased, and my breath went shallow. Formerly functional knees softened. I was never sure if my reaction to his presence was excitement, fear, or a little of both. Was my body simply reacting to my outrageous attraction to him, or was he manipulating me with his powers as a master vampire? Should I care? Probably. Maybe later.

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I closed my eyes, hesitating before I turned to him. There
had
to be something wrong with how he affected me. It couldn’t be psychologically healthy for me to want to throw myself on him within seconds of his approach—to want to cling to him like a cheap spandex suit. I’d gotten better at reining in my impulses, but it was still a struggle.

Nobody should have a face that gorgeous. Or eyes so magnetic. Or a body so compelling. It just wasn’t

… normal.

Right, Kismet. As if anything about a vampire could be normal.

He slid his hands up and down my arms, then stroked my hips through the soft, form-fitting fabric of my dress, and moaned softly. His tongue flicked along my neck, and I relaxed my head even more, lifting my chin to give him better access to his favorite pulsing vein. I’d discovered that allowing Devereux to drink my blood while we have sex pushes my orgasm into the stratosphere. I felt like a shameless addict, jonesing for the sharp needle points of his teeth to pierce my skin, providing the fix I craved. Instead of biting, he just nibbled gently then let go.

I groaned in disappointment.

He whispered against my ear. “I love how you desire me. I can feel your need.”

I could feel his … need … too, pressing against me.

Shouldn’t I be annoyed by this guy’s ego? His arrogant assumption that I want him? The fact that it’s true is beside the point, isn’t it? I think I’m going to need to sit down soon. Or maybe lie down. Yeah, lying down would be much better.

“Look at me, Kismet.”

Look at you? Nope, that’s always trouble. I think I’ll just stay right where I am, rubbing my buns against your “throbbing manhood,” as they used to say in the romance novels.

“My throbbing manhood?”

Damn mind-reading vampire.

But something about the way he’d said those words, with his strange manner of speaking and his European accent, made me laugh. In fact, I laughed so hard that he gasped as I vibrated against his erection. Since he rarely sucked in air on purpose, much less allowed anyone to catch him by surprise, I was intrigued. I simply had to look at him, so I turned.

The expression on his face was heart-stopping.

He’d tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and parted his lips just enough so that the tips of his fangs glistened. His beautiful light blond hair flowed down his chest, soft and touchable. He was dressed in his usual snug, black leather pants with a vibrant blue silk T-shirt tucked in at the waist, displaying his well-toned body to perfection.

I studied him, my heart pounding in lustful anticipation. He truly was an unusually beautiful man. He opened his eyes and I felt myself falling—as if the carpet I’d been standing on had liquefied, and I sank into a blue-green universe. I’d never been totally sure what color his eyes were. What was the difference
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between turquoise and aqua, anyway? But obviously, arousal brought out the best in his devilish orbs because they sparkled like gemstones. Or maybe it was a vampire thing. He gave a slow blink, and a wicked smile quirked his lips. He slid his arms around my waist and pulled me close for a kiss.

Without any more hesitation, I looped my arms around his neck, fit my body tight against his, and kissed him back. His mouth was wonderful: warm and soft and wet. He teased his tongue through my lips and I opened for him, inviting him to take more. Regardless of any other doubts I might have had about my relationship with Devereux, our sexual chemistry was never in question.

Part of me was lost in the delicious thing his mouth was doing, and another part noticed the fact that we were standing in front of the window, for all of Denver to see. As soon as I thought that, he broke the kiss.

“Yes. We require privacy. I totally agree.”

The office suite consisted of several rooms. One—at Devereux’s insistence when I agreed to take the space—was a bedroom. Clients would never know what was behind that door, but Devereux and I had made ample use of it many times. I knew what he had in mind when he scooped me up into his arms.

I used to get irritated when he did the scooping thing, but I’d acclimated. Sort of. Sometimes I even secretly enjoyed it. Of course, that wasn’t always the case. We had plenty of arguments about his

“macho” behavior. He insisted he wasn’t trying to dominate me, only to express his feelings. But no matter what kind of spin he put on his behavior, the truth was that it couldn’t be easy for a centuries-old male to cope with the expectations and desires of a modern woman. And it was no picnic for me to deal with a night-walking Neanderthal. No matter how gorgeous and debonair. The topic was definitely still under discussion.

He thought us into the bedroom, mentally lit the candles scattered throughout the area, and deposited me onto the large bed, which was covered with a fluffy, white silk comforter. I sighed with pleasure as my body relaxed into the soft cloud of fabric.