The Vampire Shrink(23)
Author: Lynda Hilburn

He gasped and bent forward slightly. I'd finally done something to surprise him. He stared at me, his mouth hang­ing open, his eyes wide, eyebrows creeping up toward his hairline. Then he barked out a laugh, and slapped his thigh.

He straightened and grinned. "'Well. 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 that he seemed to be enjoying my outburst. In fact, he was acting downright superior about my outburst. 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 if he really was a vampire, attacking him might have larger rami­fications than I'd anticipated. There was still some part of me that refused to accept Devereux could be something as horrible as a blood drinker. But I had to admit he did seem to have an extraordinary amount of physical strength. Not to mention that traveling-through-thought thing.

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?"

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

"Fabio? Is he still around? 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."

Okay. It was a cheap shot Devereux is more beautiful than most men, 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 was noticeably heightened by the color of his shirt. In fact, they radiated a surreal shine, 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 gave me serious eye contact. "Shall I tell you how beautiful and desirable you are?"

That seemed to squeeze 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.

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

He scrunched his eyebrows together and 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 un-explainable speed, he suddenly loomed over me, reaching down to take my hands to pull me up.

The temper tantrum had exhausted most of my remain­ing energy, and I frowned, giving 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 there, were several beautiful eve­ning gowns in various colors and fabrics.

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

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

He flashed a wide smile. "Absolutely not. 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 the colorful dresses had captured my interest.

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

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 get 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. And, it is appropriate for you to dress for the ceremony."

I instinctively stepped back. "Ceremony? 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 don't know if he's Merlin's ghost, a vampire, a nut case, or all three, but I'm done.

"You know, this is sounding more and more like some­thing from a B 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 moved rapidly 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.

:tI 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."

He bent down and pressed his lips against mine in a sweet kiss, and I took the first exit to Euphoria. Again.

I reached up and held his face in both my hands and pressed my body against his, deepening the kiss.

First I punch him, then I kiss him. I've given new meaning to the words "mood swing."

We stood melded together for not nearly long enough. I let my hands slide down his face, then stepped back. It took me a couple of tries to find my voice.

"What is it you should've told me?"

He reached for my hand. ''This might take some time. It is better to be comfortable."

Hmmm. The vampire version of "Let's get in the back seat?"

He led me over to the bed, gathered up all the dresses and draped them across the back of a throne-like chair. He crawled onto the bed—which was a very arousing thing to watch—sat against the headboard and patted the space next to him, inviting me to join him. I did.

I had a brief thought about what it meant that I was in bed with another man after spending the afternoon in a very intimate encounter with Alan. Was I now being unfaithful to Alan even though we'd made no promises to each other? We hadn't pretended our sexual attraction had any future impli­cations. Or had I been unfaithful to Devereux? For some reason that choice felt more troubling.

Wait a minute! Am I channeling a soap opera or something? I barely know either one of them and I haven't made any commitments to anyone. I'm a free agent and can do as I please. A curse on all those old Sandra Dee movies my mother used to make me sit through! Any minute now Pm going to get up and go home.

But I was immediately distracted by the fact that the bed felt so soft and welcoming, and I was half tempted to close my eyes and drift away. I forced myself to open my eyes very wide and concentrate on the painting of Devereux's mother that was visible from my vantage point.

She was so beautiful. Almost as beautiful as her son. I think her eyes were slightly more greenish blue and his are bluish green. Or maybe not. They strongly resemble each other, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what made De­vereux so masculine. Perhaps his jaw was slightly stronger than hers, or his cheekbones more defined. Something. But whatever it was, there was no way I could ignore his pure maleness. Dangerous male. Yummy male.

I giggled, of all things.

"Kismet?"

What?" I realized my mouth was hanging open and my eyelids were at half-mast.

''You are clearly more exhausted than I thought. Per­haps you should lie down and rest for a while."

"No, really. I'm fine. Just let me catch my second wind." I blinked my eyes several times and sat up straighter, turning to him. "Or coffee, maybe. Yeah, that'll do it."

He crawled down to my feet, grasped my ankles and tugged on them gently until he'd pulled me into a prone position, with my head on the pillow.

"Hey, I don't want to lie down. I don't want to . . ." Sleep must have ambushed me, because that's the last thing I remember. Until the dream.

Chapter Sixteen

I'm walking through an old, run-down, abandoned house. The darkness is relieved only by the full moon shining through the large, bro­ken windows. There's an unpleasant, musty smell masking something metallic—sweet—something familiar I can't identify.

I hear a child crying somewhere in the house, and I run toward the sound, yelling, "Where are you?" The corridor stretches out ahead of me, extending itself as I stumble along, feeling like Pm wading through tar.

Now the child's voice pleads, "Help me, help me," and my feet become heavier with every step. "Help me, help me." A heart-wrenching cry.

I scream, "Please, tell me where you are. I want to help you."

My mouth is dry, my heart pounding and I force myself to keep moving. I open every door along the unending hallway and finally come to a furnished bedroom where a sobbing boy sits on a huge, four-poster bed next to a small table where a candle burns. The child reaches out his little arms, as if to hug me, and I lean in to embrace him. His arms encircle my neck and he rests his cheek against mine. I rock him gently as he quiets, and then he resumes his chant, "Help me, help me, help me . . ."

I ask, "How can I help you?" and he suddenly rears back, expos­ing long, pointy fangs, and sinks the horrible teeth into my neck. I fight against him, trying to push him off of me, to break his vice-like hold on my neck, but he has strength beyond imagining.

Finally, I fall back onto the bed, barely breathing, and anoth­er voice—a terrible, disgusting voice I've heard before—takes up the child's plea. "Help me, help me, help me . " I close my eyes, expect­ing death, and the familiar voice says, "Ah, we meet again." My dream eyes fly open and I'm no longer lying on the bed in the old house. I'm buried alive in a rotting coffin . . .

"No! Let me out!" I screamed, struggling to sit up. My heart raced and my skin felt hot, as if I'd been near a fire.

Twin points of pain throbbed on my neck and my lungs ached as I gasped for air.

The hideous tones of the voice echoed in my ears and slithered across my skin. The same repulsive voice I'd heard outside The Crypt before my brain shut down.

I pushed and fought against the hands holding me as if my life depended on it.

"Shhh. Kismet, it was only a dream. You are here, safe with me."

I gasped and forced my eyes open.

Devereux sat next to me on his bed, holding me down, a concerned expression on his face. I realized I'd been flailing my arms and kicking my legs. My cheeks were wet and my body trembled.

"It was only a dream. No one will harm you." Devereux pulled me up into a hug, and rocked me as I'd rocked the child in my nightmare.

"Only a dream. I don't know what that means anymore." I didn't feel normal with my eyes open or closed, and some­where along the way I'd lost hold of the thread of sanity I'd been clinging to.