The air was thick and heavy, as if it were very hot, but it wasn't. There was a wall of murmuring sound, which I soon discovered to be the whispered conversations around me.
Devereux guided us into a large, cloud-free, open circle. As if on cue, all the other guests encircled us, forming themselves into several concentric rings, each behind the other. On the floor of the open area were symbols similar to the ones in Devereux's private room. Sitting in the center of the circle was an ornate, jewel-encrusted chair with a high back.
Amara grasped my hand and led me over to the fancy chair, indicating I should sit. I gazed into her eyes, searching for any sign that I was in danger, but all I saw was kindness, warmth, and compassion.
Since I didn't know what else to do—or what else I could do—I sat in the chair. The moment my hind end touched the seat, the people in the circles began singing. Or maybe chanting would be a better word to describe the sound. Some repetitious melody in a language I didn't recognize. The vocalizing started out softly, harmonies flowing over and under the tonic, but as it went on, it got louder. Then louder still, until I could feel the vibration of the sound in my bones.
The song was mesmerizing. Eerie and lovely. My eyelids drooped and my head fell forward. I was still fully conscious, but had the distinct impression that my body had gone to a different time zone. I concentrated on lifting my head and was finally able to raise it just enough to have the motion cause it to flop back against the chair.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amara step next to me. I felt her take my hand and tried to produce sounds, but nothing came out.
I don't know what Devereux had been doing all this time, but he suddenly appeared next to me in the center of the circle and all the singing stopped. I mean they literally stopped chanting at exactly the same second. Devereux raised both his hands in the air.
"'Welcome, my friends. I am grateful for your willingness to join us in this ceremony of protection today to hold the sacred space. It is truly a momentous occasion and a special time for me because my Mother is here. Welcome my mate Kismet to the circle."
What? Im his mate? Why isn't my brain working?
He made a graceful, flowing gesture with his hand and arm, pointing to me, and everyone said words in unison in that exotic-sounding language.
Ever since the singing ended, my mind began to clear and my body operated at my command again. Amara released my hand, but continued to stand next to me.
Devereux extended his hands out in front of him and a large, golden chalice appeared out of nowhere. He held the chalice over his head, moved around the inside edges of the circle and kept up an ongoing monolog in that mysterious, sonorous language.
He was quite a sight to behold. Gliding like a dancer, his
duster billowing out behind him, his na**d chest gleaming in the candlelight.
My mind was clear enough to find him compelling, and my body was aware enough to be aroused. In fact, for some reason I was intensely aroused. My suddenly hard ni**les thrust against the silky fabric of my dress, threatening to burst free from the restraining corset, and the area between my legs grew slick with liquid heat.
Then he came and stood in front of me, set the chalice on the floor at my feet, threw off his duster and, for lack of better words, did an erotic dance for me.
His movements were totally unlike his usual elegant, contained presentation. His h*ps undulated, his stomach muscles rolled and his arms sliced through the air in deliberate, graceful motions. He threw his head back, his platinum hair flying, and his face was slack, as if he'd gotten lost in ecstasy.
A potent energy fired off Devereux as he danced. I felt the tension building inside myself and thought that if he didn't touch me soon, I'd literally explode. As I caught some of the expressions on the faces of the other participants, I saw I wasn't the only one having that reaction.
Devereux's skin shone with sweat, like liquid diamonds. He moved his hands seductively over his body, locking his eyes with mine. Bending toward me, he opened his mouth and slowly and deliberately licked his upper lip with his tongue. His canines were fully extended and he kissed me, caught my lower lip with his fangs, then backed away.
I gasped, thinking he'd bitten me, but I tasted no blood. All my erogenous zones were frantic with desire—aching with need. My heart pounded double-time. I'd gotten so excited and aroused by his dance that I doubt if I'd have com-plained even if he'd taken a pint.
I noticed I'd scooted to the edge of the chair, ready, I supposed, to leap onto Devereux at the earliest chance. Oddly enough, thinking about making a public display of myself with Devereux didn't seem to upset me.
All that mattered was doing whatever I had to do to get him to touch me again.
He picked up the chalice, glided over to the circle of people, and pandemonium broke out.
As Devereux approached the crowd, a madness built— excitement spread around the circles. All variety of wails, moans, groans, and howls rent the air. Some of the bodies of the participants convulsed, limbs twitching and jerking in random spasms, as their heads flopped back and forth on boneless necks. Others jumped up and down with manic intensity, as if they'd been taken prisoner by a sadistic puppeteer.
Holding the chalice in his left hand, Devereux magically manifested some kind of knife or dagger which appeared in his right.
He stared into the eyes of the woman in front of him in the circle and she offered her arm. Using the knife to make a small cut on her wrist, he caught the dripping blood in the chalice. A roar went up from the crowd
Arms shot out from everywhere as the noise level rose.
Devereux navigated the ring, repeating the process with as many wrists as it took to fill the chalice with blood.
I'd been so shocked and enthralled by Devereux's sudden shift from lust object to phlebotomist that I hadn't noticed the other really bizarre thing that was unfolding.
People were sucking on each other's wounds.
Well, technically, I guess you couldn't call them people.
Vampires were sucking on each other's wounds.
And not merely sucking. Feeding frenzy would be more accurate.
I felt my jaw drop as I watched the bloodsuckers attaching themselves to wrists and necks, some falling to the floor together in passionate mid-suck. A few of the revelers seemed to have gotten so swept away by the feasting, that clothes were discarded and other parts of the body were invited to play.
Vampire orgy. Perfect.
I instinctively sat back in the chair, hoping the lunacy wouldn't spread to me. Amara took my hand again and I turned to her. Her eyes were large and shining, more green than Devereux's, and she said, "He would never hurt you. You must trust him."
At that moment, he stalked toward us, his hair fanning out behind him, holding the chalice in his hands. His eyes were feral, expressing a wildness he'd never shared with me before, and his face was startlingly beautiful. A fallen angel.
Taking the chalice in his left hand, he held it away from his body and embraced his mother in a one-armed hug. He met her eyes and she nodded, tilting her head to the side. Devereux leaned into her, exposed his fangs and sank them into her neck. She gasped and laid a hand on the back of his head.
I didn't know what to do with myself—where to look. Devereux had just assaulted his mother, and she was apparently enjoying it. There was something very sensuous about him sucking on her neck and I couldn't imagine that was a psychologically healthy mother-son activity.
But then, she's dead, so do the rules apply?
After only a few seconds he raised his head, embraced her again, said something in that strange language and turned to me, licking blood from his lips.
Devereux raised the chalice into the air and the chanting started again. Vampires rose from the floor and disentangled themselves from each other, adding their voices as they reformed the circles.
As the intensity of the sound increased, I felt the curious, entranced feeling again.
Devereux knelt before me, offered the chalice and said, "One sip, my love."
There was a major firestorm of resistance in my brain. One part of me was already struggling to get up from the chair, begging the muscles in my legs to report for duty one more time. But the muscles were hanging out with the other part of me that was thinking about tearing off Devereux's clothes and jumping on him. One sip of blood wasn't much of a price to pay for being able to get my hands on this blond Adonis. Good thing this wasn't really happening.
My hands reached out for the chalice and he gave it to me. It was warm. I raised it to my lips, stared into his astonishing eyes over the rim, and drank. For some reason I'd imagined blood would taste like tomato juice. It didn't. But by the time I discovered that the taste was thick and unpleasant, I'd choked and swallowed the entire gulp. I coughed and sputtered and finally stuck my tongue out, maybe thinking that would dissipate the taste.
Definitely a dream. I'd never drink blood if I was awake. Nothing to worry about. Just a dream.
He mouthed the words "Thank you," retrieved the chalice from me and drank the remainder of the blood. Saying more of those unfamiliar words, he held the cup out in front of him and it vanished.
The chanting grew louder and another portion of my consciousness drifted away.
Devereux stood, pulled me out of the chair, wrapped his arms around me and kissed me passionately. I made an effort to hold onto him, but my bones had mysteriously dissolved and all four of my limbs were now only useful as paperweights.
Bending me over backward he whispered, "No harm." He kissed his way down from my mouth, along my neck, finally resting his mouth on the fullness of my breast. The part of me that wanted to roll around with Devereux sighed contentedly. He planted little kisses on my skin then there was a flash of pain, followed by the most blissful feeling I'd ever experienced.
After a few seconds, he lifted me into his arms, brought his lips to mine and held me. I briefly wondered how someone who drank blood could have such sweet-smelling breath, but I decided to add that to the list of things to think about later.
Besides, this is my dream and I’m not likely to give my lust object stinky breath, right?
He returned me to the chair, kissed my cheek and walked out toward the vampire chorus. The chanting immediately ceased.
This was too weird. I'd been in lots of choirs and I knew how hard it was to get people to all stop singing at exactly the same moment. There was always at least one person not paying attention or something. But this was downright eerie. As if sound itself had disappeared.
And, just as before, as soon as they stopped chanting, I began to come back to myself. Not that I knew where I'd been prior to that, but I didn't know how else to explain it.
Immediately, I noticed that my breast throbbed with pain. One quick glance solved the mystery. Standing out against my very-white skin were two neat puncture marks, surrounded by a sea of traumatized red tissue, which would soon be a colorful blue-green-purple.
Amara, who still stood next to the chair, took my hand again. She inspected my chest. "I will heal that for you before I leave. There will be no lasting mark. Devereux will explain."
My eyes darted to her neck to see if her bite marks appeared as bad as mine, and there was nothing to see. Her skin was smooth, white, and flawless.
She smiled and nodded. "Exactly so."
I don't know if this is a flaw or a virtue, but I have an innate need to be polite. To be a nice person. I couldn't blame Amara for what her son had done, but I had to turn away from her because it was temporarily impossible for me to pretend that I wasn't seething with rage. Something about the physical pain had jolted me into awareness.
Damn it to hell! This isn't a dream. It's a wide-awake nightmare. I can't believe the bastard bit me. He actually bit me. I'm probably going to turn into a vampire now.
Amara stepped in front of me, her eyes hard and serious. "No. It is not that easy to become a vampire. It requires intention." Her gaze went to the bite on my breast. "This was merely a symbolic gesture. I wish there had been more time to help you understand, but no harm has been done. You will be as you were."
I scanned the area for Devereux. He'd retrieved his duster and was slowly moving around the inside of the circle, pausing at each of the quarter points. Some of the words he spoke sounded like English, and I picked up the phrase "guardian of the four directions," along with a few others. I got the idea that each place he paused in the circle represented east, south, west, or north.
He pulled a gem-studded wand from the pocket of his coat and held it up in the air over each direction. A burst of brilliant white light emanated from the tip at each location and it hovered, forming a vertical line, floating in space.
I was tempted to rub my eyes, because I couldn't believe what I was seeing, but I remembered how much mascara Nola had insisted on plastering on my eyelashes, and I hesitated at the last moment. I didn't want to do an imitation of a raccoon or Alice Cooper.
By the time Devereux completed the circle, there were four beams of luminescence.
At a signal from Devereux, all the vampires in the inner circle took a step forward, which put them in line with the hovering lights. As soon as the radiance touched the vampire closest to it, the glow began to spread around the circle, flowing out to each circle in turn. Soon the white incandescence transformed into multiple colors, shifting and changing every few seconds. The mini fireworks put off by the candles became more pronounced and the medallion around Devereux's neck sparked like a floodlight.
I lowered my eyes to shield from the bright glare but was able to squint enough to see that all the vampires in the circles had clasped hands. And as they did that, the light began to pulsate and writhe, creating bursts of color and completely enveloping everyone in the circle until there was only pure energy.