I straightened in my seat. "Yes, I've heard that."
He let his shoulders visibly relax and inhaled a deep breath.
He's breathing. Do vampires breathe? Does Devereux? Why didn't I notice that small detail?
"'Therefore, finding necks to suck on isn't my problem. People offer themselves to me all the time. All I have to do is tuck in. And as long as I can't actually see the blood, I'm fine. Like any other vampire, I love the taste of it, and the way it makes me feel is worth whatever it takes to get it. But it's impossible to suck blood without there being any . . . remains. Residue. Drops. Or, horror of horrors, actual uncontrolled bleeding.
"You see, sometimes in the midst of a feeding I can get carried away. It really is like having a body orgasm, if you'll forgive my bluntness, and I've been known to enlarge the wound with my fangs when my body starts reacting to the . . . uh . . . stimulation. It can be an overwhelming experience. Anyway, if I see even one drop of blood I immediately throw up everything I just swallowed. And then there is more blood, which makes me retch until the muscles of my stomach scream with pain."
His eyes had gone very wide and glassy as he told his story and he clasped his hands together so tightly that the white skin had become blue. He sat very stiff and straight.
The obvious terror the story stirred in him caused me to scoot to the edge of my seat in anticipation of having to perform some vampire CPR. I'd seen clients with that expression on their faces as they described fears of being covered in snakes, eaten by a lion, or burned alive. A phobia is a phobia.
Although I had to admit I wasn't really eager to put the vampire CPR thing to the test.
I took a breath and sat back. I noticed that my own hands clutched the arms of the chair so rigidly the veins stuck out. I consciously let go and wiggled my fingers to restore the circulation.
"That sounds very scary for you. I can totally understand why you'd avoid situations where you have to see blood. Do you remember the first time you had that reaction?"
"'Uh, yes. Unfortunately, I do remember. I have to warn you that this might be difficult for you to hear."
He paused and studied me before he continued. I guess he was waiting for me to give an indication I was willing to proceed. I nodded.
"It was a few years after I became a vampire. Prior to the event I'm going to tell you about, I could swim in blood and it had no effect on me. It was the first time I drank from a child. A dying child. The little boy was near death from cancer and I heard him crying through the window. He said, 'please don't leave me.' I don't know who he was talking to because no one was there. The child was all alone in that room, but I could see people moving around in the other parts of the house. He was all alone.'
He stared at me silently for several seconds. Despite the controlled mask he'd made of his face, his eyes betrayed him by expressing the fear and self-loathing he usually kept locked away.
The words "all alone" had been said with such raw misery that my heart ached.
In that moment I understood how difficult it had been for him to tell his story to a therapist or anyone.
I had a clear intuitive sense that he was afraid I'd . . . what? Run out of the room? Condemn him for being what he was? Grab a stake, hammer, and leap on him?
I gave him a gentle smile and nodded. "I understand. He was all alone. Then what happened?"
"I waited until everyone else had gone to bed and I went to the boy and held him in the dark. I don't know why I felt compelled to go to him. I usually had no interest in children. He was bleeding from his nose and mouth, and I licked the blood from his skin and rocked him. He began to remind me of myself when I was small. I could feel his pain building and, as he was ready to leave his body, I drank him dry. At the last moment he put his arms around my neck and pleaded, 'Don't leave me, Daddy.' After his soul left his body, I stumbled out into the alley and threw up for the first time."
Shit Where do I begin?
I let him see the sympathy and compassion in my eyes and spoke softly. "That's a very heart-breaking story. Do you remember a time when you were small when you asked your Daddy not to leave?"
He stared at me with horrified, pain-filled eyes and nodded. He told me the story of his father abandoning the family when Apollo was only five and how he'd begged him not to leave. After he finished sharing the memory, he frowned and stared down at his limp hands in his lap.
A tear rolled down his cheek.
"Do you think my experience with that little boy has something to do with my blood phobia? Because of my own father?"
"I do, yes."
He plucked another tissue from the box and wiped away the tears streaming down his face.
"You must be right, because I already feel different. Would you mind if we ended our meeting for now? You've given me a lot to think about."
"I wouldn't mind at all. You do have a lot to think about."
We both stood and he reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out an envelope and set it on the table.
He sniffled a few times. "I don't know what your fees are, but there should be enough in here to hold me for a while. Just let me know when you need more. I promise to make an appointment next time."
He extended his hand and I took it. The coolness of his flesh surprised me and I caught my breath. He noticed my reaction and released my hand.
"I'm sorry. Since I don't drink enough blood, my skin is always cold. I hope I can do something about that. Thank you for today."
I smiled. "'You're welcome. I look forward to our next session. You might want to consider hypnosis. Perhaps we can gently uncover more of the memory that's causing the problem."
I walked him to the door and opened it.
He blew his nose on a fresh tissue, nodded and left.
I briefly considered sitting at my desk and writing up case notes for Apollo, but I was tired and wanted to go home. I'd write up the notes at home later with a glass of wine.
It wasn't likely I'd forget any of the details.
I thought about Apollo's story and the poor child who'd died in his arms. As sad as it was, I'd actually heard much worse from my human clients.
Who would've thought that a vampire would have the same issue as anyone else? The universal experience of a crappy childhood.
Maybe vampires weren't really so different after all.
Yeah, right.
Chapter Twenty
It was a miracle. A quiet, drama-free evening.
After I wrote up my case notes for Apollo, I enjoyed a long, glorious, undisturbed shower, still wearing the necklace that wouldn't go away. I stood under the spray until the hot water cooled, which was saying something because I have a very large hot water tank. My skin had gotten satisfyingly pruned. I slathered myself with the exquisite and obscenely expensive skin moisturizer my friend regularly sent me from her European exploits
I snuggled into my Sigmund Freud pyjamas—seriously, they're white silk with Sigmund's face splattered like black, Rorschach inkblots all over the fabric. They were a hot novelty item at the last American Psychological Association convention in Las Vegas. And, if that wasn't cozy enough, I dug out my furry Miss Piggy slippers, complete with snout and curly tail, and covered up with my ever-present pink robe.
I pulled my hair, which occasionally can feel very heavy, up into a pony tail on the top of my head, and let it cascade down in spiral curls around my shoulders.
I was in the midst of total and complete relaxation. Or total and complete denial, whichever you prefer.
I'd just poured a glass of liquid bliss in the form of white wine when the doorbell rang.
I turned on the porch light and squinted through the peep hole. Either there wasn't anyone there, or my visitor was hiding out of view. Or some other option I didn't even want to think about.
After the events of the last week, none of the possibilities were good news.
I chose the "when in doubt, do nothing" approach and was rewarded by a repeat performance of the doorbell tones.
Leaving the chain engaged, I cracked open the door barely enough to scan a small area, which basically wasn't in the least helpful. I still couldn't see anyone there.
I was just about to close the door, when it occurred to me I should ask an obvious question. Who's there?" It is I, Kismet. Devereux. Please let me in."
Devereux? If it was Devereux, why was he ringing the doorbell? Why didn't he just pop in unannounced, uninvited, as always? Why didn't he simply swoop in like an intrusive bat and snatch me off to another creepy-crawly adventure?
"Why are you here?"
I was batting a thousand with Questions for Dummies. I have come to make love to you." What?" I croaked. Couldn't say I'd heard that one before.
Since I was still staring at the floor in front of my door, I recognized the black leather boots that stepped into my line of vision.
I raised my eyes but could only see more black and a flash of what could've been blond hair.
Apparently, he could also see the floor on the other side of the door because he said, his voice oozing amusement, "What are you wearing on your feet?"
I glanced down at the dual Miss Piggys and felt the need to defend them. Her?
"None of your business. What do you really want?" Although, I had to admit I'd rather enjoyed the previous answer.
"I spoke the truth. I have come to make love to you. Please open the door."
How arrogant! And you just assume that's okay with me? That Im just going to open the door and make another deal with the devil? That Pm even remotely interested in ha**ng s*x with you after our last trip to the Twilight zone?
"How do I know it's really you? You usually materialize out of thin air."
"As you wish."
I heard that familiar little pop sound, felt a rush of air and suddenly knew he was behind me. I turned, hands on my hips.
"Hey! That wasn't an invitation!"
A dazzling smile spread across his face. "You forget I have that handy little mind reading ability."
He bowed from the waist, wearing a variation of his usual leather-god outfit. "I rang the doorbell because I thought you would prefer me to enter your home the normal, human way. I understand you are weary of the drama that has taken over your life. I do not wish to contribute any further to your discomfort."
He brought his hands around from behind him. They held a huge bouquet of pink roses and a ludicrously large box of chocolates.
"Gifts for you, my love."
He bent forward and brushed my lips lightly with his. The familiar, delicious scent of him took my nostrils hostage and my lips instinctively puckered in anticipation of more of the same.
He burst out laughing.
"You have pigs on your feet!"
He thrust the roses and box of chocolates into my hands, scooped me up into his arms and walked us over to the couch. As soon as he was seated with me on his lap, he reached over and lifted my feet, inspecting the colorful porcine coverings. 'I have never seen such a thing. Do modern humans wear all animals on their feet or only pigs?' The longer he stared at the fluffy piggy shoes, the harder he laughed. He thumped the snout with his thumb and first finger and pulled on the tail.
As annoying as it was to be laughed at, something about his mirth was infectious and I found myself chuckling, which eventually gave way to snorts and belly laughs.
Once again, whatever resolve I'd built up against Devereux had leaked away in direct proportion to the number of minutes I spent gazing at his perfect face. It was a waste of time for me to argue that I was immune to his charm, or his eyes, or whatever it was that caused my normal inhibitions to catch the first plane outta town.
At some point I must have put the flowers and chocolates on the coffee table, because my arms were free to ensnare his neck. Which then led to my being flat on my back in my Freud pjs and my piggy shoes with an absurdly gorgeous vampire on top of me, attached at the lips.
So much for a quiet, relaxing evening.
We made out like teenagers on the couch.
As always with Devereux, I couldn't stop touching him. Couldn't run my fingers through his long, silky, aromatic hair enough. Couldn't feast on his lips even remotely enough. Couldn't imagine anything more important than having him inside me.
Even counting my close call with Alan, I hadn't technically had intercourse for two years and the muscles in my va**na contracted in gleeful, moist anticipation.
He lifted his hot mouth from mine long enough to whisper, "Will you invite me to your bed, my love?"
Geez, the guy's voice should be a registered weapon. It could take you down in three seconds.
"What happened to all the mind reading? I've been sending out the welcome committee for the last thirty minutes."
He raised himself up just enough so I could see his smile. "I know, but it is important to me to hear the words from your own sweet lips."
He somehow managed to lift himself off the couch in a flowing motion while scooping me up at the same time.
"Shall we?"
He carried me up the stairs, the twin Piggies bobbing up and down, but my mind was no longer on footwear. In fact, my entire brain was focused on the fastest way to get us both na**d.
We entered my bedroom and Devereux paused at the foot of my bed.
"You have not changed the sheets since you shared your bed with Alan. I can smell him. I wish to be the only presence here with you."
He put me down and stood in front of me.
I started to explain that I hadn't "officially" had sex with Alan and there really wasn't any part of him left behind, but Devereux gently pressed a finger to my lips, ending the flow of words.