I pushed against him and, just as it had been with Bryce, it was impossible. His arms were unyielding. Closing my eyes tight to hold back the waterworks I felt gathering there, I tried very hard not to cry, but I was so exhausted I didn't know how much longer I could keep everything inside. Part of me just wanted to curl up in his arms and sleep.
"'You must listen now.'' Devereux moved gracefully around the room, apparently trying to soothe me. "There is much I need to tell you."
I shook my head. "Please put me down. I'm sure you mean well, but this has been a terrible night and I just want to go home. I appreciate you pulling Bryce off of me, and you've been very kind, but I've had enough." The tears I'd been trying to hold back slid down my face, and I made a pathetic sniffing sound.
He studied me briefly, lifted my chin up toward him and kissed my lips gently. He pulled back, gazed at me with soft turquoise eyes for a few seconds more, and bent down and kissed me again, lightly at first, then deeper. His lips were warm and silky and, without even thinking about it, I put my arms around his neck and kissed him back. He let my feet find the floor and wrapped his arms around me, never altering the intensity of the kiss. He brushed his tongue along my lip and I opened my mouth for him. Whatever else he might have been, he was one awesome kisser.
Somebody hose me down, Pm going to spontaneously combust
We reluctantly pulled our lips apart, and he enveloped me into a warm hug. I could feel both of our hearts beating out different rhythms and it occurred to me that my sensing Devereux's heartbeat was proof he wasn't a vampire. Everyone knew the dead had no heartbeat.
The ridiculousness of that thought made me want to laugh out loud—or scream. I didn't know which was more upsetting: my giving validity to the possibility of the exis-
tence of vampires or kissing a beautiful nut case. I was in deep shit any way you sliced it.
He stepped back from me and brushed a stray lock of hair from my face. :cI think you have had enough excitement for one night. Please allow me to drive you home. I promise I will be a perfect gentleman."
I was going to argue that I could drive myself, but it just wasn't true. I could either take Devereux up on his offer or call a cab, and, since I needed my car the next morning, the choice was clear.
Well there you have it. If Devereux was really a vampire he wouldn't know how to drive, right? Don't they all sprout bat wings andfly?
Devereux chuckled softly. I was going to ask him what was so funny, but my body's lack of cooperation suddenly captured my attention.
I had intended to walk over to my desk and gather my things to leave, but even that small attempt to move under my own power seemed to be too much for my legs, and my knees buckled. Devereux caught me and lifted me into his arms again. I'm not saying it wasn't pleasant, but I felt like a limp rag doll, and I didn't understand what had happened to cause me to be so lethargic. "What's wrong with me? Why am I so weak? What did Bryce do to me?"
"He bespelled you and then he drank your blood. Bryce is a master of enchantment. We all have the ability to use our eyes to entrance mortals, but Bryce takes special pleasure in manipulating and controlling. He is very powerful and, to use your psychology terms, he altered your brain waves. That is why you feel so confused. He had intended to drain you to near death, and he would have had I not arrived when I did."
"Do you mean he used his fake fangs to make holes in my neck and actually sucked my blood out and swallowed it?" My mind refused to accept what Devereux was telling me.
He raised one of his perfectly arched eyebrows and stared down at me for a few seconds. "Humans have the most remarkable ability to not see what they do not wish to see. The stronger the mind, the harder it is to accept what is hiding in the shadows. I would rather we had the time to introduce you slowly to the ideas you resist, but that is not possible now. This is not something that will go away like a bad dream."
I started to ask more questions, but he shook his head. "No, that is enough for tonight."
He walked me over to my desk, bent down so I could pick up my briefcase and my purse and we left to find my car.
I must have fallen asleep on the ride to my house because the next thing I knew, we were there and he was lifting me out of the passenger side of my car.
He carried me up to my front door and I asked, "How did you know where to go? I didn't give you directions to my house."
"I performed my little parlor trick. I can do the same with your alarm code if you wish, or you may simply punch in the numbers."
I gazed up at his beauteous face, decided I didn't have the energy to argue, entered the code, and unlocked my door. We stepped into my living room and I blurted, 'Hey, I thought vampires could only come in if they were invited."
The moment I said it, I couldn't believe it had come out of my mouth. I must have some kind of head injury or something because I'd never make light of someone's delusion if I was in my right mind.
"I'm sorry. That was very thoughtless of me."
He laughed. "I am pleased you are getting into the spirit of things. But, that particular bit of vampire lore is false. We can come and go as we desire. Where is your bedroom?'"
I tensed. "My bedroom? Why do you want to know where my bedroom is?"
He stared down at me, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something remote and cold. "Yes, it is wise for you to be afraid of all of us. No matter how much some of us might wish to pretend, we are not human and we do not live by human rules. But, for tonight allow me to put your mind at ease. As delightful as it would be to take you to your bedroom and make love to you, I am only offering to carry you to the comfort of your bed. I would be lying, however, if I said I do not hope for an invitation in the future."
He carried me upstairs to my bedroom, held me easily with one arm while he pulled back the bedclothes, and laid me down. He removed my shoes, covered me with the blankets and gazed into my eyes. The last thing I remember was that wonderful voice saying, "Sleep."
Chapter Six
I'm falling. Can't breathe. My entire body is contracted in terror as I plummet down into what Pm certain will be beyond my ability to withstand. The void. Darkness so complete that there's no comprehension of it. Falling and falling, with no sense of speed or location, just the continuous, ever-building dread. I feel enclosed, as ifPm spiraling down some long tube, dense with stifling, hot, thick air. And then, without notice, pulled out into an empty, cold nothing. My very essence fragmenting in all directions. Death. The descent seems to last a long time, as a distant voice shrieks horrible-sounding words I can't understand, echoing in oblivion. The voice crawls over me and through me, penetrating my skin, like hundreds of carnivorous insects, and I scream in the darkness, flailing my arms and legs. Is there something even worse than death? Then the shock of crashing down into warm liquid. Blood. Sticky, thick, coppery-scented and old—very old. The intensity of the harsh landing keeps me afloat for only seconds before I discover there's nothing underneath me—no foundation. Nothing to hold me. No one. I go under, still screaming, gasping, and swallowing blood. Drowning in the blood and the overwhelming hopelessness. Terror larger than I can hold. And someone is laughing.
"No!" I screamed. A shrill ringing startled me and my eyes flew open. I bolted up, heart beating fast and hard. Shaking, I leaned back against the headboard and noticed all the blankets and pillows from my bed were on the floor. Fragments of the dream swam back into my awareness and the feeling of terror intensified. I knew I was safe in my bed, but the memory of spiralling down into that darkness pressed against my chest, and I struggled to slow my breathing. Rivers of sweat snaked down my face and pooled between my br**sts, and I distantly observed that I was still wearing the clothes I'd worn yesterday.
The annoying sound continued to intrude, louder now. A headache, which had started as a dull throb over my left eye, infiltrated my entire brain and beat a strong cadence of its own, rivalling what I finally understood was the telephone ringing. I took some deep breaths, pushed the wet hair back from my face and cleared my throat. Rolling over toward the night stand, I picked up the phone.
"Yes?" I croaked.
"Dr. Knight? This is Special Agent Stevens. We met at the hospital yesterday. I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
"Who?" My brain stubbornly refused to connect the dots, and the inside of my upper lip had become hermetically sealed to my teeth.
"The FBI guy from the emergency room. Special Agent Stevens."
I ran my tongue over my teeth in a vain attempt at hydration, and wound up making dry, smacking noises with my lips. "Special Agent Stevens? Uh, yes. Okay, I remember. I recognize your voice."
Idiot You let the phone ring a thousand times—of course you woke me. And you'll never know how grateful I am that you did.
Groggy, I squinted over at the clock to see if it really was as ungodly an hour as I imagined it to be, and it was.
I sucked in another deep breath, held onto the solid reality of the phone, and forced myself to calm down. I cleared my throat again. "Why are you calling me at 5 a.m., Special Agent Stevens? And how did you get my home phone number? It's unlisted."
I work for the FBI, enough said?" So, why are you calling?"
I want to find out if you've heard from your client, Emerald Addison, the one you brought to the hospital?"
"What do you mean? She's still in intensive care, isn't she?
"'Well, that answers my question. No. She isn't still in intensive care. Sometime between 1 a.m. and 4 a.m. she went missing."
"What are you talking about?" I barked, the pain in my head slam-dancing in heavy shoes. I pressed the palm of my hand against my forehead as if that would keep my skull from exploding. "The last time I saw Emerald, she was in no condition to do anything. There's just no way she could have gotten up and walked out of the hospital. What are you doing about it?"
His voice held the verbal equivalent of a smirk. "It sounds like we're a little cranky when we don't get our beauty sleep, doc. Even though you're being testy, I'll answer your question anyway. This case is being treated as an abduction or a missing person. Each one of those categories has its own protocol, and the local cops are in charge. Since your client was attacked in the same manner as the other cases I'm investigating, I'm being included in the information loop. So far we have zip. I'm hoping you can tell me something that'll give us a lead."
Okay. He gets points for pulling me out of that nightmare, but cute cop or not, there's no way I'm sharing client information. Even if I knew anything.
I took a deep breath, pushed "play" on the "I'm a Professional" tape in my mental repertoire, and began speaking in my therapist voice. "As I mentioned yesterday, I'm not at liberty to tell you anything about anyone. But if there is something general I can help you with, as a psychologist, I'd be willing to do that."
"Great. I'll be right there. Put on some coffee, okay?"
"What?"
The pushy bastard. I didn't expect him to take me up on it.
"Wait a minute! I need to take a shower and get dressed. You can't come over now!"
"How much time do you need?"
There was that cocky tone again. The tone that said he assumed I'd be spending hours primping in front of the mirror.
"Give me half an hour."
"Half an hour. Will do."
"Hey, hold on. Don't you want me to give you directions to my house?"
He chuckled. "FBI, remember? We've got all those handy little records. See you in thirty."
I hung up the phone and rolled out of my warm bed, still on automatic pilot. I stumbled around the bed, managed to remove all the damp sheets, threw them into the laundry hamper, and headed to the shower. It took ten minutes of standing like a statue under the hot spray before the sensation of something crawling on my skin receded and I felt somewhat normal again.
I stood, my arms braced against the tile walls enclosing the bathtub, willing the hot water to wash away the fearful residue from the nightmare. The sound of the hideous laughter still echoed through my inner world, reverberating like a ghostly memory.
I picked up a bar of soap and revelled in the sensation of it gliding over my skin and began to feel renewed—to come back to myself. I slid the bar over one side of my neck, kneading gently, and when I lathered the other side, I was startled by a sharp jolt of pain. Instinctively, I dropped the soap, which hit the bottom of the tub with a loud thud as I explored the tender skin with my fingers.
"Shit!" I stepped away from the water and gingerly slid my finger over the painful area, mentally shaking off another layer of drowsiness.
Touching the wound on my neck brought the horrible events of the previous evening back to me in living color. Some demented maniac had broken into my office and punctured my neck with his teeth.
His teeth! What movie was it where the guy put on his grandmother's sharp dentures and chewed on his victims? And how the hell did they get into my office? What a miserable night. First the psychopaths then the dream. Oh, yes. And let's not forget cocky FBI agents, although I guess this didn't qualify as "night" anymore.
That nightmare was off the charts. I couldn't remember ever having such a vivid, terrifying dream before.
All that blood and existential emptiness. Maybe those a**holes coming to my office last night frightened me even more than I realized. The dream was probably a reaction to their threats and my feelings of mortality. The standard death dream, maybe. Or an indication that my brain was turning into scrambled eggs. Well, whatever it was, I'd have to sort it out later.