Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist) (21 page)

He closed his eyes briefly, and my anxiety eased.

“I have computer experts who can discover anything I wish to know. It was easy to access your itinerary.” He ran his fingers through his massively tangled hair and growled. “This is the first time I have ever attempted to materialize inside an airplane. I landed on the wing twice, then on the roof. Even with magic spells and my enhanced strength, grabbing onto the plane was no easy feat. I suspect the mechanics will find unexplained finger grooves pressed into various parts of the plane.”

Oh my God—grabbing onto the plane? Unexplained finger grooves? He really is an undead Superman.

“Finally,” he continued, “I was able to accomplish my intended task: to find an empty seat I could target. Once I found that, I was able to materialize inside.”

I couldn’t get past the absurd image his words were creating. “Let me get this straight—you were hanging onto an airplane flying at hundreds of miles per hour? How were you not blown off?” Unbelievable. Were there no limits to what he could do? No wonder his hair looked like he’d been electrocuted, then thrown into a wind tunnel. It was weird to see him so … flawed.

He held up his filthy, bloody fingers. “I
was
blown off. Repeatedly. Actually,” he said, “that part was rather exciting. I have heard of skydiving but have never tried it. Until today. It was an experience I do not wish to repeat anytime soon. I felt like an idiot. The lengths to which I will go for you never fail to amaze me.”

No way. He didn’t really land on the outside of the plane. Impossible.

“How come nobody saw you? Your light hair and skin almost glow in the dark—you had to be putting on quite a show out there. Why didn’t I hear anyone screaming when you popped into the cabin?”

“I would point out that
you
did not see me, even sitting in a window seat chatting with your handsome companion and with your mind completely unencumbered of vampire influence. But just because I cannot control your mind, it does not mean I have lost the ability with everyone else. I simply told them they could not see me.”

“Huh, okay.”
Of
course
that makes sense … in Bizarro Vampire World.
“Why are you here? I really did come into the bathroom for a compelling reason, and I don’t want to share the experience with anyone, including you. Is something wrong?”

“Yes. We are wrong, and it is my fault. I was insufferable and demanding last night.”

Really?

“You won’t get any argument from me.” I couldn’t take my eyes off his wild hair. It was
so
not him. I fought the urge to lick my palm and smooth it over his hair.

“That would be a pleasant change,” he said, “but in this case I accept complete responsibility for our poor communication, and I wish to apologize. You are correct that I have no right to impose my will upon you. You are, as you said, a separate person. I acknowledge that you have every right to attend a conference and that you have your own life to live. I will not be bull-headed or domineering.” He pulled down the neckline of my sweater and retrieved the cross necklace. “Of course, if my assistance is required in an emergency, you need only hold the heirloom and say my name, and I will come.”

I pressed my thighs together to give my bladder the “wait” signal. “Okay. I appreciate the apology. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress, and if you want to talk when I get back, I’m happy to do that.”

Devereux pointed toward the door. “There is someone waiting.”

“Well, I’m not surprised—we’ve been in here a while. They’re probably thinking I’ve fallen in, or I’m doing something extremely unpleasant.”

He laughed. “I do not miss those bodily functions. But let me take care of this.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I gave the suggestion to everyone that it has been only a few seconds since you came in here. The poor fellow who ate something disagreeable has gone to the bathroom at the other end.” He eyed the facilities. “I can say with certainty that my mode of travel is much more enjoyable than your human version.”

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer. Meeting my gaze, he whispered, “I am sorry. I was not myself.” He pressed his lips against mine in a sweet kiss, then teased his tongue into my mouth and took the kiss deeper.

Yum.

We kissed for a couple of minutes, then reluctantly pulled apart. His skin was colder than usual, perhaps because of his frigid outdoor adventure.

It occurred to me that I was responding to Devereux without any mind control on his part. Maybe we really did have something authentic going on between us after all. I considered the possibility of asking him to whisk me off to New York himself so we could spend some alone time sorting
things out.

Unfortunately, my romantic fantasy was rudely squashed by reality.

“I wish I could remain longer, but the night is short and Lucifer has been sighted.” He kissed me again. “Also, I came to tell you that you were right—upon reflection, I believe it might be best if we take a break from each other for a little while. Just until we both have time to think about the optimum outcome. Things have moved too quickly for you. I exerted too much pressure. You are correct that you need to have the opportunity to decide for yourself whether you will choose to share my world or not. I do not wish to harm you, and if it is true that my mere presence damages your brain, then I will remove myself.” He lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps I am not ready for a serious relationship either.”

“What?” I almost choked on the word. “What do you mean, you’re not ready for a serious relationship? Since when?”

“Since you made me think about whether or not we are truly a good fit for each other. I had been unwilling even to consider the possibility previously.”

What the hell is this?
He’s breaking up with me? After all his bullying and saying I’m his mate?
I pressed my legs together more tightly.

“Your reasoning makes sense,” he continued. “I was not seeing the larger picture. It is wise for us to have a cooling-off period until the situation with Lucifer is settled. After that, we can talk and see how we feel.” He brushed my lips with his again. “Enjoy the conference, and be safe.”

With that, he stepped back and disappeared.

Turning toward the mirror, I stared at myself in disbelief.
What just happened?
Surely I couldn’t have heard what I thought I heard. His words kept replaying in my mind as I tried to sort out my feelings. My stomach cramped.

Take a break. That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it?

Yes.

No.

Well, shit. I was more confused than ever now. He’d respected my wishes. He’d done as I asked. A cooling-off period was good. I should be happy, right?

Why wasn’t I happy? Why did I feel miserable and on the verge of tears?

I definitely hadn’t seen that coming.

But I had told him I was going to rethink my involvement with all vampires, including him. What did I expect?

After dabbing my eyes with a tissue, I took care of business then navigated up the aisle to my seat, surreptitiously scanning the other passengers along the way to see if anyone had a reaction to my campout in the bathroom. Nobody did.

Michael stood before I reached our seats.

My chagrin must have been written on my face because he stared at me, frowning. “Is everything okay? You seem upset. I hope I didn’t say anything inappropriate.”

It took me a moment to shake off my reaction to Devereux’s unexpected decision and turn my attention back to the conversation Michael and I had before the events in the bathroom. “Of course you didn’t. I’m just festering about a personal problem.”

He raised a brow. “Anything a new therapist friend can help with? I’m a pretty good listener.”

“Thanks.” I smiled and fastened my seatbelt. “You know how it is—things will work themselves out eventually.”

Would they?
My vision blurred with tears, and I suddenly felt overwhelmingly sad.

One of the pilots broke in over the speakers, reporting we were preparing to land. I was shocked by how quickly the time had passed. Apparently the secret to a speedy journey was a charming seatmate and a vampire breakup in the bathroom.

We landed, and Michael and I shared a cab to the conference location—Hotel Briarwood, across from Central Park. The weather was cold but precipitation-free. The East Coast had experienced a dry period for the last couple of weeks.

Hotel Briarwood was a new site for the APA conference and, after seeing photographs of the neo-Gothic building a few months back, I’d done a little online research. The hotel had a traumatic history. Fire partially destroyed it twice, once in 1900 and again in 1942, and it was rebuilt both times to match its original style. Scores of people died in those still-unexplained fires. But the building lived up to its sterling reputation: no expense had been spared to re-create the elegance and beauty of the past. Entering the hotel felt like stepping back in time.

After checking in we took the elevator, our luggage among the cases piled on carts pulled by hotel staff. The doors had almost closed when a man wedged his hand into the narrow gap between them and thrust them apart. He propelled himself into the little space remaining and swiveled his head to stare at me.

He was large, like a football player, dressed in a thick black parka with a brown wool cap pulled down over his head to his eyebrows. He was carrying a small gray bag and a computer case. His nervous energy sent my intuition into overdrive—the man definitely gave off some heavy negativity.

I scooted as far from him as I could and began to wonder what was in his bag. Should I alert hotel security? But what would I say?
A weird-looking guy’s walking around the hotel with a bag.
Gee, that was unusual. I’d sound like a nutcase.

The man shifted to one side to let Michael out when we arrived at his floor. We said good-bye and promised to find each other the next day.

I watched the numbers over the doors rise as we climbed higher, feeling uncomfortable and a little frightened.

The man kept slanting dark glances in my direction.

Geez. I was glad the porter was with me. Brown Hat was definitely trouble waiting to happen.

When we reached my floor, the man backed up against the wall so we could exit, then, to my alarm, he followed us out of the elevator and accompanied us down the hall as we headed toward my door.

Crap. I didn’t want to show him which room I was in. I’d just opened my mouth to ask the porter to keep walking when he stopped in front of room 936 and ran the keycard through the reader. Brown Hat turned on his heel and strode back toward the elevator.

Was he just some lunatic following a random single woman, or had he chosen me in particular? Now that he knew my room number, I’d have to move.

After the porter left, I surveyed the room. It was spacious and luxurious, decorated in shades of blue and green, with two queen-size beds and a sitting area big enough for a couch and two comfortable chairs with footrests. A large television screen was mounted on one wall over an entertainment unit with a fully stocked refrigerator. Lovely reproductions of famous paintings dotted the other walls. A small office desk with commonly used supplies filled one corner, while a small conference table and chairs was centered in the other. Wireless computer access was available throughout the entire hotel.

The APA always held their gatherings in high-quality digs, and this year was no exception. Too bad Brown Hat had already cast a shadow on my conference experience.

The light on my telephone was blinking when I sat on the edge of the bed to call the front desk. I retrieved one message.

“Hey, Kismet. Alan here. I’m all checked in. I figure you won’t get here till late, and you’ll be tired, so I’ll come by in the morning. I look forward to seeing you. I found out a little information about the—person—and the library we discussed. Sleep well.”

I kicked off my shoes and called the desk. When I asked to switch rooms, they informed me the hotel was completely booked due to our conference and another. I explained that someone had followed me up to my room, and they assured me they would try to arrange for me to change floors. In the meantime, they offered to have their security people pass by my room more often during the night.

That would have to do.

Of course, I always had the trusty cross, even if its owner wasn’t sure
he wanted to have a relationship with me. Dammit. Why did that still bother me?

Yearning for a shower, I took a few steps toward the bathroom and stopped dead. “Oh!” A woman dressed like Ingrid Bergman in the airport scene from
Casablanca
came toward me. Upset that I’d unintentionally intruded on someone, I said, “I’m sorry—I didn’t know this room was already occupied. I’ll call—” I’d barely gotten the words out when she walked right through me, sending a shock of icy cold along my body, like breathing in death. I gasped and looked behind me. Nobody was there.

My heart hammered in my chest. Feeling clammy and nauseous, I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to consciously lower my blood pressure. That was a first. Never before had a ghost made physical contact with me.

What the hell’s happening? How weird am I going to get?

“Doctor Knight?”

“Shit!” I screamed and leaped off the bed, spinning around toward the voice that had come from behind me. I clutched my chest, my heart racing again.

Standing in front of the desk in the corner was a naked vampire. A sparkling naked vampire. A familiar sparkling naked vampire.

“Esther?” I breathed deeply and deliberately to calm myself, and took a couple of steps in her direction. “Is that you?” Turned as a thirteen-year-old a hundred years ago, she’d been denied the chance to fully develop, physically or mentally. Her narrow hips and flat chest made her look more like an adolescent male than a female, and her developmental challenges caused her to behave like an even younger child. She definitely had no impulse control.

“Yes, Doctor Knight.” She gave me wide brown eyes. “I’m so glad I found you. I wanted to show you my sparkle.”