Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist) (7 page)

“Well, well.” She turned to me, one eyebrow raised. “I have heard about you. The mortal who has captured the mighty Devereux.” She closed the still-too-slight distance between us and inhaled deeply. “Oh my—she does smell delicious. I do hope you intend to share, my friend.”

Despite the lingering brain-fuzzing effects of Devereux’s preternatural kiss, the hairs on my arms rose and my throat tightened. This vampire wasn’t even pretending I wasn’t food. I was sure every bloodsucker in the room sensed the spike of fear that burst off of me.

And, to prove it, hundreds of eyes turned in my direction.

A ghostly slaying and a hungry predator. Are we having fun yet?

“You know better than that, Anne. Behave yourself,” Devereux said, an edge sharpening his voice as he moved to stand at my side with his arm around my waist.

He kissed the top of my head, then looked around coolly at those staring, and all the gazes shifted away from me. Saved by the Grand Pooh-Bah Vampire.

“Oh yes.” Her laugh was a little hysterical-sounding. “That was excellent, Devereux. Warning off the entire herd of them all at once. You certainly haven’t lost your touch.” Anne gave an unabashed grin. “I’m only teasing. I didn’t mean to scare her. You’re always so serious, my lad. I just wanted to get a rise out of you. She is lovely.”

“Yes, she is,” he said, his tone taking no prisoners.

“And feisty, too, I hear. A sword-wielding avenger. Bravo, Devereux. It’s about time you took a mate.”

“Please don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” I said, exasperation allowing me to finally form coherent words. I looked back and forth between them, blinking to clear my hazy vision. “It’s very rude.” That sounded brave, didn’t it? Now if only my hands would stop shaking. … Why did I keep believing Devereux when he insisted I’d be safe in these bizarre situations? Seriously, how much preternatural terror could my mind handle?

“I apologize, my love.”

“Devereux!” said a smooth English-accented male voice behind me. “There you are. I’ve been waiting for you to arrive. And how marvelous—you’ve brought your woman.”

Devereux turned us toward the speaker. “Valentino, allow me to introduce Doctor Kismet Knight. The very same Kismet whose arrival I foretold eight hundred years ago with my painting.”

Shit on a stick
. The pain in my temples throbbed. I swallowed hard and tried to speak, without success. It really was him. With an English accent. And fangs.

A vampire movie star knows about Devereux’s portrait of me? How the hell am I supposed to respond to such lunacy?

I stared at his teeth and played with the antique cross around my neck—not because I thought it would ward off an undead actor, but because it gave me something to do with my hands.

“Oh, the fangs. Forgive me,” Valentino said, making excellent eye contact while gliding his tongue over his pointed teeth.

I shifted my eyes to stare at his nose. According to the strong tingle in my midsection, Valentino was a very powerful vampire, and I was having enough trouble staying focused as it was.

“I just ate and forgot to retract the buggers,” he said. The sharp incisors vanished into his gums. His famous dimples appeared. “There. Much more politically correct.” He lifted my hand and kissed the back. “I can’t believe this elusive bachelor is finally making a commitment.” Raising a brow, his lips spread into a wicked grin. “You simply
must
tell me how you managed it. Some of us have had a bet going for eons.”

I cleared my throat and finally managed to say, “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”

He’s much better looking in the flesh … such as it is.

He laughed heartily. “I’ll bet it’s damn strange to meet me, since you didn’t know about my true nature. And I’m sure our tight-lipped Devereux never said a word until tonight. No wonder you’re a bit tongue-tied.”

Several of Valentino’s doubles crowded in behind him, smiling and drinking champagne. One who looked like the long-haired sex object from
Thelma and Louise
stood next to an older
Inglourious Basterds
version. They raised their glasses in salute. I nodded politely.

Just when I thought I’d seen everything … There are obviously no limitations on the creepy scale.

Devereux tightened his hold around my waist, reclaiming my attention. “Kismet is remarkably resilient. She has a marvelous ability to acclimate to our preternatural world.”

I kept the strained pseudo-smile on my face, feeling like the only exhibit in an alien zoo. Acclimate? Was he referring to the fact that I didn’t run screaming every time I thought about it?

I studied Valentino’s face. He looked much younger than he had in the last few movie roles I’d seen, about the age he was when he played Louis in that hit movie. I’d loved that film.

“It doesn’t take a vampire to know what you’re thinking,” Valentino said. “Yes, I was able to play myself as I actually appear in that movie.” He laughed. “In fact, I scared the blood out of the fellow who played the reporter when I spent an evening with him, giving him an up-close-and-personal experience of having one’s neck sucked. No wonder his performance was so good.”

Geez. Devereux was right about vampire humor being bloody. I’ll never get used to this.

Valentino cocked his head as if listening to something I couldn’t hear. “You’ll have to forgive me again, dear Kismet—my wife just reminded me that we require Devereux’s presence for a moment. I trust Anne will keep you amused while he takes care of a little coven business?” He turned to Devereux. “De Sade is acting up again.”

“The marquis is here? Will he never learn?”

“He’s demanding to see you. He says he’s heard the rumors and wants to see for himself if you’re still the mighty warrior you used to be. I told him—”

“Let us not discuss that here,” Devereux interrupted, his tone brusque.

Valentino looked at me. “Ah, yes, of course.”

“What’s going on? What rumors?” I asked.
The Marquis de Sade? Really?

Devereux shifted his gaze to me and pressed his soft lips to mine in a quick kiss. “Nothing important, but if I do not handle de Sade now, I will be forced to clean up a mess later. The marquis has a bad habit of drawing human attention to us. I will return as quickly as possible.” He brushed his fingers across the pentagram and the diamond cross before tracing my collarbone. “In the meantime, you are completely safe with Anne. And if you need me, just hold the cross in your hand and say my name.”

Before I could respond, Devereux and Valentino vanished.

I turned to Anne, who exposed her teeth at me with her fangs fully extended. I gasped. Such long fangs for such a tiny woman.

She laughed at my startled reaction. “I’m sorry.” Her fangs retracted into her gums. “Just couldn’t resist. I hardly ever get the chance to frighten a human these days.”

I blew out a breath, calming myself, and grasped the cross again. “I see.”
No, I don’t.
“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t do that. I don’t know if you can understand, but it’s extremely strange trying to fit into a world so different from my own. It’s been a pretty steep learning curve, and mostly I’m just trying not to have a heart attack.”

As Devereux had so blithely abandoned me to the asylum inmates, what else could I do but use my therapy skills? Provide a little personal disclosure to create a bond? Noticing my headache had increased, I pressed my temples with my index fingers, trying to remember which meridians in Chinese medicine helped with pain relief. Maybe a migraine was being triggered by the strong incense.

Of course, she’d probably prefer I open a vein.

A fangless smile curved her lips. “No open veins required. I actually do understand—there were many times when I lived as a swan among ducks. In fact, during my most notorious life experience, I was executed for being different.” She paused and pointed at the donors. “Let’s go and sit near the humans and you can have some champagne while we chat. At least I can watch you enjoy it. A good glass of wine might be the only thing I truly miss about being mortal. You know,” she pointed at my head, “you really should take something for that headache. Everyone in the room can read your pain, and it’s rather enticing to the undead.”

“Really? Everyone can sense it?”

“Well, not everyone, but certainly those of us who are accustomed to reading victims’—er, mortals’ energy.”

Victims?

“I don’t have any pain medication with me.”

“Pity.” She gave a half-smile. “I suspect our host doesn’t have a well-stocked medicine cabinet.”

“Why didn’t Devereux notice I wasn’t feeling well? He’s usually very perceptive.”

“Probably because he never kept humans close before he met you. He likely doesn’t even remember what a headache feels like since we don’t experience them, or how one might incapacitate you.”

I accepted a glass of champagne from a server and smiled at the donors, who were still standing in small groups around the buffet table. They acknowledged me as I followed Anne to a nearby couch and sat.

“You have a question about Valentino. Go ahead. Ask.”

“What?” It took me a few seconds to realize Anne had been eavesdropping on an inner dialog in which I’d been speculating how the famous vampire had kept his first wife in the dark about his true nature. “Well, you obviously already know what I was thinking. How was it possible for him to be with his first wife without exposing his secret? Did he turn her, too?”

“No. He has the gift of precognition, and he knew a more suitable mate would appear. Some humans are much more susceptible to being entranced than others. He had to do very little to retain the mystery. Enough said?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I just can’t imagine how he pulled it off.”

“Many famous vampires have human wives at some point.” She scanned the crowd, then nodded toward a group of vampires standing nearby with their backs to us. “Look over there. I’m going to send them a mental message.”

A gorgeous dark-haired male standing next to a blond woman wearing bright-red lipstick turned and lifted his goblet to Anne. The man on his other side raised his glass as well.

They all looked familiar.

Anne bobbed her head in acknowledgment and waved.

“It appears most of the cast of that infamous movie is here tonight. It’s rare for them all to be in one place at the same time. I believe one of them, the one you know as Lestat, is celebrating a birthday—or, more accurately, a re-birthday. It has been four centuries since he transformed.” She made a purring sound. “I’d like to give that Latin lover’s wife a run for her money. She never leaves him alone for a minute.”

“Wait. Are you saying that’s really them? They’re vampires, too?”

I stared at the group, unbelieving, and as if he sensed my gaze—and probably my lustful thoughts—the absurdly handsome actor who’d played Armand turned his head, smiled with fangs showing, and winked.

I gasped, then said, “Oh, wow” like a teenager, loudly enough for the entire room of hearing-enhanced bloodsuckers to hear, and pressed my palm against my chest, totally lost in the moment and oblivious to the fact that I was making a fool of myself.

Vampire insanity aside, I’d just seen one of my all-time movie lust-objects. And he looked so young! The fact that he was undead didn’t seem important. I briefly wondered if Devereux could get his autograph for me before I shook the stars out of my eyes and took some deep breaths.

Anne watched me sip my drink and swallow, her attention on my throat.

Startled by her focus, and not wanting to discuss my fan-girl reaction to the sensuous actor, I quickly brought the discussion back to her. “So, you said you were killed—how is that possible if you’re still here?”

“Good question. The answer is”—she stood and curtsied theatrically—“I faked my death, made it look as if I’d been beheaded. I entranced them all. No one knew I was a vampire, not even my husband the king.” She returned to her seat.

“You were married to a king? What king?”

“Why, Henry the Eighth, of course. The second monarch of the House of Tudor. He was crazy for me, until my political enemies poisoned his mind. I was angry to have to give up the throne so soon. I adored my role as queen.”

Queen? The identity of the woman sitting next to me slammed into my brain. “You’re Anne Boleyn?”

She twirled her hand in the air. “At your service.”

“But I’ve seen paintings of you …” My eyes examined her face, then involuntarily shifted to her cleavage. “You looked … different.”

She laughed. “Of course you know that we can appear as we wish. It’s fun to mix things up every so often.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet the notorious Anne Boleyn.” I held out my hand and she shook it.

“I haven’t used that name since,” she said, “but I might just have to dust it off and present myself to another king in the future—all that court intrigue was simply too much fun. Maybe I’ll wait for one of William’s children to grow up, then I’ll pay a visit. Who knows what delightful trouble I might get into?”

Before I could respond, she was off again. “Devereux actually spent some time at Henry’s castle with me. We’d already known each other for a century or more, and he came at the king’s invitation to foretell the future. It was Devereux who warned me of my husband’s lack of loyalty and prepared me for the unfolding drama. We had some time together in Paris after that.”

“Time together?”
Is Anne one of Devereux’s old flames? Am I really safe with her?

“Ah, yes.” She folded her hands in her lap. “You’re wondering what kind of relationship we had. I really can’t blame you—the lad is quite the catch. I admit I gave it my best shot, but we weren’t destined to be together for long. I was too much of a wild card, never could keep myself from stirring up trouble—the kind that draws mortal attention. But it was deliciously romantic while it lasted. And to answer your question, you are quite safe with me. I have no desire to make an enemy of my friend. He has enough to worry about right now.”

Frowning, I drained my glass and set it on a nearby table. Vampire mind-reading was getting very old, and the ability of most ancient vampires to invade my brain whenever they felt like it had become unacceptable. No matter how important my research might be, it wasn’t worth giving up my autonomy. Devereux had told me the night of his first visit to my office that he could teach me to shield my thoughts. If I intended to continue exploring this preternatural world, I’d need to take him up on his offer. Or find someone else who could educate me. And he’d said something intriguing—thoughts are fueled by emotions. What if I kept my mind calm? Would that make me harder to read? But how did one remain calm around night-walking bloodsuckers?