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

  First published in Great Britain in 2012 by

  Quercus

  55 Baker Street

  7th Floor, South Block

  London

  W1U 8EW

  Copyright © 2012 by Lynda Hilburn

  The moral right of Lynda Hilburn to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  eBook ISBN 978 1 84866 264 3

  Published in print in the USA by Silver Oak/Stirling

  ISBN 978 1 45490 036 8

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  You can find this and many other great books at:

  www.quercusbooks.co.uk

  Lynda Hilburn’s varied career has taken her from rock-’n’roll, as a singer/musician, to psychology, as a certified psychotherapist. She has also worked as a typesetter/copy-editor, a professional psychic/tarot reader, a university instructor and a workshop presenter, before she turned her talents to writing fiction. She lives in Boulder, Colorado. You can visit her at: www.lyndahilburnauthor.com

  Also by Lynda Hilburn

  The Vampire Shrink

  To my son, Daniel, who makes life interesting

  Chapter 1

  But she’s fat, Doctor Knight!” The lithe vampire was wringing his hands compulsively in his lap as he whined, “You know fat women remind me of my mother—”

  “Yes, Nicky. I know.” I took a deep breath and struggled to keep my expression neutral. He’d repeated this story several times in earlier therapy sessions. “It’s very unfair that you were turned by a … large female vampire and that she insists you share her coffin—and other things.”

  Even vampires think it’s okay to denigrate people of size—well, why not? They used to be human.

  He leaped off the couch and paced the lush blue carpet in the space between us. “Just so you know, it ain’t that I’ve got anything against my mother. She was a nice lady. She did the best she could. I guess it wasn’t her fault she had a disease or condition that made her blimp up to three hundred pounds.” He strode to the window and stood staring out silently for a few seconds, his hands clasped behind his back. “She didn’t mean for all the kids in the neighborhood to make fun of me for having a hippo mom. I’m not blaming her. I tried not to be disgusted by her.” His voice softened. “I was sorry when she died.”

  Setting my notepad and pen on the table next to my chair, I rose and joined him at the window. Sometimes just being with a client is the best I can do. We stood together, watching the lights of Denver glitter from our lofty vantage point.

  Maybe I should change my title to Dr. Kismet Knight, Vampire Whisperer.

  I studied his frowning reflection in the glass. He was an attractive young man, closer to pretty than handsome—the word “winsome” came to mind. His dancer’s body and long, silky light-brown hair gave him a decidedly androgynous appearance. He looked to be in his early twenties, but I knew he’d been a vampire for fifty years.

  Good thing new vampires couldn’t read minds for decades—sometimes centuries—or I’d go crazy trying to censor myself around clients like Nicky.

  “Last week you said you were going to tell Wanda why you have strong negative reactions when she tries to have sex with you or wants to keep you in her coffin all night. Did you talk to her?”

  He gasped, and his gaze shot to mine, his deep-green eyes wide. He looked as horrified as if I’d come at him with a sharp stake. “N– No, no! I could never talk to her about those things—I could never disobey my moth— I mean, Wanda.” Glazed eyes now transfixed on the window again, he hugged himself tightly for a moment, then raised a slender wrist to his mouth and began gnawing furiously.

  “Nicky!” I jumped aside as blood spurted from the holes he’d made in his arm, splashing onto the window, fouling my black pantsuit, and oozing into the carpet. “What are you doing? Please stop!” What the hell? He’d never done anything like that before.

  He stopped chewing on himself long enough to speak. He turned to me, blood dripping from his fangs, and said, “It makes me feel better, Doctor Knight. I saw this TV show about a girl who cuts herself with razor blades. She said it relieved her anxiety. I tried cutting, but the wounds healed too fast—but this works for me. I’ve been doing it for a while. It really takes my mind off whatever I’m worried about. You said I should learn different ways to cope, didn’t you?”

  Holy crap. Be careful what you ask for. …

  “Hurting yourself wasn’t what I had in mind, Nicky. Please stop.” My heart was still racing, and my breath came in shallow bursts. I was sure I looked shocked as I surveyed the red stains on the wall and carpet and examined my soiled slacks. I was definitely going to have to start wearing blood-repelling leather clothing.

  He reluctantly lowered his arm, which had already stopped bleeding. The holes disappeared as I watched. Still sniffling, he covered his face with his hands, then mumbled, “I’m sorry, Doctor Knight. I didn’t mean to be bad. If you tell Wanda, she’ll punish me.”

  Does he think that’s a good thing or bad? Knowing Nicky, it could go either way.

  “We don’t have to tell Wanda anything about what happens in our sessions, Nicky.” I recognized the familiar pattern: progress gained in one hour usually evaporated in the next. Every time I met with Nicky I felt like we’d stumbled into an old X-Files episode: we were stuck in an endlessly repeating time loop—although he didn’t appear to notice. Apparently he’d been cycling through this approach-avoidance pattern with his maker for the last five decades. I didn’t know enough about the bond between a vampire and his creator to make even an educated guess about what would help him—hell, I’d been officially counseling vampires for only a few weeks—it was less than three months since I’d blundered into the bloodsucker underworld. I was lucky I hadn’t become an unwilling evening snack or coffin-toy yet.

  His eyes now glued to my face, his fangs fully extended, he slowly raised his arm toward his mouth again. He thrust his tongue out in quick darting movements, licking the dried blood from his arm, all the while shifting his weight from foot to foot. He inched his arm closer to his teeth.

  Gee, what a surprise. He wants to see what I’ll do, how far he can push me.

  “Nicky?” I layered my I’m an authority tone into my voice. “Don’t even think about it.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I examined the spatter. “Who’s going to clean up the blood on the glass and the carpet? It seems only fair that you should take care of it.”

  He dropped his arm, his chin trembling. “What?” A tear spilled down his cheek. “You want me to clean? I don’t know how to get blood out of stuff—Wanda always does that. See how messed up I am? I can’t do anything! You have to help me, Doctor Knight!”

  Same song, same verse … “I’m here to teach you to help yourself, Nicky. If you keep coming to therapy, keep practicing your skills, I promise things can get better.”

  A muscle jumped in his cheek, and he frowned. Then he turned back to the window and stared out, clearly unconvinced.

  Nick
y was young for a vampire, at least compared to some of the other multi-century specimens I’d had on my couch, and he was struggling through an extended undead adolescence. I’d discovered the greater the time since the turning, the more autonomy the undead acquired. Nicky would probably figure things out eventually. Maybe. I intended to speak to Devereux, the Master of the local vampire coven and my—what? Boyfriend? Significant other? Friend with benefits? None of those descriptions quite fit—about my conflicted client.

  For safety—mine—and confidentiality, I insisted that all my supernatural clients sign a Release of Information form giving me permission to consult with their leader. I didn’t want any pointy surprises. But Devereux had been so busy, and so out of sorts, as he recovered from being captured and subjected to a black-magic ritual orchestrated by a demented offspring—the bloodsucker formerly known as Bryce—that I hadn’t had time to broach the subject.

  “It’ll be okay, Nicky,” I said softly. “You’ll work things out with Wanda. You always do.” I raised my hand to pat him on the shoulder, then thought better of it. Vampires couldn’t be counted on to have human-like reactions, and I was still learning to alter my behavior with my nocturnal clients. Nicky was too immature to be completely trustworthy.

  Maybe I need to bring Wanda in for some couples’ therapy. Note to self: buy rubber sheets for the furniture.

  “How will it be okay?” He turned sad eyes to me. “She’s my maker, so I’m tied to her forever. She’ll never let me go.”

  “I don’t know”—I glanced at the clock—“but I’m going to ask someone who might have some advice for you.” Where’s a bloodsucking clinical supervisor when I need one?

  “Someone?” He tilted his head, confused. “You mean a human?”

  “No, not a human, a vampire. Someone powerful.” I stepped back from the window and walked toward the door to the waiting room. “That’s all the time we have for tonight, Nicky. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll tell you what I discover when I see you next week.”

  He skipped across the room, swinging his arms, a wide smile on his face. “Do you mean you’ll ask the Master?”

  Everyone in the local vampire community knew I had a unique relationship with Devereux—in fact, my undead main squeeze had been graphically clear about what he’d do to any vampire who laid a fang on me. So far, his threats had kept me off the menu.

  “Wait.” Nicky stopped, the corners of his lips turning down. “Is the Master even the Master anymore?”

  “What do you mean?” Why would he ask such a thing?

  I turned the handle and opened the door.

  Ensconced on the white couch in my waiting room sat the blond god in question, decked out in his usual body-skimming high-fashion black leathers. His thick platinum hair flowed down his well-toned chest in the most touchable, inviting manner. Blue-green gemstone eyes sparkled.

  A fallen angel.

  He gave a devastating grin, and Nicky gasped and fell to his knees, question forgotten. “Master!”

  As always when Devereux was near, my body developed a mind of its own. My heart pounded, my mouth declared a drought, and my knees weakened. I blinked to clear the sudden fog and clutched the doorknob for support. I didn’t know what it was about him—perhaps it was his mystical vampire vibe, or maybe his personal charisma and raw sex appeal—but once again my brain cells refused to report for duty and my libido dimmed the lights.

  My mouth fell open as a sharp pain radiated across my brow. I stared at him, and the room temperature suddenly spiked. Sweat beaded on my forehead and trickled between my breasts.

  Whew! Did somebody turn up the heat in here? Maybe I should just take off a few of these clothes. …

  “Good evening, Doctor Knight,” said the gorgeous nightwalker, widening his dazzling smile as he rose in a fluid motion. “I hope I am not interrupting.”

  Interrupting? Am I doing something? Oh, yeah. Counseling. Client. Psychologist. I remember. I leaned toward Devereux and inhaled deeply. There’s that amazing aroma. Spicy. Earthy. Sensual. Edible. Wait—what’s happening? Snap out of it, Kismet! Why does he always scramble my senses?

  As I tried—and failed—to form coherent words or thoughts, Nicky speed-crawled across the floor and wrapped his arms like fleshy shackles around Devereux’s legs. He pressed his face against the supple leather. “Master! I can’t believe I’m in the same room with you. What an honor.”

  Devereux arched an eyebrow, his disturbingly sensual lips gently lifting at the corners as he stared down at his devotee. “Rise, child.”

  Nicky lurched to his feet as if he’d been yanked up by invisible hands. A look of adoration on his face, he stared into Devereux’s eyes.

  “Say goodnight to Doctor Knight and be on your way,” the Master crooned in his deep, vibrant voice.

  His eyes still locked on Devereux’s, Nicky mumbled, “G’nite, Doctor,” then he turned, zombie-like, and shuffled out through the door into the hallway.

  The usual struggle took me hostage: my body instinctively wanted to move toward Devereux like a flower bending to the sun, but my brain—at least, the tiny part that wasn’t missing in action thanks to his innate vampire juju—reminded me that I barely knew this attractive, scary male and that I was tired of other people deciding what I should and shouldn’t do.

  I shook myself and blinked to break the spell Devereux’s appearance always cast on me, then I sucked in a deep breath and licked my dry lips. The pain in my head morphed from a bonfire to a simmer.

  Why am I having so many headaches lately? Maybe I should have my eyes checked.

  “That’s incredibly annoying, you know.”

  “Annoying?” he asked, looking deceptively innocent. “To what are you referring?”

  “Yeah.” I took a step back from the doorway, and from Devereux, in a vain attempt at self-control. “As if you didn’t notice the pseudo-lobotomy-without-anesthesia my brain gives itself whenever you show up. I thought you said I’d get used to your vibration, or your aura—whatever the vampire version is—and I’d stop turning into the village idiot in your presence. Oh, wait, no, I mean the hormone-riddled village idiot. But what am I saying? You probably like it.”

  He laughed, which was even more annoying, and propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. “I promise you will acclimate.” He pretended to pout, which wasn’t very effective because his mouth kept twitching as he fought a smile. “Soon I fear you will have no reaction at all to my arrival and I shall be reduced to competing with all your human suitors.”

  I didn’t have any human suitors at the moment, and he knew it: he’d cleared the decks. But that wasn’t anything I’d admit, or a subject I wanted to discuss, so I switched channels. “What did you do to Nicky? Why was he walking so strangely?”

  Devereux chuckled. “His body resisted the command I sent to his brain. He is too young to understand the futility of fighting a directive from one so many centuries older than himself. He will learn.”

  He thinks mind control is amusing?

  He moved effortlessly, with surreal vampire grace, stepping inside my office and closing the space between us. He sniffed the air. “Mmm. Such an enticing aroma.” His eyes tracked down my body to the invisible-to-humans bloodstain on my black slacks. “Why do you have vampire blood on your clothing? Did Nicky misbehave?”

  “Er, not really. Just a little messy self-soothing.”

  He leaned down to me until we were almost touching, then slowly skimmed his lips over my skin down to my neck.

  My heart was slamming against my ribs like the drums of a marching band while my imagination was rolling out the red carpet.

  He licked along my pulsing jugular. “Of course, nothing can surpass the scent of your sweet blood, my love,” he whispered into my ear, then straightened and gave me the full effect of those baby blue-greens.

  A feeble groan escaped my lips just before he kissed me. He gently pried my fingers off the chair I’d grabbed onto and pulled me tight against him a
s he took the kiss deeper. A low growl rumbled in his throat.

  Without conscious thought my arms closed around his waist and my lips settled in for the duration. For some reason, whenever Devereux touched me, nothing mattered but him. My brain pressed the pause button, and all competing impulses disappeared in a haze of yearning. My bones melted along with my resistance as his spicy, intoxicating aroma overwhelmed my senses and made my head spin.

  He whispered in my mind, “Yes, I desire you also. We are finally together.”

  Finally together? Like a bucket of cold blood his words snapped me back to full awareness and I stiffened. He’d been saying things like that since I first met him, and I still didn’t understand what he meant. He appeared to be experiencing a different reality: to my mind, there was no finally involved. We’d known each other just over two months, and for part of that time he’d been in some kind of mystical near-death coma. He’d rejoined the land of the living—so to speak— only a few weeks ago. Maybe he’d suffered a form of undead brain damage while he floated “between the worlds,” as he called it. I didn’t know how else to explain his strange fascination with me. What could an ordinary Denver psychologist possibly offer to so intrigue an eight-hundred-year-old vampire? Even my blood type was average.

  “There is nothing average about you, Doctor.” As he raised his mouth from mine to answer my silent question his enticing voice caressed my ears. “On the contrary, you are indeed special. I have waited for you my entire life. My heart belongs to you.”

  What?

  “I really don’t know what you mean.” I pushed back from him and raised my eyes, although I kept them firmly anchored on his chin. I didn’t want to become any more entranced than I already was. The subtle pounding in my head picked up its pace. “How am I special? Why does your heart belong to me? Did I miss the first chapter of this book?” I took another step back and bumped into my potted ficus tree. Damn. So much for a graceful retreat! I recovered and shifted over to lean against my desk. Why do I always act so weird around him?