I scanned the room and noticed that all the modern office equipment one could need was there – computer, fax machine, printer – built into antique desks, armoires and tables interspersed among colourful couches and chairs. One half of the room was obviously used as a library, the walls lined with bookshelves holding thousands of books, some of which appeared to be very old.
‘Welcome to my private office.’ Devereux bowed. ‘Make yourself at home.’
‘Wow, this is amazing,’ I said, mostly to myself, as I wandered around the room, exploring. He had marvellous taste in furnishings and a remarkable sense of colour. Appreciating the care he’d put into creating his workspace made me remember my own sparsely appointed office and I vowed to give it more attention. If it was true that someone’s outer world reflected his inner world, then Devereux was indeed a complex and multifaceted person.
When I turned back to him, it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen him in bright light since he’d come to my office to interrupt Bryce’s attack. As attractive as he appeared upstairs in the dim lighting of the club, now the combination of his shining blond hair and luminous blue-green eyes was almost overwhelming. He wore leather trousers that were a dark version of the colour of his eyes and a silk shirt of nearly the same shade. His boots had a full heel that made him even taller than he already was, which caused his lean, muscular body to look even more impressive.
I moved over to him, stood with our bodies almost touching, and gazed up at him. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘Everything.’ He pulled me against him and his lips reclaimed mine.
My body came alive with sensations and desires. The longer we kissed, the more I became convinced I wouldn’t survive the intensity of the feelings I was experiencing. My knees were weak and all my pleasure centres throbbed with need. I felt him hard and thick against the front of my blue jeans. He made sounds that were part moan, part growl.
My heart was pounding so loud and fast it took me a minute to figure out that both of our hearts were beating together in a synchronised rhythm. I could almost hear the blood pumping through my veins.
He suddenly jerked away from me and retreated a step, observing me from beneath his dark eyelashes. Throwing back his head, he ran his tongue over his top lip and gave a quick glimpse of fangs.
I gasped in surprise, still lost in the web of desire we’d spun.
He closed his eyes and breathed out a heavy sigh. As he did that, the long canines retracted back up into his gums.
When he opened his eyes again, he studied me, his expression serious. ‘It has been many years since I have lost control of myself that way. You do indeed have great power over me. I hope I did not frighten you.’
I knew that I’d just seen Devereux’s teeth do the same curious thing Bryce’s had when he forced me to put my finger on his tooth in my office, and I didn’t have any better explanation now than I had then, but I really didn’t care. I kept feeling that I should care, but I just didn’t. I’d either have to accept his strange role-playing or walk away.
‘You didn’t frighten me,’ I whispered.
‘Come. There is something I wish to show you.’
He took my hand and drew me over to one of the book-cases, where he ran his fingers along the inside panel and pressed something that made a slight clicking sound. The large bookcase swung backwards, creating the entrance to an adjoining room. Devereux eased me through the opening in the wall of books into that other space, which was roughly half the size of the huge area we’d left, but still very large.
To say this was the most extraordinary room I’d ever seen would be an understatement. The floor was white marble etched with Celtic, astrological, alchemical, and other magical symbols in patterns of various colours. False walls of rich wood had been constructed over the natural stone, and paintings, which appeared to be the work of the same artist, covered most of the available space. The air held a subtle fragrance, a combination of incense and herbs. On one side of the room was a large antique bed, with bright-coloured bedding. Not a coffin in sight. At least he wasn’t quite that delusional.
I had expected the bed to be our destination, and I felt both nervous and aroused about the prospect, but to my surprise, Devereux guided me to the other end of the room, which was filled with shelves and tables full of strange bottles, odd substances and peculiar items. In addition, there were candles of every colour, shape, and size. Further along the wall was an artist’s easel, many canvases, and some paint supplies.
Devereux walked over to the easel. ‘I want you to know me.’ He held out his hand.
I joined him at the easel and let my eyes take in the lovely scene of a sunrise that was partially completed. He pointed to the rising sun in the picture. ‘Perhaps we all want what we cannot have?’
‘All these paintings are yours? You’re an artist?’
‘Painting is one of my passions.’
I moved around the room, closely inspecting the paintings hanging on each wall. There was a mix of breathtaking outdoor scenes alongside portraits of people dressed in clothing from other centuries. As amazing as the landscape scenes were, the portraits were even more spectacular. It was as if he’d captured the essence of each person’s soul and added that mystical element to the final painting in some magical way.
‘They’re beautiful. You’re very talented.’
He bowed. ‘I have had a very long time to practise.’
One painting in particular drew me and I walked over to stand before it. The woman in the picture had the same hair and eyes as Devereux. She was dressed in a flowing white gown that made me think of angels, and around her neck she wore an exquisite pentagram on a silver chain.
‘That was my mother,’ he said, coming to stand beside me.
I noted the ‘was’ in his statement. ‘I’m sorry. Did you lose her recently?’
‘No.’ He turned to me and smiled sadly. ‘She died very long ago, but I still miss her. She taught me everything I know. She was an amazing woman.’
He walked back over to the shelves and tables of unusual objects.
‘What’s the stuff in the bottles? What do you do with all those candles?’ I asked, moving over to explore the strange objects.
‘Magic.’
‘Magic? You mean magic tricks, like a magician?’
He pivoted to stand in front of me and met my eyes with his.
‘They are not tricks, but yes, “magician” is one of the names those such as I have been called throughout the ages. We are also referred to as magus, shaman or wizard. I have a particular fondness for the title wizard because it honours the Druid lineage from which I descend.’
‘What? You’re a Druid?’ I thought about the documentary I’d seen featuring robe-clad pagans celebrating the Summer Solstice at Stonehenge in England. Maybe that was where his role-playing originated. ‘Wow. I thought the Druids died out after the Romans. Your family must go back for ever.’ He thinks he’s a Druid. Can he tell the different between reality and fantasy?
He winked. ‘Yes, I can tell the difference.’
Annoyed, I crossed my arms over my chest. ‘Stop reading my thoughts. It’s rude. And you might hear things you won’t like.’
‘I apologise, and you are correct. I often hear thoughts I do not like. But in this case I could not resist. Your doubts about me are very strong. They scent the air. In response to your statement, my family is very old, and it is a commonly held mortal belief that the Druids disappeared after the Roman era. But many hidden tribes of Druids continue to thrive into the present, our existence unknown to human historians.’