Damn if it wasn’t the best dream ever. Even thinking about it gave me a hot body rush.
I shut down my newly reawakened libido with a sigh.
Back to the real world.
All it took was the simple act of sitting up to remind me that my physical body as well as my dream body had undergone quite a workout only a few hours before.
That realisation birthed a silly grin.
I guess it could have been the fact that, after two years, I’d been royally pleasured by the best lover I’d ever had. Magnificently shagged. Awesomely boinked. Spectacularly screwed. We’d surely broken the world record for the number of orgasms a couple could have and still be alive to talk about it.
Well, one of us was alive to talk about it, anyway.
I sat back against the very same headboard that had been witness to the athletic portion of the performance and sighed happily, still unable to stop grinning.
It occurred to me that I’d never asked Devereux where he went during the daylight hours. Did he sleep in a coffin? Maybe ‘sleep’ was the wrong word. But he’d told me he dreamed, and how could he dream if he didn’t sleep? How could he dream if he just died when the sun came up?
Now that I’d actually accepted the ludicrous idea that not only did vampires exist but I was having a mad, passionate sexual relationship with the Grand Pooh-bah, I realised I was very curious. If I was going to counsel real vampires, I needed to ask lots more questions and get much better answers. It was important that I didn’t simply shift from a total refusal to believe anything paranormal to a complete acceptance of any and all vampire weirdness. That was just too extreme for me, and not in the least scientific.
I threw the covers back, heaved my legs over the side of the bed, stood and attempted to stretch. All the major muscle groups in my body ganged up on me at once and started whining. If it hadn’t been for the fact that I had a full client load for the next twelve hours, I’d have considered diving back into the bed and pulling the covers over my head. With any luck, I’d fall back asleep and have the mountain dream again.
Instead I promised the complaining muscles a long hot shower and I propelled myself in that direction.
I hoped I’d be able to wipe the goofy grin off my face when I got to my office. On the other hand, it might do my clients good to have their notions about me confounded, to help them realise that change really could happen. Even to me.
Nerd Woman joins the twenty-first century.
Walking to the bathroom reminded me again what happened to muscles if you didn’t use them. The area between my legs was tender and sore, which was to be expected considering the size of the object that’d been in there.
I started the shower, adjusted the water temperature and stepped in. The soothing water flowed down my body, miraculously easing all the tight muscles while relaxing me into a boneless state. I washed my hair, then soaped the rest of me. The lathering came to an abrupt halt when I reached the area between my legs. Not only was it tender, but the soap caused a sudden burning pain.
‘Ow, dammit! When did that happen?’
Not sure who I was asking, I put the soap down and felt around the sore spot with my fingers. Beyond verifying that it was indeed uncomfortable, the examination didn’t give me much additional information.
Finding wounds on my body that weren’t supposed to be there had started to be a regular occurrence. It didn’t take a psychic to figure out that the feeling of déjà vu I experienced was because I’d been through this same routine just a few days earlier, thanks to Bryce.
Bryce. How weird that an entire vampire war had started over a broken heart. Not to mention the fact that the vampires in question supposedly had no functioning hearts. No heartbeats unless they chose to have them. I guess love, or in this case unrequited love, transcended life and death. Bryce wanted to destroy Devereux and the coven because he was a bloodsucker scorned. The therapist in me wondered if Bryce had ever been sane, even as a human. The idea of creating so much drama and trauma over a spurned relationship struck me as dysfunctional, but in the big picture, what else did vampires have to do to fill the millennia? Since he saw me as a threat to his happy-ever-after with Devereux I doubted he would lose interest in his vendetta before anyone else got hurt.
Finished with my shower, I towelled off and grabbed a hand mirror from the top of the vanity. Angling it so I could examine my nether regions, I ran a fingertip gingerly along the tender skin, but still couldn’t make out anything in particular.
Maybe we’d just rubbed the poor little thing raw with our callisthenics.
But when I pulled back the lip, clearly visible on the inside were two not-so-tiny holes floating in a sea of angry red skin.
‘What the hell?’
I reached over, opened the medicine cabinet above the sink and retrieved the tube of antiseptic salve that I’d used for my last bite wound.
Dotting it carefully on the sore spots, I struggled to remember any time during the night when Devereux had bitten anything but my neck.
Instinctively I lifted my hand up to my throat, checking for evidence of what I clearly remembered, but I felt only smooth skin. I raised the mirror, shifted my neck around to display all sides, then shook my head.
Nothing. No sign of the sensuous nibble. Not even a pink spot.
Either I’d blacked out and missed a very erotic chapter in our book of carnal knowledge, or something altogether different had happened.
Then, as if someone switched on a movie, I remembered the last scene of the mountain dream. The labial feast.
‘It was not a dream,’ floated through my mind in a familiar voice.
‘Devereux?’ I jumped up and ran into my bedroom.
‘We were in another dimension and I was careless. My heartfelt apologies, my love. I will heal your wound tonight.’
‘Dever—’ I almost got his name out before I realised the voice was coming from inside my head. Or at least I was pretty sure that no one else could hear it.
At least, not anyone I could see.
I’ll never get used to this.
I paused for a moment, waiting for any remaining astral proclamations, but the voice remained silent.
Well, that’s great. Now even my dreams leave scars.
I didn’t know whether I was being open-minded or stupid, but one thing was certain: nothing surprised me any more.
Well, almost nothing. With help from the police, I made it out of my house and into my office later that morning. As soon as I stepped off the elevator, I knew something was wrong. Not only did my intuitive radar system send up a warning, but my regular senses shifted into overdrive. I’d learned from recent and past experience not to ignore those kinds of signals.
I walked slowly along the short hallway between the elevators and my waiting room, steeling myself for what I’d find. That usually closed door was now open and a horrendous stench wafted from my inner office.
I set my purse and briefcase against the wall opposite the entryway, gingerly pushed the waiting room door open with one finger and discovered that the main door was not only open, it was off its hinges, lying on the floor in front of my desk.
All the chairs and tables in the waiting area had been overturned, some of them broken, and everything was coated with a dark reddish-brown substance. On the wall someone had scrawled, in childish print in that same horrible colour, ‘i will not suffer a witch to live’ and ‘you will be washed in the blood’.
As bad as that was, my intuition told me it was only the prelude to the main concerto.
Holding my breath, I picked my way through the debris to the doorway of my office and surveyed the scene.
Compared to the condition of this larger room, the mess in the waiting area had been child’s play. Perhaps that wasn’t an inaccurate diagnosis of the perpetrator’s developmental level.