Lost in his despair, he didn't register the woman sitting next to him until she spoke. “Not too bad, is he?” She nodded at the piano player. “Better than the deafening rock and roll a lot of bars have.” She paused to sip her strawberry daiquiri. She didn't even pretend to wait for a reply to her transparent conversational ploy. “Would you like to dance?”
In spite of his distaste for this public soliciting, Roger allowed himself to be distracted. Anything was an improvement over his own thoughts. Automatically his predator's instinct evaluated the woman, Hispanic, buxom yet slim-waisted, with an upswept coil of glossy black hair. Though the pink in her cheeks came from blusher, her aura pulsed with rosy health. She didn't smell of smoke, drugs, or disease.
With no conscious intent, he snared her chocolate-brown eyes. Her patter trailed off into silence, and she stared at him unblinking. In five minutes he could lure her into the parking lot and taste her blood. The image roused no appetite; nausea welled up in his throat. “Get away from me!”
She jumped at his harsh tone and scurried to a table at the far end of the room.
He couldn't do it. Even when no ethical problem interfered, he couldn't feed on an entranced victim. Not after Britt's vibrant response.
Half-consciously he abandoned his drink, wandered out of the lounge, and headed toward home.Do I love her, then? Despite his lifelong study of human emotion, Roger still hadn't settled on a definite meaning for that word. Used in so many irreconcilable ways, it might as well be semantically null. He recalled Claude's litmus test for “love": “Do you still want her around when you aren't thirsty?”
By that criterion, Roger—cared—for Britt. He couldn't bring himself to use the more emotionally charged word. After all, as she'd justly accused, he hadn't even cared enough to resist temptation after giving a solemn promise.
Across the street near McDonald's, a teenage boy walked past wearing a T-shirt that read, “If you love something, let it go. If it returns to you, it is yours forever. If it doesn't return, hunt it down and kill it.”That's what I almost did.
What now? Leave Annapolis, as he'd left his Boston practice?
Some example of caring that would be! She's right, Dr. Darvell, you are a self-centered monster.No matter how she justifiably scorned him now, she needed him financially. The only honorable course, Roger decided, would be to stay as her partner, behaving with distant professional courtesy. If the anguish of seeing her daily without touching her half killed him, so be it. That was no more than he deserved.
He plunged into the woods again, crashing through the underbrush and seething with frustration. Dead leaves and pine needles rustled under his feet. When he slowed down, it was only from reluctance to go home and discover Britt had left. Flickering over his surroundings, his eyes registering the bluish auras of insects and the still paler haloes that surrounded live plants. He barely noticed, until the pink aura of a small mammal caught his attention.
His night vision picked out a raccoon waddling across the path several yards ahead. Doubtless used to dining on scraps from suburban garbage cans, the animal showed no fear. It gave Roger a bold glance and kept walking. Saliva pooled in his mouth. His jaws ached with the urge to bite—and here was a legitimate target for his hunger and fury.
Capturing the raccoon's eyes with his own, he forced it to stand paralyzed until he crept close enough to grab it. He flipped the limp animal onto its back and plunged his teeth into the sparsely-furred belly. Hot blood gushed, almost too fast to swallow. Roger gorged in a frenzy, dropping the corpse only when the arterial spurting ceased.
Although not exactly satisfied, he felt in control again. If Britt hadn't left, he wouldn't have to face her halfmad with need. He accelerated to a brisk trot. When he reached the town-house complex, it occurred to him, with a flash of grim amusement, that he had let a guest throw him out of his own home.
To his surprised relief, Britt's car was still there.
Chapter 18
He paused, hand on the doorknob, listening. Britt was still in the living room, her breathing ragged. He heard her leap up when he opened the door. She hadn't bothered to lock it—damn careless.
When he emerged from the foyer into the living room, she stood in front of the fireplace waiting for him, her shape outlined by the pulsing glow of her aura. She had started a fire in the hearth. Though her eyes were pink-rimmed from crying, her challenging “Well?” was crisply controlled.
“You should have locked the door,” he said, halting a few yards away. “You should take better care of—”
“Your property?”
The word stung, for it cut too close to his occasional impulses. “Never that, colleague. I simply want you to exercise reasonable caution. Sandor hasn't given up on us. He seems to be harassing Alice Kovak.”
“She did mention that.” Britt's voice held no shade of emotion. All that gave Roger hope was the absence of open hostility. She stared at him in the dim light of the fire and the single lamp he'd left on. “Whose blood?”
He hadn't realized how disreputable he must look. “Raccoon. Excuse me, I have to clean up.”
He retreated to the bathroom. In the mirror he found a streak of drying blood on his chin. A few dead leaves clung to his clothes, not to mention raccoon hairs on his shirt.I'm surprised she didn't run screaming for her car. He tasted not only blood but the fur he hadn't been able to avoid. He brushed his teeth, washed his face and hands, and grabbed a clean shirt from the bedroom.
In the living room, Britt was still pacing. At a gesture of invitation from him, she sat stiffly on the edge of one of the couches.
He sat opposite her, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “I was afraid when I got back, you wouldn't be here.”
“And I was afraid that if I left, you might not follow me.” She almost, but not quite, smiled. “I overreacted. Oh, there's no excuse for what you did, but blowing up at you won't help. And I didn't quite mean all those things I said.”
“Listen, please—I deeply regret breaking my word, and considering the disastrous consequences, I think you can count on its not being repeated.”
She folded her arms and said warily, “I accept that.”
“I won't desert you professionally, and if that's the way you want it, our future—associatio— need not be any more than professional.”
Her stiff pose melted along with the ice in her voice. “Oh, Roger, I don't want that! I don't want to end our relationship; I want to fix it.”
“So do I.” He packed all the sincerity he could into the words, without violating her by hypnotic coercion.
“Then why are you sitting over there?” Her voice quavered, and her cheeks reddened from emotion as well as the fire.
He joined her on the other couch. “I'm afraid I won't be able to hold back—that if I touched you, I'd try to influence you.”
“I trust you that far.” She clasped one of his hands in both of hers.
“What can I do to convince you that I won't repeat this—” “Mistake” was a flabby, self-serving word. “That I won't violate my promise again?”
“Listen, Roger, I can't be your conscience.” Her voice hardened again. “You have to straighten up and fly right for your own sake, not just for me.”
“I know that.” What he didn't know was how. Only his union with Britt stood between him and the life he'd led for nearly two decades. He squeezed her fingers, relaxing his grip when she winced. “I don't have just professional ethics to motivate me. I've got the memory of how completely—inadequate—” Her heartbeat accelerated, making him lightheaded. “Britt, I don't want anyone but you.”
She caught her breath in a gasp. “Roger—I had no idea.”
“What?”
“Touching you, like this, I can feel it—feel your hunger. I never suspected—you feelhollow."
“You can actually pick up my sensations?” Why should he be surprised? Her empathic talent had increased steadily over the past several weeks.
“Inhere.” She
laid a hand over her diaphragm. “Hunger—thirst—oh, Lord, it feels like you're dying.”
“Far from that! I'm used to the craving,” he said. “It hits you harder because it's new to you.”
“Forgive me, colleague, I've been too hard on you.”
Roger relaxed slightly, letting out the breath he hadn't been aware of holding. “Indeed? I came to precisely the opposite conclusion.”
“When I yelled at you for not waiting a single week, I didn't understand. I thought it was like—oh, going on a diet, or giving up chocolate for Lent.” Her nails dug into his skin. “I never suspected it was like this.”
“It wasn't, most of the time. Not until I became used to having you near, basking in your—affection.” His head pounded with tension. He didn't know how much longer he could restrain himself from pouncing on her. He disentangled his hand from hers. “Then I suddenly had to do without seeing you every day, touching you, if only for a minute at a time.”
“I've missed you, too, physically as well as emotionally. Withdrawal symptoms—you warned me, but I didn't think it would be so literally true. I've been jumpy, couldn't sleep, had no appetite—had to explain it to Darlene as a new variety of PMS.” Britt relaxed into a teasing grin that made Roger dizzy with the sudden release of anxiety. “And that's on top of the ordinary, nonpathological symptoms of missing you. First time I've used the vibrator in over two months.”
He felt himself flushing at her boldness, even as it delighted him. He wondered—not that it was any of his business—damn, he had to ask. “Did you purchase one on impulse or take it with you?”
“I packed it deliberately. I had a feeling I was going to miss you. A lot. My point is,” she continued, “if I felt that bad, how much worse must it be for you? I never came close to understanding that before. No wonder you couldn't resist when that girl practically fell into your lap. I always swore I wouldn't blame you for being what you are, and that's what I was doing.”
“A generous attitude, colleague, but you were right. If ordinary men can conform their biological drives to social constraints, I should be able to do the same.”
“Nevertheless, I overreacted—and you know why?” She blushed a faint pink. “Because for a few minutes I actually thought you'd been using me all this time—just a convenient food source, and any casual replacement would do as well.”
“Britt—” His chest constricted. Any protest would sound hollow. That he could have hurt her so, even briefly—!
“I know that isn't true. I really was jealous, can you believe it?” Again she flashed him a smile. “How does that make you feel?”
“Ashamed,” he said.
She held out her hands, palms upward in a tentative beckoning gesture. “You look terrible. I prescribe a hug.”
She melted into his arms. The next minute was a blur. His universe contracted to the pressure of her warm body against his, her breath on his neck, the pounding of her heart, her fingers in his hair. He embraced her as tightly as if he could merge his flesh with hers, cell to cell. “Dear God, Britt, I thought I'd lost you!”
“And I was afraid, when I said those horrible things, that you'd think I meant them.” Her voice shook. He tasted the salt of tears on her cheek.
“For God's sake, don't cry,” he groaned, kissing her neck. He'd been afraid that he wouldn't be able to touch her without ripping into her throat, but within the circle of her aura his hunger receded into the background. Her affection in itself refreshed him.
After a moment he regained enough control to speak without breaking into tears himself. “How long can you stay?” He loosened his hold to draw back and brush a hand over her erect nipples through the clinging shirt. The tiny heat-sensitive hairs in his palm tingled at the touch.
“All night,” she said, grazing the back of his neck with her tapered fingernails. “I don't care if tomorrow is Monday; I've missed you too much. You should have heard the way Darlene snickered about my getting a cross-country phone call from a man. She was actually relieved, though—she'd started to think you were a figment of my frustrated imagination. At least now she'll stop worrying that I might be a lesbian.”
Roger stared incredulously into her eyes. “She couldn't think that!”
“Not seriously, I guess, but what other reason could a passably attractive woman pushing forty have for staying unmarried?”
Their shared laughter at the absurd notion was short-lived. Within seconds a more urgent emotion overruled it. His intent gaze captured hers. He felt as if he were drowning in her eyes, instead of the reverse. She breathed rapidly through parted lips. “Roger, don't look at me that way—you make me feel faint.”
“I can't stop,” he murmured. “You intoxicate me. God, you smell delicious!”
“Oh, damn, Roger—I hate to admit it, but I want you so much I hurt.”
"Youhurt?”
Their open mouths met, her tongue darting at his as if she, too, were ravenous. His thirst revived, so fierce his head reeled with it. Terrified of treating her too roughly, Roger broke off the kiss and made himself slow down. He insinuated a hand under her shirt, savoring the heat of her skin. Her desire was so palpable that he didn't need her gasp of pleasure to confirm it. He felt drunk with the fragrance of her arousal.
“Wait.” Fighting for breath, he forced himself to stop caressing her. “Britt, before we go any further, there's something I must ask you.” Claude's advice sounded better all the time; Roger knew it was the only way to make Britt absolutely sure of his sincerity.
“Uh-oh, you sound serious again. That always means trouble.”
The tinge of anxiety in her voice pained him. “It doesn't have to. Feel perfectly free to refuse. I just want to suggest something that will increase the depth of our intimacy, our—openness.” He'd discovered that his fear of vulnerability was far less than his terror of any future estrangement. “I'd like you to drink my blood.”
“Sounds interesting. Why?”
“Two-way blood-sharing creates a telepathic bond. You'd never have to be afraid of my betraying you again, because you wouldknow .”
“You mean we could read each other's minds, like inDracula ? What Stoker calls the Baptism of Blood?” She sounded enthusiastic rather than frightened.
“Better than that, or so I've heard. The closeness is supposed to be unimaginable.” He hesitated to mention the other factor, knowing how she would react. “And also for your own protection.”
She frowned. “That again? How so?”
“You need to develop your psychic skills as fully as possible. I realize I can't stay with you twenty-four hours a day, and I see now that it would suffocate you if I did. With your paranormal powers enhanced by that bond, you'd be better able to protect yourself.”
Her joy washed over him like a stream of cool water in mid-summer heat. “Colleague, I thought you'd never ask!”
He pulled back to stare at her. “Youwant this?”
“I've been wondering about it for weeks. Ihadread Stoker, after all. I just had no idea whether it was really possible.”
“Then why didn't you ask?”
Britt snuggled up to him, her head on his shoulder. “What, and scare you away? Think I don't know how afraid you are of revealing yourself to anyone?”
Flushing, he said, “I didn't know it was that obvious—and I shouldn't have reacted that way with you.”
“What do we tell our patients? There are no ‘shoulds’ with emotions. Well? What are you waiting for?”
Her eagerness stirred his passion, which, however, did little to relieve his nervousness. “I'm not sure how to go about it.” He raised his left hand to his mouth, preparing to bite the wrist.
Britt clasped his hand. “Not there; it's too impersonal.”
“Well, I'm not going to try slitting my own throat with a pocketknife. In my present condition, I'd probably sever an artery. And I keep my nails trimmed too short for self-laceration like Dracula in the novel.”
After thinking for a
second, Britt said, “Here?” and kissed him on the shoulder.
Roger unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it back from his shoulders, then turned his head to slash the skin where her lips had touched. Though he was immune to the mild anesthetic in his own saliva, the razor-edge of his incisors was too keen to hurt. Britt pressed her open mouth to the trickle of blood.
His first reaction was an indrawn breath of astonishment at the rapture produced by her hot tongue. All his nerve endings vibrated with the electricity of her kiss. The blood seemed to bubble like champagne in his veins.
At the first brush of her naked mind on his, fear drowned his excitement. Memories of Sylvia's devouring emptiness and Volnar's cold probe overwhelmed him. For a moment he struck out blindly, unconscious of Britt as anything but an invading parasite.
Then pain speared him. Not his own pain, but hers. Dimly realizing that he was hurting Britt, he stopped fighting. Instead he slammed shut the door of his mind.
Britt vanished. He found himself in a gray void, falling endlessly. His own silent scream reverberated in his skull.
A gentle caress brushed his icy barrier, like the warmth of her hand. He locked onto that sensation and stopped falling.
“Let me in, Roger. It won't hurt. We can't hurt each other.” Thrusting his panic away like a poisonous insect, he opened to her.
He felt an echo of his own fear in her, immediately submerged by a flood of desire. Letting it sweep him away, he tasted a piercing sweetness even she had never given him before.
Gradually he became aware of tasting his own blood through her senses. With his own eyes shut in drugged enchantment, he saw himself through Britt's heavy-lidded gaze. The reversed vision made his head spin; sensing that, she closed her eyes. He felt her mounting passion, the hypersensitivity of her nipples, the tightening in her loins. He couldn't wait any longer; he bent to the sweet-scented curve of her neck and drank.
As their excitement grew, they fed the sensations back and forth to each other in a rising spiral, until Britt reached her peak, crying aloud. Strangely, linked with her, he felt a phantom tension and release in his own genitals—one small part of his pleasure. He shared her fulfillment to a soul-shaking depth he had never dreamed possible. She picked up that ecstasy, and it spurred her to another climax. They continued reinforcing each other, swept away in mutual delirium, until he made himself break away.
Dark Changeling Page 28
