Dark Changeling

by Margaret Carter

  Britt heaved a deep sigh. “How different is that from a combat vet or a body-builder or a martial arts expert? We all have to learn to curb our instincts. Your problem may not be quite the same as other people's, but it doesn't make you a monster. Or absolve you from listening to your superego, for that matter.”

  The cold lump in his chest began to thaw. “It would be easy to use the ‘monster’ status as an excuse, wouldn't it? I don't suppose you've changed your mind about serving as my super-ego?”

  “No, thanks, I decline that nomination. And Jiminy Cricket is otherwise employed.” She stroked Roger's jaw and teased the corners of his mouth. “Enough, this is too soon to think about it. Do you need to—”

  He felt no appetite, only a yearning to sink into the enfolding shelter of her love. “I thought—I didn't think you'd want to be touched.”

  “You call that thinking?” she said with mock severity. “I know the difference between rape and love.”

  “Really, I can't, not so soon after—that. And you shouldn't. We both need sleep more than anything. Do you need help relaxing?”

  She nestled into the curve of his arm. “Not now.”

  * * * *

  SLEEP THREW HIM back into that locked room, with his eyes burning from the glare of the sun. Britt lay supine on the floor; this time, though, her arms and legs were immobilized, chained to wooden pegs driven through the rug into the floorboards. She arched her back like a bow, keening her terror and pain. Roger strained to rise from the bed and release her. Like a stake through the heart, the sun pinned him down.

  Peter Kovak stood over Britt, straddling her. He aimed the revolver at her chest. It fired. The deafening crack plunged Roger into darkness.

  * * * *

  HIS EYES SNAPPED open. Britt, curled against him, trembled and gasped. When he touched her shoulder, she opened her eyes and stared blankly for a second before waking to full awareness.

  “Oh, man.” She swiped a hand across her face. “Nightmare. You, too?”

  He nodded.

  “I'll bet it was the same one.” She stretched, then rested her head on his shoulder. “An unwanted side effect of the bond that I never would've expected.”

  “Nor I.” His breathing slowed to normal. “I'm almost afraid to go back to sleep, not if it does that to you. To both of us.”

  “Something else is bothering you,” she said. “Besides com

  mitting manslaughter and worrying about a homicidal vampire lurking somewhere out there.”

  “Oh, you don't think that's enough?”

  “You know I can sense when you're not leveling with me,” she said.

  “If so, I'm not conscious of it myself.” Under the gentle pressure of her attention, he mulled over the images swarming in the back of his mind. One that he hadn't expected drifted to the surface. “Good Lord, I didn't realize—” His lungs tightened.I can't tell her that. It's too petty.

  “What is it, Roger?”

  “It's ridiculous. I don't even want to mention something so trivial and self-absorbed, compared to what you've been through.”

  “You might as well,” she said, tracing circles on his chest, “because I won't leave you alone until you talk.”

  “While your life was in danger, I realized how I've—deprived you—destroyed your chance for normal love.”

  “What!” She brought her unprofessional shock under control. “Explain yourself, and don't give me any nonsense about home, family, and the patter of little feet. That would be illogical, even for you, since you know I had my tubes tied a month before we met. I have no desire to get pregnant at age thirty-five-plus, and if I ever wanted children after all, I'd adopt.”

  “There's one other significant thing an ordinary man can give you that I can't.” He drew a deep breath and forced out the next words. “What Peter tried to do—he could hurt you that way, and I can never give you—”

  “Oh, Roger!” Britt's hands massaged his temples, coaxing him to relax. “I've told you over and over that I don't miss it.”

  “So you have, and I know you're sincere—or think you are. Nevertheless, that doesn't prove you don't, on some level, feel cheated.”

  “Why me, Lord?” Britt muttered. “Why couldn't I have fal

  len for some nice, straightforward, simple-minded man of action, like my brother-in-law?” She laid her head on his shoulder again. “I didn't realize that particular omission bothered you so much.”

  “Nor did I, until a crisis made me aware of it,” Roger admitted.

  “The obvious remedy is to take direct action and correct the omission,” Britt said.

  “You know I can't—”

  “No, I only know you believe you can't. Why?”

  “I've explained to you that I've been incapable ever since I started—”

  Her hard stare cut him off. “There's that rigid mind-set of yours again. You are unique. Stop limiting yourself to preconceived categories.”

  “Don't you always remind me that it does no good to lecture a patient?”

  “All right, I got carried away. But why do you insist that your vampire genes make you incapable of penile-vaginal intercourse? The assumption is completely untested.” She raised her head to look into his eyes. “Isn't it?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Then let's test it.”

  “Is that what you want? Now, after—all that?”

  “I certainly wouldn't object,” she said. “I'd love for you to get my mind off—all that. Wash away the taste of it.”

  He gave her a fierce hug.

  “But right now I'm just the therapist. The point is, would it help you? Would it defuse any of this exaggerated guilt you're hauling around?”

  The thought of sharing that intimacy with Britt excited him more than he would have expected. “If you think it's possible, I'd be glad to try.”

  “It's easy to find out. You role-play the patient, and I'll ask you the same questions I'd ask an ordinary man being treated for sexual dysfunction, to decide between sending him to a urologist or the Masters-Johnson clinic.”

  “Well, this is infinitely preferable to your office couch,” said Roger as her nails skimmed lightly over his chest. “Fire away.”

  She sat up and drew his head into her lap. “Do you have morning erections? Or whatever the equivalent should be called.”

  “Yes.”

  “Any sensation associated with it?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have psychogenic erections?”

  “No, I need direct physical contact.” After a moment's thought, he revised his answer. “Except where you're concerned. The touch of your mind has the same effect as the touch of your hand.”

  “Do you masturbate?” She wasn't as unembarrassed as she tried to appear; her cheeks turned pink.

  “When you were out of town, I tried it for the first time in over a decade. After twenty minutes with no relief in sight, I decided it was a pointless exercise in frustration.” He absent-mindedly rub his head against her thighs. “You already know most of this.”

  “But I have to pretend I don't. You're the patient, remember?” Her hand wandered down to his genitals.

  “If you treated your patients this way, you'd lose your license.”

  “You don't ejaculate at all?”

  “No—and that you do know.”

  “But you don't miss it, do you? You have orgasms, very intense ones. I know that from experience.”

  Growing impatient with her casual caresses, he lifted her hand to his lips and nuzzled the wrist where the pulse throbbed.

  Difficulty in breathing made her voice less firm when she spoke again. “I don't miss it either. Since I can't get pregnant, it's irrelevant anyway. What we want is penetration, not the mechanics of a particular kind of orgasm.”

  “You think we can achieve—penetration?”

  “Why not?” She resumed fondling him. “You obviously have erections sufficient for intromission—I've seen plenty of hard evidence for tha
t.” She gave the “evidence” a firm squeeze.

  “Colleague, spare me the dreadful puns!” He wasn't so foolishly possessive as to question where she'd gained the experience to judge so confidently. Of course a beautiful woman in the prime of middle age wasn't untouched. Roger felt gratified enough knowing that she'd had no one else since before they met.

  “If you were a human patient,” she said, “I would remind you that you have perfectly normal erectile responses. I would diagnose ejaculatory incompetence. However, since you aren't a typical human male, for you it's not dysfunction; it's perfectly normal. So why are you giving yourself hell over it?” Shifting his head out of her lap, she lay on top of him and nibbled his shoulders and chest.

  “Is this part of the therapy?” he said, running his hands slowly up and down her back. The smoothness of her skin sent electricity quivering through the cilia in his palms. His dormant lust awoke with blinding intensity.

  “Sure. You've heard of sex surrogates?”

  “I can't think of you as a surrogate anything—you are unique.” He wanted to touch her everywhere at once, to merge with her, immerse himself in the tidal rhythm of her blood. “Beloved, I wouldn't want you to feel rushed, but I think I'm in danger of expiring from thirst in the next thirty seconds.”

  “Physiologically impossible.” She scooted down and nipped the inside of his thigh, threatening his already precarious control.

  “Two minutes, then. Three at the outside. That's not fair; I can't reach you this way.”

  “Then you just have to suffer.” Her tongue flicked over his erection, then up his abdomen and chest to tantalize each of his nipples in turn.

  He groaned aloud and tightened his arms around her. “Please—now.”

  She eased out of his embrace, but only to lie on her back. “Like this,” she said.

  Hesitantly he moved on top of her. “You don't mind my weight?”

  “You never worried about that before.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Don't feel obligated if you don't want to.”

  “Oh, God, you know I do!” She opened to him, and he plunged into her as smoothly as if they had rehearsed the maneuver a thousand times. Instead of submerging himself in the sharing of her perceptions, he held a slight distance to savor his own sensations to the fullest. He had touched and tasted her moist heat over and over, yet this intimate embrace seemed an entirely new feeling.

  “Don't try to move,” she whispered. “I just want to hold you.” Her legs twined around his. She gasped and cried out his name. The imminence of her climax sent his desire spiraling out of control. Tasting the sweetness of her blood, he wondered on some detached level if all women, at the moment of fulfillment, pulsed inside with such ardent strength. It didn't seem possible.

  When she began to rock her hips, he moved slowly, then faster as her thrusts accelerated. She spiraled into a second climax, drowning his doubts in ecstasy.

  At last he rolled on his side, bringing her with him. Her cheeks, he found, were damp with tears. He kissed away the drops, reminded, in a low-key, unstimulating way, of what he'd just drunk from her veins. “And you said you hadn't missed it.”

  “I hadn't, in the abstract,” she said. “I'm just sorry I waited so long to have it with you.”

  “Are you ready to go back to sleep?” He no longer feared losing himself in unconsciousness.

  She stifled a yawn. “Sounds like a great plan.”

  Holding her, he allowed himself to sink into oblivion. The release of tension freed the deeper layers of his mind to process the data that his earlier anxiety had buried.

  Hours later, he dreamed again. This time he stood in the back yard of the Kovaks’ house, with Peter's gun trained on him. When Peter glanced toward the woods, Roger followed that look. The garage caught his attention. In the dream, he noticed what hadn't registered in real time. The windows in the front of the large door were covered by dark curtains.

  The dream-landscape showed him something that hadn't been there at all, before. He glimpsed a red gleam under the trees at the rear of the lot. The dim shape surrounding the twin points of crimson expanded, darkened, until it became the outline of huge, batlike wings.

  Roger woke more smoothly this time. Sitting up, he gazed down at Britt. She stirred and opened her eyes. “I remember what Peter said,” she murmured.

  “Yes,” Roger said."He explained what happened to Alice.He taught Peter how to deal with me.”

  “It seemed farfetched that Peter would suddenly start believing in vampires, didn't it?” said Britt, leaning on one elbow. “Sandor got to him. Sandor has been watching that family for weeks—Alice said he ‘called’ her. I think he's taken to sleeping in their garage. Isolated, protected from sunlight, perfect for a homeless vampire. And Peter's parents were so distraught he could've easily kept them from discovering him.”

  “Yes, he's old enough to have at least that much control.” Roger visualized the renegade lurking under the trees, watching Peter imprison both of them. “He manipulated the boy into dealing with us. Punish me by hurting you, possibly killing you—” He choked down his anger. This was no time to let emotion cloud his intellect. “Then disable me, after which Sandor could take his time finishing me off.”

  Britt's eyes shone with dawning excitement. “Yes, I think that's exactly what happened.”

  “If he went dormant at sunrise, slept out the day in the garage,” said Roger, “he may be there at this moment.”

  Chapter 22

  ROGER ROLLED OUT of bed and started pulling on his discarded clothes. “It's not full dark yet. If I hurry, I have a chance to catch him off guard.”

  “You mean ‘we,’ don't you?” said Britt, dangerously quiet.

  “I don't want you anywhere near him!”

  “Roger, you aren't thinking straight.” She covered her face in a gesture of mock despair. “And why should that surprise me? Look, if we separate, you can't protect me. Suppose he decides this is the perfect time to pay me a visit?”

  Roger paused in buttoning his shirt. “Damn, you have a valid point.”

  “Thanks ever so much.” She threw back the covers and reached for her underwear. “All for one and one for all, remember?” She scrambled into her clothes, hanging the emerald cross pendant around her neck.

  Minutes later, they were in the Citroen heading for the Kovaks’ place. The predicted snow flurries had begun, without enough accumulation yet to make the roads slippery. Roger wore only a light jacket, while Britt was bundled in the full regalia of winter coat, scarf, fur-topped boots, and gloves.

  “At least promise you won't take any idiotic chances,” he said as they drove across the South River bridge. “If I ask you to stay out of the way, for God's sake listen to me.”

  “I'll use my best judgment,” she said. “I won't do anything dumb.” He had to be content with that much of a concession.

  At the Kovaks’ he again parked around the curve out of sight of the house. Dusk was already deepening to nightfall as they walked up the driveway. Roger considered activating his psychic veil, but since he couldn't shroud Britt as well, he decided not to bother. The snow, he hoped, would keep traffic to a minimum, so no one would notice their trespassing.

  The house was dark, the forensic team long since finished. Yellow crime scene tape stretched across the front porch. Britt stared at the garage, a dim hulk to her human eyes. “You think he'll still be there?” she silently asked.

  “The police wouldn't have any reason to search the garage, so he may well be.” Roger guided Britt to the shelter of a tree at the edge of the yard. “I'm going to check for signs of life. Stand here and don't move. Please.”

  Britt conveyed reluctant assent. Stepping off the gravel driveway, he stalked silently around the garage. The windows in front were still curtained. The small side door, too, had a dark cloth over its grimy window. Roger stood motionless and listened. Holding his breath, he heard a slight breeze in the branches, Britt's lungs inhaling and exhaling the froste
d air, and the nervous racing of her heart. He filtered out those sounds and focused on the garage. There—another set of lungs and the ponderous rhythm of a slower heartbeat.

  He doesn't sound dormant.Roger eased closer to the side door. A rustle of movement within alerted him just in time. He backed up several rapid paces. He heard Britt's feet on the gravel, tiptoeing across the driveway to stand just behind him. “Damn it, I thought we agreed—”

  The door flew open, and Neil Sandor leaped out. Catching sight of Roger, he slammed to a halt on the threshold.

  His eyes smoldered. With a teeth-baring grimace he said, “What's my line here? ‘We meet again, Doctor'? And about time, too.” Roger felt the outlaw's eyes crawl over him and linger on Britt. “Come inside and sit down, both of you. We need to talk.”

  Conscious of Britt behind him, so close her breath warmed the back of his neck, Roger said, “We can talk here. You come out.” He'd be a fool to give up his maneuvering space.

  Grinning as if he guessed Roger's thoughts, Sandor swaggered to within two yards of the couple. He wore jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt, to which clung the odor of decomposed blood. A sign of mental deterioration, Roger thought; healthy predators practiced fastidious cleanliness. The outlaw's hair and beard had grown into a wild tangle. His eyebrows formed a single bristling thatch; his fingernails were long, curved talons.

  Roger's stomach lurched.So this is what a feral vampire looks like! He swallowed hard.

  Sandor noticed the reaction. “Don't like what you see? Masks off—this is what we really are. This is what you are, half-breed.”

  “No. I am not like you.” He took an involuntary step backward. “We do not have to be ravening beasts.”

  “Why so timid?” said the other. “The way you're guarding your pet, I'd think you're expecting me to do something—impulsive.”

  “Considering your treatment of Alice, what should I expect?” Roger said. “Not to mention Sylvia, one of your own kind.”