CHAPTER 6
AS the giggles subsided, Perrin tentatively reached for her hand and kissed it. Gillian curtsied for him, and winked. “See? That was easy, wasn’t it?”
“Non. It was easy for you. You merely brought me along into your fun and your humor.”
Perrin took her hand in both of his. She noticed again how perfectly manicured but very masculine and strong his hands were. They were warm, calloused from years of manual labor, but not sweaty. Good, he was relaxing with her.
“I didn’t bring you, Perrin. You willingly went. That’s what I am hoping for. I may light the path, but you will make your own way along it.”
He hadn’t let go of her and she didn’t pull away. Getting him used to touch, having him offer it, was one of her responsibilities. Spending casual time like this with him was doing a couple of things. First, he was acclimating to her presence, becoming less jittery. And second, it was helping her to really filter his glamour when it rose.
Perrin wasn’t doing it on purpose to seduce her. He couldn’t help it; it was inherent in his being. Most denizens of Fey and Faerie normally had to concentrate to remove their glamour. To them, it was as natural as breathing. No wonder the two human girls of long ago had wanted him to seduce them. He had influenced them without realizing it.
“You know, this gives me an idea. You seem to be more comfortable with music as a theme. Would you like to try singing to me or dancing with me perhaps?”
Enough of his face showed that she could see the thought pleased him. “I could try.”
Their gazes locked. “May I kiss you, Gillian?”
She stepped back, adding her other hand to his and pulling him up off the piano bench to stand in front of her. “You may.”
Perrin released her hands and brought his own up, cupping her jawline with only the tips of his fingers. A butterfly’s touch, skimming the surface of her skin as though she were the finest crystal and might break in his hands. He leaned forward and right, keeping the masked half away from her so that she could clearly see the handsome profile. Gillian waited, letting him tip her mouth to his own, letting him control the moment. She kept her eyes open so that he could see that she welcomed his kiss, his touch.
The lips that tenderly pressed hers were silken soft, infinitely gentle. Again, she didn’t push, only stood passively letting him cup her face and give her a kiss. All too briefly he pulled back slowly, watching her eyes. Gill mirrored him exactly. Not straightening too quickly, letting him tip her jaw back down. From her vantage point she could see the corded muscles on his neck, the result of over a century of singing, which terminated upward in the clean line of his jaw and down into the broad but slender shoulders.
Vaguely she wondered if his face was the only thing affected by the Gargoyle blood or if he had more disfigurements beneath his clothing. She didn’t care; she had scars all over her body, the most recent from her last little misadventure in London with Jack the Ripper’s surgery. Tanis and Aleksei both had been initially shocked by the evidence of her several near-death experiences, but neither had said anything. Smart Vampires.
“That was lovely, Perrin. Thank you.”
Smiling, he reached down for her hand, then gently spun her around, facing away from him. Gillian felt the arm holding her hand wrap around her abdomen, his other hand gliding over the fabric of her shirt lightly, across her stomach then down her hip to finally grasp her free hand and bring it, palm up, cupped by his own to caress the undamaged side of his face.
Their bodies were separated by a small space. Perrin neither pulled her against him nor moved forward to close that gap. His arm around her middle only held her, didn’t tighten to press her close. Gillian hardly breathed, afraid to speak or move and frighten him. Her hair ruffled with his breath and she realized he had brushed the masked side over her hair.
Perrin was sweet, tender, romantic, gentle. He had been denied the most basic thing people took for granted: simple physical contact. He cherished it. Craved it. She could feel his natural Gargoyle sexuality rising, only to be replaced by a driving need she couldn’t yet name.
If she had merely been a woman in this compelling man’s arms, she would have leaned back into him, closing the gap to weave her own arms around his hips and pull him to her. Because she was his Paramortal sex therapist, her better judgment overcame her instincts and she remained still, letting him experience what he wanted to, at his own pace. He radiated need, want, desire, longing . . . most of it wasn’t even sexual. Just a stark, hollow craving of the most basic, simplest touch. Now she understood what it was. It had everything and nothing to do with sex. He was touch starved, beyond anyone she’d ever encountered.
Finally he released her with all the slow gentleness that he had initiated the contact with and stepped away from her. She turned to face him and found him looking slightly away, giving her full view of his left side.
“Thank you for letting me just hold you, Gillian. I am sorry it was for so long. I have never been able . . .” His voice tightened and he couldn’t continue.
“You’ve never been able to just know what it felt like,” Gillian said gently, feeling his withdrawal and pain swamp over her. It was getting hard for her to keep up with his emotional shifts and remain barricaded.
“Oui.”
“And how did it feel, Perrin? To hold a woman in your arms, romantically?” She threw that word in to bring him back to why they were there.
Silence.
Unconsciously he raised his right hand and lightly touched the mask. “It felt warm.”
He wasn’t referring to temperature.
“Perrin, I have to go now. I have to see to my other patients. I do want to thank you for today. It was fun to sing with you, and I think you’ve got the part about holding a woman just right. I enjoyed it very much.” He could see her with his left eye and she was smiling.
“Forgive me, Gillian, but could you see yourself out? I want to think about today.”
“Good night, Perrin.”
“Bon soir, Gilliana.”
His French accent was lilting, warm, sensual. The diminutive of her name caught her off guard, but she let herself out and headed back to the castle as he began to play the piano again, soft and sad music. It surprised her when she hadn’t gone but a few yards before she started to cry silently. She just couldn’t stop the tears. This was bad. If she couldn’t handle her own emotions around Perrin, this would not be a healthy situation for him. She needed to talk to Helmut and get his advice.
Back at the castle she located Helmut and together they went to the kitchen for some tea. Stirring sugar into her Lady Gray brew, Gillian wondered how she would broach this subject without sounding like an idiot. She’d been out of school a long time and hadn’t consulted Helmut for years on a case. Briefly, she told him about how the sessions were going with Perrin and her seeming lack of control.
“I am having a tremendously hard time keeping my emotions managed around Perrin, Helmut.” Well, blurting it out was good too. Sort of.
“And you believe that this may impair your effectiveness as his therapist.” He made it a statement. Helmut knew her pretty well.
Taking a sip of tea, she leaned against the counter. “I don’t understand it. I never have this level of vulnerability with a patient, ever. I know what I’m doing, Helmut. I am taking it slow, letting him make every move first. He needs to get in touch with his alpha side so I’m holding way, way back. He is calling all of the shots on how and when we proceed.
“Why am I reacting like this? Perrin is a patient. He trusts me, came to me for help, and I’m scared to death I’m going to fuck this up.” She looked at her boss and friend. “What’s wrong with me? Do I need to take myself off this case and let you reassign him to a more experienced sex therapist? Am I going to endanger his recovery by my own lack of control?”
Helmut watched her as she disclosed her concerns. He was proud of her in a fatherly sort of way. Her insight into even her own failing
s was what made her an outstanding Paramortal psychologist. Gillian would never allow them to endanger a patient’s recovery and would absolutely take herself off Perrin’s case if she felt his recovery would be compromised by her perceived weakness.
“Have you had many Paramortals needing sex therapy?”
“Only two previously, Perrin is number three. It’s just not that common to be needed in that capacity with most of them. Why?”
“I don’t think this is your fault. I think Perrin’s own lack of control is what’s causing your reaction,” Helmut speculated.
“What? He had perfect control. There has been no sexual touching, Helmut. None. Today was the first time he kissed me and even then it was perfectly chaste. He’s suffering from a level of erotophobia as well. It’s like an elegant ballet except we dance around each other instead of with each other.”
She set her cup down on the counter and started to pace. “Then I bounce from emotion to emotion, from feeling to feeling, like some rookie therapist, and find myself crying on the path away from the guesthouse. It’s ridiculous!”
Helmut chuckled. “Hear me out, Schatzi. Perrin is part Sidhe, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is, but that doesn’t explain my issues.”
“Doesn’t it?”
The thoughts whirled around on her face. Then she knew. “The Sidhe glamour is what I’m fighting, isn’t it? He can’t help it. He shifts feelings like you shift the gears on a car. Damn!”
“You’ve never had even a part Sidhe as a sex therapy client before, Gillian. Perrin doesn’t know how the hell to control his emotions and glamour yet around other beings. He’s been physically isolated most of his life from even the most basic touch. Give him time.”
Helmut patted her arm as she kept pacing. “Besides, in your marvelous intake file, you mention that he is half Gargoyle. They are still part of the Fey populace and have their own glamour. That would account for the raw edge of the need that you feel.”
“Shit, that’s right. I need to read up on current research with Gargoyles then. It will help me know better how to buffer him and his emotions. I have to get him past this erotophobia thing or we’re not going to get anywhere.”
Gerhardt smiled kindly, patting her shoulder. “I have complete confidence in you, my dear. Perrin couldn’t be in better hands.”
“Thanks, Helmut, but I know that I’m going to have to set some clear boundaries for him. He’s so starved for any contact that he’s bound to let himself go too far in his feelings. I don’t want to hurt him. He’s been hurt enough for several lifetimes.”
After finishing her tea, she put her cup in the sink and turned to go. “Good night, Helmut, and thank you. It feels good to confide in a colleague.”
“Good night, Schatzi. You’re doing our profession proud and lending credibility to it.” Helmut put his own cup away, then remembered something and called after her, “Gillian! Wait!”
“What?” She reappeared in the doorway.
“I don’t know if you’ve thought of it or not, but Perrin’s mask is his final and most prevalent vulnerability. Be careful how you handle that.”
Nodding, she agreed, “I have thought it over, but thanks for mentioning it anyway. I might not have, just because it’s so obvious, so it’s good to check. I’m going to leave that to him too, as I’m leaving everything else to him. If the damn thing comes off, it will be Perrin that removes it.”
“Are you prepared for what might be underneath?”
“Nothing connected to that man could be that scary, Helmut. Perrin could have used his disfigurement and his powers as an excuse to be a sexually sadistic bastard getting even with the world, but he didn’t. He didn’t, because it would have been morally, ethically wrong. Frankly I’m impressed he’s as sane as he is, even with all his hang-ups.”
Her mentor smiled. “I was as well. From the time I first spoke with him to when he agreed to be your patient, I knew the least of your problems would be that he was a decent and kind soul.”
Gill yawned, embarrassed. “Sorry, Helmut, I’m beat.”
“Go on, get some rest. It must be very draining having to hold such tight control on your own shields against Perrin’s power.”
They said their good nights again and left the kitchen to go to their respective rooms. Gillian plodded up the stairs, ignoring the Brownie army that was carrying several trussed-up squirrels and mice, apparently on the way to a Brownie barbeque. She was too tired to go find Trocar and the other Elves. A clean, fresh, comfortable mattress was what she needed. If Aleksei was there, she’d bodily throw his ass out.
Head down and distracted, she hadn’t taken two more steps before she collided with a solid form. Black boots, tight-laced black pants . . . her eyes traveled upward, ivory-colored linen shirt, broad shoulders, black hair, ice gray eyes. Aleksei. Shit. Shit. Shit. She did not need this right now.
“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
She started to step around him, since he didn’t seem to be moving, when he gently took her shoulders. Her temper rose with her head as she tipped it back to look him in the eyes.
“Not now, Aleksei. Bad time, bad attitude. I’m going to sleep.” This time when she pulled away, he let her, dropping his hands to his sides.
“Gillian, I do not wish to fight or argue with you. I merely wanted to apologize for my poor judgment and poor choice of words. I was wrong, an antiquated ass, and I am truly sorry.”
Dammit. Shit. Hell. Fuck. His voice was still incredible. A sorcerer’s black velvet voice that surrounded her with warmth and other yummy feelings.
Turning back to him, she met his gaze and dropped her reinforced shields a little. The apology was there in his eyes too. Okay. Fine. Still wasn’t going to get him any blood or nookie tonight. “All right. Apology accepted. Thank you for finding me to say it. Now I’m going to bed.”
Aleksei frowned. “Wait, piccola, you are exhausted. Let me help you.”
“I don’t want any help and I really don’t want to talk about anything tonight. Good night, Aleksei.”
She kept walking and got to her room without further incident. Thankfully he didn’t follow her or press her further. Crawling between the sheets, she was asleep before her head fully contacted the pillow.
Leathery wings bit into the cool night air. The dragon banked sharper than necessary, its shape appearing to ripple then solidify once more. Rattled, Aleksei landed and shifted back to his Human form next to the ruins of an ancient castle. He couldn’t think of Gillian and their relationship issues when he was flying. The expanse of feeling with too deep, too fresh and at the moment too painful for him to focus on when he needed to remember: how to maintain the shape of the legendary flying lizard. That partial shift in midflight might have been fatal if he’d lost it completely and fallen nearly a thousand feet to the earth. He might have caught himself in time; then again, he might not have.
Vampires were wondrous, powerful, magical creatures, but unless they were Masters, they couldn’t shift shape, fly, dissolve to mist, like any run-of-the-mill movie Vampire could. In fact, most Masters could manage to become accomplished in only one or two talent areas. Vampire Lords like Aleksei, Osiris, Dionysus and Dracula had the ability to master several, and generally did, once they knew how.
Inferno, thought Aleksei. If all of us could do all that, no one and nothing would be safe.
Aleksei had become more than a Master. Now the head of his own Line, a true Lord—the lingering relationship with the Line of Dracula, which created him, shattered—he didn’t know a thing about taking what was his or creating a Line of his own traditions and expectations.
Expectations. That was what this fight with Gillian was all about. Aleksei had expectations of what it meant to have a girlfriend, of being a couple, that Gillian seemed to take issue with. Even disagree with. Very significant issue, indeed.
Your own damn fault, his good Vampire side argued with his bad Vampire side, the latter being the on
e who was screaming at him to assert his mastery over the Human female and forget the implied chauvinistic rule breaking. No, he would never do that. It was more important to have Gillian’s respect and trust.
Tonight’s apology hopefully gained some of that back. He had been an idiot, as Tanis had implied. That really stung. Having his younger, more impulsive and definitely more chauvinistic brother lecturing him on the intricacies of his relationship with Gillian was humbling.
While Aleksei was arguing with himself and pacing through the woods like a chained tiger, a ripple in the atmosphere caught his attention. Senses focused, he tried to pinpoint it but it was gone again, as quickly as it appeared. Frowning, he headed swiftly in the direction of the village, where he thought he felt it strongest. Shifting into mist, he was there in moments, materializing in a quiet alley then pacing the busy streets, waving to the villagers who recognized their Count. It was still early in the evening and he needed to feed.
The villagers of Sacele had sent their mayor with a document to Castle Rachlav when the trouble with Dracula started. A document that listed the names of adults in the village willing to be donors to Aleksei, Tanis and any Vampire who was on the Rachlavs’ side. Their homes would display a wolf of some kind outside to be easily identifiable. Since natural and Lycanthrope wolves were prominent in the area and Cezar, the Alpha pack leader of the Rachlav Werewolves, was the police chief’s brother, any depiction of a wolf as a display piece didn’t draw any undue attention. They were accepted here, even loved, as coprotectors of the area.
Aleksei turned down a less lively street and headed toward a neighborhood café where the local tradesmen gathered after their supper for coffee and conversation. Sacele was still fairly isolated in the heart of the Carpathian Mountains, off the main roads, still quaint and charming. It had all the modern conveniences such as the Internet and cable television. But when all was said and done, the residents rather liked their traditional values and kept the main part of town as their central gathering place in the evenings.
Key to Redemption Page 8
