by Sophia North
Dante's agitation immediately faded away. His instincts had not led him astray. Simone did possess the abilities he sensed.
He just needed to be patient. Allow her free reign to ask him anything and not lose his temper. Oh dear, big ask there.
"I'm not here to give you a history lesson. I need you to listen," he finally replied.
Huh? When hadn't she been? The man made no sense.
"I am listening, Dante," she responded a little curtly. "However, I'm slightly...confused by some of the claims you're making."
Dante sighed. "Zara. She used to listen," he muttered under his breath.
Ah-ha, now they were getting somewhere. Relationships were a treasure trove of information when assessing a client's mental state.
"And Zara is...an old girlfriend?" she prompted, noting his use of the past tense.
Hesitating briefly, Dante considered his answer. He hadn't meant to speak of Zara, but perhaps it had been a Freudian slip, as they say in the biz.
"Yes. She is the reason I became a Watcher again," he eventually answered.
"A Watcher?" she asked, dreading the answer.
"A vampyre who watches over a certain patch of London to protect humans from vampyres gone rogue. We call them Rippers."
O...kay. Simone decided to dig a little deeper into the ex-girlfriend angle. Perhaps this vampyre business could be addressed through their exploration of his relationships.
"Was Zara a vampyre?" she asked, amazed she'd managed to do it with a straight face.
"No. She was human."
Interesting. A vampyre who dates humans, not other vampyres. Was this how he maintained a connection to the real world? He sought out women who indulged in his fantasy? Kinky.
"So vampyres can be with...humans?" she followed up with.
Good lord, cheeks please do not betray me.
"Yes," he replied simply.
Dare I? Go on, girl - you know you want to.
"But I was under the impression they were...you know..."
Could that have sounded more lame?
"Sexless?" he asked, filling in the blank.
Simone nodded, praying her interest didn't show. The man needed help, not a grilling over the sexual behaviour of a non-existent vampyre race.
"We have intercourse with whomever we please," Dante explained. "But can only breed with human women. My own mother died centuries ago."
Right...good to know, she silently noted, feeling her cheeks grow ever more rosy.
Keen to move the subject away from vampyre breeding habits, she pounced on his whole dead mother confession. "I see, she died centuries ago, you say. And that makes you, how old?" Simone asked, a fake smile plastered across her face.
This should be good, her inner devil goaded.
"Three hundred, or thereabouts, dependent on which school of thought you belong to," he suavely replied.
Her brow quirked upwards in response.
"I see, vampyres dabble in philosophical thought, do they?" she cheekily asked.
Whoosh! Temper unleashed.
"All this talk about my kind...my past...is irrelevant!" he bit out, unable to hold back. In a fit of anger, he rose from his chair and started to pace.
Worried by his sudden outburst, Simone attempted to calm him. "Dante, please. Come...sit with me again. Tell me more about Zara," she soothed, wondering if he suffered from a personality disorder or PTSD.
"It is impossible to explain everything," he said, coming to a halt in the middle of the room. "Suffice it to say, a great evil is coming. And no one will be safe - especially humans. It took Zara and now it wants something from me!"
Simone remained quiet, assessing the agitated man. The loss of this Zara woman seemed an obvious trigger for his current condition.
And yet, despite his outlandish claims, she knew he wasn't lying about believing he was indeed a vampyre. But then, the human mind could convince itself of many things when strained.
Dante wanted to curse. So much for keeping his temper in check.
Best try another charm offensive if he hoped to salvage this sad state of affairs his outburst had created. Things were not going to plan at all.
Returning to his chair, Dante sat down. "My apologies, Dr. Radcliffe. I can become rather...animated at times on certain matters. I promise it won't happen again."
Pleased by his ability to quickly regain control, Simone reached out with her senses to read the energy she felt emanating from him.
Dante poses no threat, they confirmed.
Relaxing back in her chair, she took a moment to compose herself. The atmosphere rippled with emotion.
"Do you often experience random outbursts of temper?" she eventually questioned.
"Depends on whom you ask," Dante replied, with a sexy smirk to lighten the mood.
Simone wanted to laugh but held herself in check. Good lord, what was wrong with her? She wasn't on a date with the man. This pull between them was most unsettling.
Detecting her softening defenses, Dante took full advantage and double downed on his charm offensive. "I have my moments, as you can see. My best mate affectionately refers to it as the 'Polidori Temper', but he can be bit of an ass."
Simone considered his answer. She saw many things and others she didn't.
"As long as this infamous temper of yours stays under control...you are forgiven for your earlier outburst."
Dante gazed deeply into her pale blue eyes. "You need never fear me, Simone. No harm shall ever befall you from my hand. I promised my temper would not get out of hand again. And my word is my bond."
The room almost crackled from the sizzle of his pledge.
In the end, it was Simone who looked away first by pretending to jot something down in her notebook. Unsettled by the power of his stormy gaze, she took a moment to steel her nerves before looking up from her scribbling.
"You mentioned a great evil was on its way...care to elaborate?"
Placing a finger on his temple, Dante ignored the ongoing sarcasm in her tone. "Very well. But before I do, I'd like to discuss another matter."
Simone swallowed hard. He looked so serious.
"You see, vampyres are generally not the low-life bloodsuckers people are led to believe. We have many other gifts – some can be very powerful. Like people, we are all individuals. And some people are blessed with certain 'gifts' too, are they not?"
The way he posed the question shot straight through her. It was like he was implying...no, he couldn't possibly know about the secret of her success.
Simone’s achievements as a therapist went beyond possessing a formidable intelligence. She had a 'gift' of her own that she did not speak of...to well anyone, other than Penny, her best friend.
But then, how does one rationally explain an ability to know when someone is hiding the truth? Being a human lie-detector doesn't tend to go down well.
Stunned by his comment, Simone cautiously responded. "Yes, there are those who have what some may term as 'gifts'."
Encouraged to know she believed in such things, Dante plunged ahead, determined to draw her out of her shell. "It is the same for vampyres," he explained. "My gift is that I have psychic visionary powers."
Simone concentrated on what he'd just revealed.
Nope, he’s still telling the truth. Whatever gripped his psyche was clearly very rooted.
"You believe you are a psychic vampyre?" she asked, with a bit too much sass.
Dante stared stiffly at her, his face appearing frozen in a blank expression as if he’d transformed into a piece of marble. In the soft lamplight he looked unnaturally beautiful, like a sculpture by Michelangelo. The effect was incredibly unnerving.
"This sarcasm of yours doesn't become you, Dr. Radcliffe," he finally replied in a quiet voice.
Simone took exception.
"You have to accept I can't believe many of the things you're telling me-" she attempted to explain, but her words were cut short by Dante's interruption.
"It i
s of no real consequence," he said, leaning forward in his chair. "Listen, you have a gift, Simone. I can't put my finger on what it is exactly but there is something strong inside you. I felt it through the radio, in your voice. It is why I’m here."
Simone didn't know how to respond. All she could focus on was the stunning revelation that he knew her secret.
"You're confused," he continued, misinterpreting her expression. "It is understandable. I've not been expressing myself well. Allow me to cut to the chase. I need you to listen because I'm unable to access my psychic ability on my own. Expressing my thoughts to someone with your power, gift...fuck, I don’t know what to call it. But whatever this 'gift' is, tapping into it might help me enter a trance-like state and 'see'."
Dante knew his gamble bore a high probability of failure, but he couldn't give up. He'd already risked too much to not at least try.
"I haven’t done it for a while, though," he confessed. "Not since I lost Zara, who was partly psychic herself. It might not work with you, but we must try."
This was all becoming rather improper. Simone could not put him into a trance even if she knew how. He needed a hypnotherapist or someone with a rudimentary understanding of mesmerism. And she was not it!
"Dante, I'm a psychiatrist. It is my role to listen to a client's problem and help him or her overcome it. I'm not qualified to participate in anything unconventional."
"Simone, it's perfectly safe. I just need you to help me channel my thoughts so I can see," he said, smiling at her. "Please."
Despite her misgivings, Simone smiled back.
"Very well. What do I have to do?"
Pure elation flowed through him. His beautiful therapist was willing to take a chance.
"It should only take a moment to achieve," he replied, eagerly leaning back in his chair. "And it’s why I asked for the overhead light to be switched off. Too much brightness can make it harder to enter a trance. To begin with, I'll need you to focus on what I’m saying. Then you must guide me with your voice at the appropriate moment…"
"How will I know when to speak...what to say?"
But Dante had already closed his eyes. "You must trust yourself…trust your instincts…they won't lead you astray."
Chapter Three
SIMONE FELT RIDICULOUS.
Psychotherapy was a science-based profession with over one hundred years of published work and research behind it. Trusting one's ‘instincts’ was not exactly encouraged.
Under the dim light of the lamp, Simone stared at Dante from her chair. A rakish curl of rich chestnut hair caressed his brow, his thick lashes rested on his cheek. He didn't appear to have the slightest doubt about what needed to happen next. But she did.
Trusting her instincts meant accepting everything he'd told her was the truth. Well, at least his version of it. And Simone wasn't sure her rational mind was prepared to concede its position in favour of her gift's.
To do so would require a leap of faith she'd never faced before - the need to make a clear choice between the rational and the irrational. Such black and white situations were rare in her profession - usually there was far too much grey area to wade through before reaching a definitive line. But not this time.
"Tell me more about yourself, Dr. Radcliffe," Dante suggested, sensing her hesitation. "Describe where you live. Is it a nice house? Make it up, if you prefer. I just need to hear your voice."
In for a penny, in for a pound, she inwardly sighed. If she truly had faith in her gift, she needed to silence all doubt and proceed.
"Alright, I'll play along," she replied, her mind made up. "It's your money we're wasting. And by the way, I don't live in a house. I live in a flat along the Thames."
"Wonderful. Tell me all about it," he gently coaxed from behind closed eyes.
"Oh, there's not really much to say. It's a nice enough place, I suppose. I only moved in a few of months ago. Actually, my best friend thinks where I live is a soulless abomin..."
The sound of Dante's low groan interrupted her waffling. Glancing over, she noticed his head swaying gently from side to side. His eyelids began to twitch and his body trembled.
Was he faking it or had he really entered a psychic trance?
"Simone," Dante whispered, his brow wrinkled in concentration. "An evil roams the streets...I am he, he is me ... it makes no sense. No, wait...I see...I see what he sees."
"What do you mean?"
"It is another vampyre. He is fast and strong like a wild beast. He kills…"
"Is he a vampyre gone rogue?" she asked, unable to stop herself. She really shouldn't encourage such behaviour, but...he was very convincing for a carnival act.
"I can't say," Dante replied. "But I have felt a growing sense of unease...these past few weeks...he’s been busy. After Zara all I wanted was to be left alone to hunt. I cast aside my privileges to become a Watcher again. Now I seem to be caught up in something bad….a premonition…"
"Dante, you need to relax," Simone interrupted, noticing his jaw tense.
"Yes, relax…things will become clearer…" he murmured in agreement.
Images flashed sporadically in his mind's eye, until they began to slow. Chattering voices that were once muffled suddenly became audible.
Simone called from some faraway place, advising him to relax again. There was concern in her voice, but he couldn't worry about that. He needed to slow his heartbeat to the point of halting it completely.
Thump-thump..thump...thump.....thump. Finally, his visionary world came into focus.
A serpentine river coiled its way through a great city. Its familiar twists and turns revealed it to be London's very own Thames.
Dante stood on a wharf, staring down into the watery depths, listening as the waves broke against a worn pier. Seduced by its charms, he was ill-prepared for the lifeless body that emerged from its cold black embrace.
It was Zara. Hands folded at her midriff, her once vibrant eyes forever closed. He watched her long dark hair trail behind her as the river's slow current took her corpse from his sight. Then another body appeared, followed by another and yet another - until eventually dozens trailed his lost love in a floating procession of death.
They were all innocent humans slaughtered by the wrath of a powerful vampyre. He recognised some of them from recent weeks, including the young woman from the previous night.
Filled with horror, Dante tried to turn away but stopped when a final body floated his way. It was his father and he was alive!
But instead of lying on his back, Alessio Polidori sat upright, floating on top of the water, with a severe expression on his face. He stared directly at Dante, as if intending to speak, but before father and son could communicate the vision went black.
For a few moments, Dante couldn't see or hear anything until, out of the darkness, the grinning face of Anton appeared.
"Join us, Dante!" his once close friend urged. "You will be a valuable asset to our cause. Don't force another confrontation!"
Anton's face suddenly dissolved into a black void.
In the distance, a pinprick of light came into focus, until a small group of vampyres standing in a circle under a moonless night sky eventually appeared. At the centre, a fire sparked into life, which soon grew into a raging inferno. But rather than smoke, a blue vapor rose from the flames, as the vampyres danced and chanted around it.
"Haan, Great One," they chanted. "We are here to serve you. Guide us, we are nothing without you. Haan, Great One..."
In response, a cackling, ancient-sounding voice spoke from the vapor, whirling above them. "It was all prophesied long ago," the voice spoke menacingly. "The Council of Elders are traitors. They force you to live in subjugation. But their moment of reckoning approaches and with it the dawn of a new age nobody can stop. First Lowerton and then the world!"
Watching Dante squirm and writhe in his chair until his suffering became too much to bear, Simone rose from her chair and rushed to his side. "Dante," she said, her voice slight
ly panicked. "What is it? What do you see?"
As his breathing became increasingly erratic, Dante could no longer hear her. In the midst of a powerful vision, he was beyond Simone's reach.
Unable to endure his torment any longer, she placed her hands on his powerful shoulders. "Dante!" she commanded loudly. "You must wake up. Come back to me!"
Dante, however, could only see the bluish smoke. It danced and flickered around him, occasionally brushing his face with an icy touch. Whatever it was, he knew it wanted him to join the circle.
In the distance a woman's voice called his name again and again. The voice...it sounded familiar. She pleaded with him to open his eyes, to return back to her.
The chanting became quieter as the vision began to fade.
The mysterious woman's voice called his name in an even more urgent tone.
Was it Zara? Dante returned from his trance with a jolt.
A concerned face stared down at him but it was not Zara's. No, this woman had blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. Her face, somehow both strong and delicate at the same time was beautiful...so beautiful.
Raising his hands to lightly stroke her cheeks, Dante felt how soft and warm they were. Underneath his fingertips, he could feel the flow of her blood.
The woman responded by placing her hands over his.
"Dante," she whispered. "Are you alright?"
Reality returned to him at the sound of her soft voice.
Not Zara...Simone. The beautiful radio presenter and therapist he'd come to for help with his visions.
Quickly removing his hands from her face, Dante took a deep breath. "Apologies," he mumbled. "It's been awhile. I'm out of practice."
Simone felt him recoil and, although ashamed to admit it, was hurt by what felt like rejection. Embarrassed, she returned to her chair and sat down.
"Can I get you a glass of water...bag of O negative to take the edge off?" she asked, attempting to use humour to cover the awkwardness between them.
Dante smiled at her effort. "I'm always a bit weak afterwards," he explained. "But I'll be fine." Attempting to get up, his legs wobbled slightly, before he collapsed back down in his chair. "Perhaps not," he joked. "Do you have a car?"
