He could sense his brother’s relief. Endelle must have had him by the nuts on this one, but why?
“I’m going to hand you back to Jeannie. She’ll give you the whats and wheres.”
“Hey, Kerrick,” Jeannie began, “you’ll be going to a medical complex in Paradise Valley. The pretty-boy’s at full-mount. Call when you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Jeannie.” He thumbed his phone.
He dropped the towel, folded on clean battle gear, then tucked his phone into the pocket at the waist of the kilt. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he sent the old gear directly to the laundry room.
And the war against the death vamps just kept on rolling.
Whatever.
As he adjusted his harness, he brought his dagger into his hand then secured it once more into the front slot. He hated the fact that his personal weakness, his inability to dematerialize, would force him to call Jeannie so that Central could do a fold to Paradise Valley One.
Goddammit.
Aw, hell. He’d been a caged beast for at least the past two centuries, a lion roaring for some kind of release.
And tonight … well, tonight, for whatever reason, every nerve in his body was on fire. After he took care of the off-campus head case, he’d head back to the Blood and Bite. He needed to suck back a few Maker’s, maybe get laid. Yeah, a few fingers of whiskey and he definitely could use a little horizontal R&R with some jugular action thrown in.
Maybe then … Christ, maybe then he’d feel normal.
Alison opened her eyes as yet another siren sounded down the street, drew closer, then ceased, which made at least three in the past ten minutes or so. Apparently, someone’s patient required serious emergency medical care.
She still sat in her wing chair, drawing in one breath after another, trying to calm down, trying to let her rational brain make sense of recent events. A walk might help, even just around her office.
She was about to get up and stretch her legs when she heard the door open. She shifted in the chair to look over her shoulder. Her last client had arrived, Darian Greaves.
“Alison,” he said. “Our last appointment. I must say I feel quite sad.”
He always looked like he’d walked straight out of Goodfellas. Despite the fact that he lived in warm, casual Phoenix, he never wore anything but a very fine wool suit to her office, all in black today, including the tailored shirt. For contrast, a yellow silk tie slashed a perfect line down his muscular chest. He looked like an oversized stinging insect covered in Hugo Boss.
He was quite beautiful, his bald head perfectly shaped, smooth and tan, his black eyebrows thick and manicured, his dark eyes large, round in appearance, almost child-like. On his right pinkie he wore a black onyx ring. He had only one flaw—his left hand was misshapen, and because of the way the fingers curved, she thought there might have been some nerve damage along the way.
Over the past year of his therapy, his first and only year as far as she knew, he’d remained a locked-down mystery, especially since he was the only client whose mind she’d been unable to penetrate no matter how hard she tried. An anomaly. She didn’t often reach into a client’s mind. With Darian, however, she could not even skim the surface of his thoughts, let alone penetrate the depth of his psyche. Why had been the question she had been unable to answer.
He was the victim of monstrous childhood abuse, physical and sexual, all at the hands of a foster father. Even though he had been candid about his troubled past, there had been no significant progress, almost as though he recited his woes from behind a twelve-foot-thick cement wall. If he were at all serious about recovery, he would require a decade or two of therapy, nothing less. One thing she knew for certain: She could not be that therapist. In her opinion, he needed a hard-core psychiatrist and a lot of medication.
She glanced at the clock again. As always, he had arrived precisely on time, not a minute past six thirty. He couldn’t leave his corporation—his army as he liked to call the rank and file of Greaves Enterprises—one second sooner. He was very fond of punctuality.
“I don’t suppose I can talk you out of graduate school,” he said, rounding her chair and heading to the soft green chenille couch. She held her breath. He smelled so strangely of lemons tinged with … what? Turpentine? Now, that was also an anomaly. With his sophisticated appearance, he should have smelled, at the very least, of Obsession.
“How sad to see all the empty shelves,” he observed, as he paused in front of the wall unit. He shook his head slightly. After a moment, he turned then headed the rest of the distance to the couch. He sat down, smoothing his coat as he went. He crossed his legs at the knee, so formal, so gentleman-like.
He settled his gaze on her, but she found she had nothing to say to him. After the conversation with Joy and after holding a piece of time in her hand, somehow her mind had become a complete blank.
“Are you unwell?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
Alison once again took deep breaths. Thoughts of Joy drifted through her mind as well as the shattered window and reversal of time. Everything seemed to be changing. Even her dreams in the last two weeks had become charged with strange and unusual images, some frightening, some intriguing.
Joy, a reversal of time, strange dreams.
Darian with finely tailored wool suits, a psychotic mind, and no Obsession.
She leaned back. “Why did you ever seek me out, Darian? To be quite honest, I don’t believe I’ve helped you at all this last year.”
He lifted an arched brow and smiled. He even chuckled. “Straight to the point. I always liked that about you. As for the past twelve months, you are right, I wasn’t interested in therapy, just in you. I wanted to get to know you. As it happens, I’d like you to forget all about graduate school and come to work for me.”
What was wrong with his voice? It sounded strange, as though his resonance had split not once but several times. She felt an odd pressure within her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and blocked the sensation. The pressure eased as quickly as it had begun. She opened her eyes.
“Incredible,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on her.
“What is incredible?”
“You, of course. I want you to tell me you will consider working for me.”
She shook her head. The suggestion stunned her. “I hope I don’t offend you, but I’m fully committed to therapy as a profession. I simply have no desire to enter the business world.” She so didn’t want him to press her further.
“Working for me would involve much more than the usual exchange of goods and services. I believe I could keep you challenged, content, and I would certainly make it worth your while.”
How could she tell him she would never in a million years work for him, not for all the money in the world. “I’m sorry,” she said firmly. “The answer must be no.”
His dark gaze commanded her. She found she could not look away from him. What had he said? Would she consider working for him?
The next moment he was in front of her on his knees. On his knees. He had hold of her arm and rubbed the inside of her wrist, the tender place over her veins. He stroked her skin back and forth. “Say yes,” he whispered, his voice still carrying a strange resonance. Why didn’t she fear him? He was large and muscular, powerful, the sort of man you imagined on black op missions deep in some Third World jungle. She had felt this from the beginning, his complete and utter lethal presence.
She should have feared his proximity. Fear would have been normal, but all her instincts were held in some kind of stasis.
“I will give you anything you desire,” he said. “I have great wealth at my disposal. Say you will come to me, align with me, work side by side with me. Say it and I will give you the world.”
He would give her the world.
She didn’t want the world, she wanted what Joy had, and he most definitely could not give her that.
Yet somehow she leaned toward him, drawn in, unafraid. Her pulse sped up as he stroked her wrist. Desire of a distinct sexual nature descended on her, a gentle rain on her skin. Was he seducing her?
“You’re feeling it, aren’t you? Say yes, Alison. We would be magnificent together.” The split resonance drifted over her, beckoning her. She wanted to say yes.
Her breaths came in quick little puffs. Her eyelids felt heavy. This wasn’t right. But she couldn’t seem to help herself.
She breathed in, meaning to draw more of his heady seductiveness inside her, but the smell of him, lemons and turpentine, shocked her senses. She turned her face away and squeezed her eyes shut. Her mind cleared and she pressed her back and shoulders into the chair. “I’m sorry, Darian. I have no wish to work with you now or ever. You could offer half a dozen worlds and I would still refuse.”
She shivered then felt Darian’s breath on her neck. He chuckled softly. “Half a dozen,” he murmured. “You have no idea how poetic your choice of words is, how perfect, how portentous, and I feel in you, I sense in you, a complete negation of my proposal. Again, I feel very sad as though I am losing a friend, perhaps the only true friend I have ever had. What a pity.” Did he just graze her throat with his teeth? Yet she couldn’t seem to move.
He released her wrist and, as though he had never been close to her at all, he once more sat on the sofa and again crossed his legs at the knee.
“I’m sorry, Darian.” Her mind felt a little strange. Had he just knelt in front of her? The memory seemed vague now, indistinct, like a dream.
“This is most unfortunate,” he said, “and I, too, am very sorry. I want you to understand and to remember my regret. I know we must go our separate ways, that much I believe was clear to me from the beginning, but I truly, truly wished it otherwise.”
For the smallest moment, her heart softened toward him. She believed he was sincere. She had never seen regret on his face before. However, she saw it now. Had she misjudged him in some way?
The front door of her office suite slammed open and a second later one of the dental hygienists from the group next door appeared in the doorway. She was a tall, lovely redhead, her skin freckled and fair, yet two clownish spots had popped out on her cheeks.