Key to Redemption Read online

  After studying Viktor’s remaining journals, notes and books that hadn’t been destroyed in the fire, he dug a tomb, deep in the permanent ice. All the research materials were laid next to Viktor, then Samuel sealed the grave, obliterating the entrance so it would never be found. He never wanted another to suffer the folly of men who tried to play God.

  After eking out a meager existence in the Arctic for years, he’d made his way back to Germany, traveling mostly at night, keeping well away from civilized areas. Once back in his homeland, he spent an interminable amount of time alone in a forgotten cave in the craggy mountains. He had never fully recovered from either his emotional or his physical wounds. Scarred, alone, despondent, Samuel spent his time looking a bleak immortality in the face, still unable to come to terms with his existence and wishing his iron body would allow him to end it all.

  News will travel to even the remotest locations, and a local Fey he discovered on one of his long walks through the forest became his liaison for the occasional book, newspaper or magazine. Paramortal psychology and Gillian were profiled in one of them. Samuel read the article with interest, wondering if this new type of science could possibly help him. He decided he had nothing to lose but his loneliness and sadness, so he contacted the IPPA, asking about their star therapist.

  Gillian knew his history, knew what lay under that hood was horror personified. It wasn’t simply his appearance; it was the fact that he was literally made out of reanimated pieces of cadavers. Sewn together like garments, the pieces trapped a feeling, thinking soul inside them. She sensed the horror he felt about himself, and it left her vaguely queasy.

  Thankfully, Samuel only wanted treatment for his ongoing depression and body dysmorphic disorder. No problem there. Gillian called Pavel and another young Werewolf named Radu over since they were in Human form. She asked Radu to escort Samuel to his room to unpack, then back to the great hall for an introductory group session. The two of them ambled off slowly. Samuel making large strides but obviously in great pain.

  Next out of the back of the van was another tall misshapen figure. This one was as tall as Samuel but with much less bulk. Again the cloak covered the face but the entire cloth seemed pulled and stretched over the outlandish shape underneath.

  “This is Tuuli, Dr. Key,” Helmut informed her.

  This file was unusual. Tuuli was a female Sidhe of the Twilight Court but had been subjected to hostile magic and had been under a polymorph spell for the past several hundred years. Gillian knew some magic, every Paramortal shrink worth their credentials did, but it was only enough to briefly defend herself, help her with contacting reluctant ghosts and keep her from getting herself abruptly killed in a few predictable situations.

  She told Helmut that she didn’t know how she could help this poor creature, other than to try to come to terms with her altered shape. He had assured her that Tuuli was only there for the same reason as Samuel: to have her depression treated. Well, that, Gill could do.

  “Welcome, Tuuli, I am looking forward to our sessions together,” Gillian said warmly, again extending her hand. A huge, misshapen limb extended slowly. It looked a lot like a hoof. A very familiar hoof. Gill’s empathy sparked and she knew. With the hoof came a scent that Pavel recognized. The great body swayed as Tuuli nodded, still unable to speak. She honked once, sadly.

  “Moose?!” Gillian and Pavel said together. The hooded creature honked an affirmative again.

  “She continued contact with Daed after you left Russia, Gillian. Through a process of hit and miss in translation, they finally figured out that she wanted to work with you. Daed called me and arranged her to be in this group,” Helmut said in explanation.

  “Thanks, Helmut. I am looking forward to working with Moo . . . er . . . Tuuli.” Gillian patted the cloaked figure in an area she hoped was its shoulder. “Go with Pavel now, please, and I will see you shortly.” The huge being ambled off with Pavel, who used his paranormal people skills to brag about Gillian and the area.

  Finally, the last figure in the van moved. Gillian glanced at Helmut, who smiled at her, then devoted his attention to whoever was coming out. Black knee-length military-style boots adorned the long, long, masculine legs stepping from the van. He was clothed in a perfectly tailored, retro-fitted black suit. His vest was heavily embroidered with scarlet thread and hung open against a gleaming white linen, ruffled poet-style shirt.

  The shirt itself was open at the neck, exposing a strongly columned throat and the upper part of what had to be a fabulous chest if the glimpse of it was any indication. A full-length black cape settled over the broad but lean shoulders and completed his silhouette somehow. This figure wasn’t hooded, but he had his face down and away as he unfolded from the van, and she couldn’t quite make him out in the growing darkness.

  “Dr. Gillian Key, may I present Erik Perrin Talbot Garnier. He prefers to be known as ‘Perrin Garnier’ and addressed as ‘Perrin,’ ” Helmut said formally, giving Gillian a look that said this was the patient he wanted her to pay particular attention to.

  The notes in his file said that this man had seen an article about her in a Paramortal Psychology Today magazine, which he had picked up at a coffee shop in Rouen, France. He too had contacted the IPPA and requested her personally.

  She looked. Hard. As the man straightened to stand next to them, she caught her breath, empathy kicking in, screaming at her to comfort him. Six feet three inches of devastatingly gorgeous, spectacularly handsome male stood in front of her. Well, the left half of his face was anyway. Part of the other half was covered with a molded white leather mask from his forehead to below his cheekbone, with a line directly down the middle of his perfect nose, ending above his upper lip and back across his cheek to his ear.

  The mouth was full, sensual and very male. His hair was a thick midnight black, slightly wavy, cut in layers, combed in waves so that it framed his face in inky whorls, falling over his collar all the way round; tousled but elegant. Perfect black sideburns added to the natural line of his strong jaw; the single visible ebony winged eyebrow lending perfect definition to his sculpted face.

  From what she could tell in the fading light, his eyes were an unusual gray green. His skin was alabaster, as if he rarely saw the sun. Even with the distracting mask, he was easily one of the most noble-looking, elegant, purely beautiful males she’d ever seen.

  “Hello, Perrin. I’m Gillian.” She slowly offered her hand, her eyes never leaving his face.

  Surprise lit his eyes as he looked at her proffered hand. Slowly, gracefully, elegantly, he extended his own black leather-encased hand and gently took hers in a tentative grasp. He bowed formally to her, breaking her gaze, then looked up but not quite at her face. “Thank you, Dr. Key. I appreciate you and Dr. Gerhardt allowing me to come.”

  His voice was deep, sensual, nearly melodic in its quality, with a light French accent overlaid with almost musical tones. He had mixed blood, she was sure. He was registering very oddly on her empathy as if there was something inherently magical leaking from him. No pure Human spoke like that and no pure Human ever looked like that.

  Curiouser and curiouser, Alice, Gillian thought to herself. Helmut didn’t have a completed file on Perrin, just the basics of how and why he had contacted the IPPA. He wanted her to do the full intake on this man herself. This was her sex therapy patient. Why would a man who looked like that need a sex therapist? she wondered.

  As if reading her mind, Helmut interrupted her thoughts and she realized she’d been staring at Perrin. Oops, but damn the man was attractive, almost mesmerizing.

  “Gillian, Perrin . . . Well, I’ll let you explain everything to him. If you don’t mind, I’ll just go inside, get things straightened out with Count Rachlav and find my room while you show Perrin where he will be staying.”

  “Sure, Helmut. I’ll talk to you later.” Turning back to her new patient, she smiled and gestured toward the guesthouse. The Wolves would bring everyone’s baggage to the rightful owner so
she could focus on this new patient.

  “We are glad to have you with us, Perrin, and please call me Gillian.” She smiled as she walked, going slowly, almost as if she were having to coax him to follow her. He followed hesitantly, but he did follow.

  “One moment,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him. “Helmut! I thought there was one more!” she called.

  “There was. We dropped him off at the Inn! He said he preferred privacy so he’ll wait until you can go to him!” Helmut yelled back.

  The other file, on this last patient, wasn’t put together either. All she knew was what Helmut had told her: that he was an expatriate Romanian Vampire who had fangxiety issues coupled with paranoia. That was almost certainly why he had elected to stay at the Inn rather than the castle. Aleksei or Tanis would probably know him and he wanted to remain anonymous to them. She’d have to do his intake as well and keep the private counseling at the Inn. It would have to wait till later—she wanted to get Perrin settled, spend some time with him, then get the welcoming group going tonight.

  She turned back and gestured to Perrin, who had frozen at her command and was watching her closely. He followed her, cape fluttering gently, almost docilely, as if he were afraid to make any wrong moves and risk her disapproval. Her empathy was giving her fits, though they were several feet from each other. The level of emotional pain that was radiating from him was overwhelming, and she had to tone her own network of senses down or she’d wrap him in her arms on the path and rock him like a child. That would be awkward for them both.

  Happily the guesthouse was just ahead and she still had her key. She opened the door, slapped on the light and moved aside so Perrin could enter before her. He stopped at the door, frozen again.

  “Perrin? You can go inside. This is where you’ll be staying and where we will have our sessions together.”

  Those remarkable eyes looked at her tentatively. “Thank you . . . Gillian.” Good, he’d tried out her name.

  “Come on.” She smiled and walked in. He followed, hesitating long enough for her to hand him the key, then continued into the house.

  She shut the door and turned back. “If you want to get settled, I can come back later, or if you prefer, we can start with me getting your background information and then move into our first session together. It’s your choice, I don’t want to pressure you, your first night here.”

  Perrin had moved all the way into the room and stood with his back toward her. The tension in the carriage of his shoulders was obvious. The man, or whatever he was, was terrified and trying to be calm and polite. Her empathy was on overload as she began to be swamped with his emotional pain. She needed to get out of there for a few minutes, but she’d given him his choice and would grit her teeth and stick it out if he wished it.

  To her horror, she realized that his broad shoulders were beginning to shake. He was crying softly. What the hell? Her feet moved of their own accord and she found herself behind him, not sure how she’d gotten there but her hand pressed against his back, the other going to clasp his arm.

  “Perrin? What’s the matter?”

  “Please,” he managed in an agonized voice. “This may have been a mistake. I am afraid my true appearance will disgust you, mademoiselle.” Shaking his head, he moved away from her, drawing his cape closer around him. He turned just enough so that she could see the flawless, uncovered side of his face.

  Shit. This was going to be tough already. Either he was thinking they were going to start off by jumping each other’s bones or he was worried about removing his mask.

  “Perrin, you do not disgust me. Let me assure you of that right now.”

  She moved parallel to him, so that the distance between them remained the same but she could see both sides of his face. “I don’t know if you understand how this works so please let me explain. Nothing is going to happen of a sexual nature tonight.”

  Her smile lit up her face and she focused warmth, calm and acceptance in his direction, hoping like hell that her instincts were correct, that he was sensitive enough to respond to her. “Perrin, this is just a getting to know each other session, all right? I’m not going to ask you to remove your mask, nor will I push you further or faster than you want to.”

  She took a tentative step closer to him, using his name over and over in a familiarization tactic to help him become acclimated and comfortable with her. He stiffened but didn’t move away. Encouraged, she moved closer still. “Please come and sit down, and we’ll just talk. This is just time to let you get comfortable with me and vice versa. I won’t even touch you without your permission if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  Seeing him watching her warily, she moved from her spot to the large couch that was now in the room. Aleksei had had the guesthouse redecorated at some point since she’d arrived in Romania, and now it had a lighter feel to it. The overstuffed couch and chairs had light coral- and peach-toned fabric coverings, the dark paneling had been painted a soothing periwinkle blue, the moldings and framing were painted white; the entire place had a more country look and feel.

  Gillian sat on one end of the couch, drawing her legs up under her and settling down in a casual position. Perrin watched every move she made. Finally when she was settled, he took the long way around the couch and stood for a moment as if to decide to sit near her or in one of the huge chairs. She waited, wanting him to make his own choice.

  After an awkward silence, he moved to the other end of the couch. With the theatrical flair born of long practice, he removed his cape and tossed it over one of the chairs, then sat on the couch, gracefully crossing then uncrossing his legs. Finally he sat stiffly, both feet on the floor, hands folded in his lap, gloves still on. He looked utterly miserable, so very out of place in even this dimmest of twilight before the stars shone.

  Gillian realized he had the mask side toward her and asked, “Would you prefer if we switched sides? You seem uneasy with me on the side where you are masked.”

  He turned his head toward her without meeting her eyes. “I am sorry. I do not mean to make you ill at ease with my disturbing appearance. You are so lovely, and I do not know why you would give consent to help me.” His voice was so musical and rich but so soft and sad it twisted her heart.

  “You have nothing to apologize for, Perrin. I was staring at you and I am sorry if I have embarrassed you. It’s just that you are such a remarkably attractive man, I have to look at you.”

  She meant it and let it show on her face, let him feel it from her. He lifted his gaze and saw that her smile reached her eyes; that she did not find him repulsive filled him with amazement.

  Gillian saw it. The instant adoration that slid behind his eyes. She felt it. His entire aura shifted. Terror and fear of her rejection were rapidly being replaced by waves of desire and need. Pure sex magic. It was a living thing in the room with them, as though he’d flipped a switch, covering her, filling her. It should have overwhelmed her; he could have used it as a device to overpower her and blind her to his intentions, but he didn’t. He continued to sit opposite her on the couch and stare with adoring eyes, still as a statue.

  The level of power was something that he could manipulate, she knew instinctively. Perrin was now fully aroused by her: hard, hot, pulsing, aching-for-release aroused. He could have had her at that very moment, because she’d never been more ready for sex in her life. He could have, but he didn’t. That was a conscious choice. Points for Perrin. He kept turning the metaphysical dial down until it was more comfortable for them both.

  Yes, Perrin sat perfectly still, watching her; a tall elegant compelling male, with pure sexuality to rival a Vampire’s. It radiated from him like the deep thrumming of a nuclear reactor—contained, controlled but dangerous as hell. Why he didn’t have females throwing themselves at his feet while ripping their clothes off, Gillian couldn’t say. All she knew was that if he crooked his finger at her right now, she would tear off their clothes and fuck his brains out on the couch. That was bad. Very bad.<
br />
  Therapy. This was supposed to be therapy.

  Right.

  Focus, Gillian.

  Dear, sweet, timid, inhibited Perrin was about one lapsed ethical moment away from being a sexual predator. Gillian found herself fighting down panic against his power. He hadn’t done a damn thing, and she was wet and hot, palms sweaty, breasts aching for the touch of his hand, breathing rapidly, and seconds away from orgasm.

  She slammed her own barriers home and tried to focus on “what” he was. Mind racing, she clicked off the possibilities while she tried to slow her body’s response to him. The level of inherent sexual magic was actually deeper than a Vampire’s, more on the same level as a natural satyr . . . or part and parcel of Fey glamour.

  Dammit. She knew.

  “You’re part Sidhe, aren’t you?”

  He said softly, “Oui.”

  Gillian’s eyebrow rose. That wasn’t the whole truth; she felt him shrink back from her empathy’s probing. “What else, Perrin? That’s not all you are.”

  “Non.” The word was whispered but she felt the shift again. Utter and absolute loathing washed over him. He hated himself with a passion. The overwhelming sensual sensation was instantly gone, replaced by a cold, tight feeling of revulsion.

  “I need your honesty if you want me to help you. I have to be accurate in my perception and diagnosis, Perrin. Please tell me what I need to know to help you.”

  She didn’t move. Didn’t lean toward him or touch him to comfort him. Right now, she was busy instinctively erecting her own shields and barriers for him in particular and couldn’t afford the added distraction. He would have to suffer for a moment until she got herself under control.

  Gillian was an empath in every sense of the word. Sensing her patients’ needs and fears, their truth and lies, was an inherent gift. Touching of any kind brought a new level to it. She could calm fears, induce a desire to improve, enhance sensuality or sex, even perform some minor light spiritual healing. Right now, she was too open to him and couldn’t afford physical contact for both their sakes. His ability had surprised her and she didn’t like being surprised. It wasn’t good for either him or her.