There. She’d given him an easy way out. He could laugh it off and beat a prudent retreat, knowing he’d made too reckless a move in the game. A move even he hadn’t expected.
Because he hadn’t been speaking entirely in jest.
He looked up at her lips, slightly parted as if she’d thought better of further conversation. They were full, naturally rosy without a trace of paint. Had they been kissed before? Had she ever found time in the midst of her doctor’s theories to let a man hold her in his arms? In that feminine brain, seething with frightening intelligence and devotion to the study of the mind, had she any conception at all of the pleasures of the flesh?
Once he had known such pleasures intimately and frequently. Women had come gladly to his bed, flattered by his attentions. He’d lived in a world of mutual gratification shared among a well-bred set of rakes, roués, and worldly married women who knew exactly what they were getting and giving away.
Brilliant as she was, Johanna was anything but worldly.
“Please go back to the chaise, Quentin,” she said. “We should begin.”
The rebuff was clear. She didn’t take him seriously. Why should she? He’d become a bitter joke, even to himself. With a sigh he returned to the chaise, resting his head and shoulders on the pillows and wondering if he might not prefer to have various body parts removed without benefit of the new anesthesia.
Johanna rose from her chair and went to the desk. She started the metronome, setting it into a slow, steady tick-tick. From a drawer in the desk she produced a candle and matches, which she set down on a small table. She moved the table close to her chair and lit the candle.
“You need not be concerned,” she said, resuming her seat. “You will be safe at all times, in this room with me. We may not go beyond the very first stages of trance today, and nothing I do will harm you.”
He laughed under his breath. “Fire away, Doctor.”
“Relax, as much as you are able. Try to clear your mind of all thoughts and worries. Very good.” She lifted her hand. From the end of a chain hung a multifaceted crystal, catching the candlelight as it spun in slow circles. “Do you see this crystal? Look upon it now. Notice its translucence, the quality of light, the gentle motion as it turns round and round.”
Quentin looked. There was nothing particularly fascinating about the crystal. He’d much rather gaze at the face above it, glowing with reflected light.
Except she’d made very clear her sentiments regarding his attentions.
“As you watch the crystal,” she said, “listen to the rhythm of the metronome. How even and steady it is, like a heartbeat. When you hear it, all your worries and fears leave your mind. You feel at peace.”
How could he feel at peace with Johanna so near, her scent drifting across to him? He was like a boy in the schoolroom, fidgeting and impatient to get out into the free, fresh air and away from the useless knowledge they crammed into his head…
“You will notice, as you watch the crystal and listen to the beat, that your eyes are growing very heavy. You are sleepy, and yet your mind is clear. Look, Quentin. Look, and listen.”
Perversely, he resisted. Johanna was confident of her ability, but she hadn’t faced a werewolf subject. What if he chose to fight her? Would she still be so determined to keep at it until she found his “cure”?
“You’re resisting, Quentin,” she said. “You must let go.”
You instruct me to do what you cannot. He set his jaw. You must work a little harder, Valkyrie.
“Come, come. This won’t do.” She gazed into his eyes. “Trust me, Quentin. That is all I ask. Trust me.” Her voice softened to a low, soothing drone. “You want my help. I want to help you. Be my ally, Quentin.”
Such a cold word, ally. It didn’t satisfy him, not in the least. But after a few moments he realized that her peculiar magic was working, if not as she expected. It was her voice he listened to, not the metronome—her eyes he watched, not the crystal. He felt himself falling, falling into ocean-deep blue.