Page 49 of Guardian

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One phone call to Gabriel and an hour later the meeting with Dr. Drake was set up. His office was located in the basement of a stately Edwardian mansion not far from Gabriel’s house, which meant it was also within walking distance of the twins’ flat.

During the walk there, Logan and Winter didn’t talk. He didn’t attempt to start a conversation, sensing that Winter had said what she wanted to say for now. He didn’t blame her for her silence. In fact, he was surprised that she hadn’t hurled any heavy objects at him. Maybe she carried her anger toward him inside her like women did often.

After her initial outburst when Manus had still been in the apartment, she hadn’t mentioned their sexual encounter again. He could guess what that meant: she wanted to forget as quickly as possible what they’d done in that motel in Trenton. As much as it pained him to know that she regretted their lovemaking, he knew that by telling her that he’d initially come to kill her, she would reject any further intimacies. Well, he’d have to live with that now. At least Winter wasn’t doing anything rash that would expose her to the demons. He was grateful for that.

She was a smart woman. And he should have been smart enough to realize that earlier. Maybe then he could have saved their relationship. Relationship? He had to shake his head. They had no relationship, none that extended beyond protector and charge. And even that was a tenuous one.

If—no, when—he had convinced the council to let her live, Winter would insist on a different guardian as her protector. But he didn’t want to look that far into the future. He had to concentrate on the task at hand.

Logan looked at the number on the gate. “This is the place.”

Winter stopped next to him, and he pushed the iron gate open to let her enter ahead of him. He didn’t attempt to take her hand, needing no confirmation that his touch wasn’t welcome. “The door at the end of the tradesmen entrance. Gabriel said it’s unlocked.”

He closed the gate behind him and followed Winter down the narrow walkway along the imposing building. The door at the end was unassuming. There was no sign indicating that a psychiatrist practiced at these premises. Apparently vampires didn’t have to or want to advertise their business. Word got around.

Inside, Logan was greeted by a Barbie-doll receptionist with a too-tight top and an aura that identified her as a vampire. No surprise about the latter.

“How may I help you?” she purred in a way that had nothing to do with kittens. Her gaze only briefly drifted to Winter as if she wasn’t important at all, yet clung to Logan like static to packing material.

“Miss Collins and I are here to see Dr. Drake. Gabriel Giles made the appointment for us,” Logan replied.

“Oh yes, the last-minute change to our schedule.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “The doctor is expecting you.” She motioned to a door. “Go right in.”

Logan nodded, then walked to the door. After a perfunctory knock, he opened the door and let Winter enter ahead of him, then followed her into the room and closed the door.

He didn’t really know what he’d expected to find in a vampire psychiatrist’s office. But it wasn’t this. He shot a look at Winter, wondering about her reaction, and saw that she too was taken aback by the rather unorthodox décor.

A black coffin-couch with faded red velvet cushions was the centerpiece of the room. Two armchairs in a plain style and a coffee table that looked suspiciously like a tombstone completed the seating arrangement. Gothic murals graced the walls, making the room look like a crypt. File cabinets with handles shaped like mini-stakes lined one wall.

“Welcome,” Dr. Drake said.

Logan was grateful that the tall, skinny man wasn’t wearing a black cape, but a white doctor’s coat over his business suit.

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Logan said and shook his hand, then stepped aside and motioned to Winter. “This is Winter Collins.”

“The psychic,” Drake said with appreciation, offering his hand to Winter. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Collins.”

Hesitantly, she shook his hand, then pulled back.

“Please, take a seat.”

Drake motioned to the coffin-couch, but Logan walked to the normal-looking armchairs instead, pulled one out a little and made eye contact with Winter. She took the seat, and Logan slunk into the chair next to her. Drake, his eyebrows raised a bit, had no choice but to sit on the god-awful couch.

Drake cleared his throat. “Mr. Giles filled me in to save time. I took the liberty of reviewing some lore about psychics to understand how best I can assist.”

“I appreciate that, Dr. Drake,” Winter said, speaking for the first time.

“But of course. May I just say I’m honored to finally meet a psychic face-to-face. There aren’t many of you to start with, and then of course there was a purge a few centuries ago that diminished your numbers even more…”

“A purge? You mean psychics were exterminated?” Winter’s gaze flitted to Logan. He knew what she must be thinking. That his race was responsible for it.

“It was a war between the witches and the psychics,” Logan explained quickly. “The witches felt threatened by the psychics’ powers.”

Winter stared at him. “Then why is Wesley helping us?”

“The remaining psychics negotiated a peace agreement with the witches. Besides, Wesley is of a different generation. The old wars, the old disagreements, mean nothing to him,” Logan assured her. Then he looked at Drake. “Therefore, there’s really no need to speak of it.”