Demon Moon

by Meljean Brook

  Lilith obviously didn’t ascribe Castleford the same blame. “You didn’t know, either. Martyr.” She muttered the word with exasperated affection, then glanced at Colin. “How long did your fever last when you were tainted by Michael’s sword?”

  He looked down at his hand. A silvery scar crossed his palm, a remnant of a blood-brother ritual he and Anthony Ramsdell had completed when they were boys. They couldn’t have known the sword they’d used had once belonged to Michael, who had killed a Chaos dragon with it.

  Nor could they have known that the dragon’s blood had instilled its power in the metal of the sword, or anticipated that power transferring to their blood. Tainting it.

  But nineteen years later, as a young vampire aware of his origins, Colin should have known better when he tried to perform a different—and apparently as harmless—ritual.

  In such things, appearances were almost always deceiving.

  “A week,” he said.

  “Did you have any extraordinary abilities before you were attacked by the nosferatu?” Lilith arched a brow. “Excepting your beauty, of course. Speed, strength?”

  A smile pulled at his mouth. “No. None that I could discern.”

  “Did Ramsdell? Or your sister?”

  “No.” His throat tightened. “Aside from…the way they went.”

  Lilith’s brow creased, and Colin looked away before she could ask.

  A fruit bowl rested at the end of the bar, white porcelain against a backdrop of deep red. The crimson paint on the kitchen walls was the same hue as Lilith’s demon-skin; had it been on purpose? Castleford had Fallen after he’d slain Lilith, then attempted to live as a normal man for sixteen years. Had he been drawn to the color from memory, even if the memory’s influence had been a subconscious one? Had he wanted to surround himself with her in the room most necessary for life? The routine of eating, ingesting…it was as important to humans—even extraordinary ones—as to vampires.

  Or had it only been aesthetics?

  His fingers slid over the oranges, the apples, rearranging the composition. He draped the point of the grape pyramid over the lip of the bowl. The purple skins stretched tight beneath his fingertips, full and ripe.

  Vanitas. Perfect now, but it would not be long before it succumbed to rot. Or digestion.

  Colin drew his hand back, brought it to his face and inhaled. Citrus, sweet, clean. Like Savitri’s skin, but scent was fleeting. She was best captured with raw sienna, tempered by titanium white and heated with a touch of burnt umber. Egyptian violet for the shadows.

  Foolishness. “What of the wyrmwolf? How did it travel between realms?”

  Castleford’s mouth flattened. “We don’t know.” He glanced at Lilith, who nodded. “We may need you to go into the Room to look. We need to know what’s going on in Chaos, and you’re the only one who can tell us.”

  Sickness fell heavy in his gut, but Colin forced a lazy smile. “Must you capitalize everything when you speak? It is all so dramatic. Above, Below. Falls and Ascensions. Gifts. Rooms.”

  “I like dramatic,” Lilith said. She smiled as well, but her gaze didn’t move from his face. “He does it for me.”

  Colin lifted a brow. “I shall certainly give you a show in the Room.” But he couldn’t hold on to the mockery; his jaw clenched, and he pushed away from the counter and left the kitchen.

  Mirrors. Nothing but mirrors in that room. Though he wouldn’t physically be in Chaos, it was the nearest thing to it, and it was almost impossible to separate reality from the illusion.

  He was shaking just remembering the previous times, dreading the next.

  In the living room, he tried to steady himself with Caelum in front of him; the canvas was rough beneath his palm.

  “Wait a few days, Colin,” Castleford said. He and Lilith had followed the vampire, stood shoulder to shoulder. They didn’t need a painting to cling to; they had each other. “There has not been another wyrmwolf. Perhaps we worry for naught. We simply want to make certain. We can wait.”

  “Even though waiting is a tool of the devil,” Lilith said, and Colin laughed despite himself.

  “Very well. This week.” He took a deep breath. “And as we are speaking of devils, I could find no evidence of a rogue demon. The nosferatu’s trail had faded beyond my ability to track it; what I did find was most concentrated near Belgrave Square in London.”

  “If it was Belgravia, then we can almost be certain it was a demon who supported the nosferatu in this,” Castleford said. “He’d have the means to fund the nosferatu’s tickets and provide the fake identification—then cover it up.”

  Lilith nodded her agreement, smiling darkly. “If he’s connected to an embassy, someone’s going to be pissed when we kill him.”

  And set off an international scandal she’d undoubtedly relish. “There have been residential openings in the area,” Colin said. “He’d not necessarily be attached to a government.”

  “He would be if it provided him money and influence,” Lilith said. “Goddammit. You can always count on a demon to be derivative and unoriginal; he’s following Lucifer’s example by trying to create an alliance with a nosferatu and using it as an assassin.”

  An alliance that would have benefited them both: the nosferatu killed en masse, which it loved; the rogue demon enjoyed the terror he created, his powers of deception.

  “And he probably imagines himself superior to the nosferatu by making it serve him.” Castleford released a heavy sigh, ran his hand through his hair. “The irony is that if we’d had Savi in those days immediately following the flight, she might have been able to dig him out. But the rogue is so far under now, she can’t. She got the nosferatu, but the fever gave the demon time to escape.”

  Colin turned away from the painting. “I believe I heard you incorrectly. What has Savitri to do with this?”

  A smile touched Castleford’s lips; Colin couldn’t determine if pride or concern sat in that expression. “About a week ago, I received an anonymous e-mail from someone within DHS. It traced the financial and identification info from the nosferatu’s ticket and passport through about seven more layers than our technicians had been able to do. All dead ends, which our anonymous informant pointed out in the message. Also that such thorough concealment indicated something much more powerful lay behind it all.”

  “Savi,” Lilith said. “So we stole her.”

  Colin looked back and forth between the two of them. “You are bringing her into SI? You are mad. Do you not endanger her enough simply by allowing her to live here?”

  Lilith’s eyes darkened. “Be careful, Colin.”

  “We intend to give her the knowledge she needs to protect herself.” Castleford radiated tension and anger. He could have hidden it, but it served as a silent warning.

  Colin didn’t pay heed. “A month ago, I’d have had her spread out on my bed and my fangs in her throat, and there is little knowledge you could have given her that might have stopped me. What of the next vampire who tries? One who holds a grudge against SI…and sees a pretty little girl who’s a bit too curious to be sensible, and who happens to be your sister. You’ll make her a more appealing target than she already is. And it is not the first time your relationship to her has made her such.”

  Lilith’s fingers clenched on Castleford’s forearm. “It has been done, she is already linked to us; that will not change when she moves out,” she said. “Should we send her to Caelum again…permanently? That isn’t an option. We can’t always hide her away to secure her safety.”

  Savi had not been safe in Caelum. His back rigid, Colin faced the painting again.

  “And though we appreciate your concern, it is not your choice,” Castleford said coldly. “It is hers.”

  Colin pressed his lips together to stop the invectives that leapt to his tongue. Hang all demons and Guardians and their respect for human free will.

  “We can only make certain she knows as much as possible and has the best methods of protection before h
er wedding,” Lilith said. “And that is what we’ll do.”

  Her wedding? He would not trust himself to ask.

  He traced the arching entrance to Caelum’s central courtyard before dropping his hand to his side. A fountain lay behind that arch, though it was not visible from Michael’s temple. He’d painted its impossibly flat pool before, the perfect arc of water, but not here. With a shrug, he finally said, “Very well. It hardly matters to me if you insist on acting the fools. And I must beg your pardon: I have yet to hunt. Have we finished?”

  Colin didn’t wait for their assent or for Castleford to call him on his lie; he left. The night air was cool against his face, heavy with moisture. A fog coming in.

  The breeze carried a thread of scent. Sweet. He ground his teeth together and ignored it. Just memory, tormenting him.

  He slid into the leather seat, leaned back against the headrest. Faint, but still there. Remnants from her presence in his car a month ago? It had to be, though he’d not detected it earlier that evening.

  And it was odd that this memory had a direction. West, toward Lake Merced.

  There would be hunting to be had there.

  CHAPTER 6

  In vampires, the bloodlust responds to free will—but only the free will of the victim. If the victim does not want the vampire’s sexual attention, the bloodlust won’t force it on them; but if the vampire doesn’t have control over himself, even after the bloodlust has faded, he might force the sex. On the other hand, if the victim wants it and the bloodlust is high…well, once he starts drinking there’s not much for the vampire to do but go along for the ride.

  —Savi to Taylor, 2007

  The baseball arced over the tops of the trees, disappearing in the dark and fog. Two hundred yards, at least.

  Sir Pup sprinted to fetch his ball, and Savi shook her head in disbelief. Though she wasn’t a complete wimp, she’d long ago accepted she was less than athletically gifted. This was incredible. Even Barry Bonds couldn’t have smashed a home run that far.

  The hellhound barked in the distance, and she bit her lip in sudden alarm. Hopefully it hadn’t hit someone on the head or destroyed a car window. But no, there he was, breaking free of the tree line and trotting across the grass.

  Oh, shit—Colin was with him. She’d recognize that elegant stride anywhere. Dammit. As if it hadn’t been difficult enough to pretend disinterest when she’d thanked him at his car. She’d spent most of the afternoon building her psychic shields to steel; assuming that she wouldn’t see him again that evening, she hadn’t maintained them.

  Breathing slow and steady. Focus. And don’t look at his face. Not right away.

  She pasted on a smile and gazed at a point over his shoulder. She probably looked like an idiot—but she felt like one, so it was as well. Smart women ran when they saw a vampire approaching.

  And if their hearts raced, it should be from fear.

  The point over his shoulder rose higher and higher as he neared her. She lowered her gaze to the pocket of his jacket. Why did he wear it? He wouldn’t become cold. Was it simply because it looked fantastic, as if it had been tailor-made to fit him?

  It probably had been.

  He stopped directly in front of her, less than an arm’s length away. Too close. “You shouldn’t be alone in the park after sunset, sweet Savitri.” Though his words admonished her, his tone did not. It was low and warm. Seductive.

  Her throat was dry. She swallowed and said, “Sir Pup is with me. I’m not being foolish.”

  “No, you are not. He’s a fine protector. But you should not be alone.” Colin trailed his forefinger from her ear to jawline, tipping her face up with gentle pressure.

  A shiver ran over her skin. She stared at the cleft in his chin. Not too deep, just a lovely shadow.

  “Do you know why I’m here?”

  “To hunt?”

  “No.” She heard the smile in his voice. “I prefer not to chase after men and women on the jogging paths.”

  “It does seem creepy,” she said. “Like a serial killer.”

  His fangs glistened in the fog-muted moonlight; his laughter was soft. “Yes, I imagine it does. I was off to hunt. But I was overcome by the most delicious fragrance.” He slowly bent his head toward hers. A breath away from her mouth, he inhaled deeply. He didn’t touch her lips, but she could feel the warmth from his. “It disappeared when I saw you across the lawn. Why do you think that is?”

  “The breeze shifted?”

  “I am downwind of you.”

  “Perhaps I’m not the source.”

  “Perhaps.” He teased the corner of her mouth with a flick of his tongue. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing, on standing. What was he doing to her? “Perhaps it is Sir Pup,” he said.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, it must be.”

  “How would you test such a thing, Savitri? Send him away? Remove a variable?”

  “I’m a variable,” she said.

  “But should you leave and Sir Pup stay, no one could protect you from the evil creatures stalking the night.”

  She had to smile. Such melodrama. “If he leaves, no one will protect me from you.”

  “Castleford believes you’ll be able to protect yourself after you’ve had enough lessons.” There was an edge of anger in his voice now, when it had only been soft.

  “You doubt him? You doubt I will?” She finally looked up at him. “Or are you here to teach him a lesson?”

  “No.” He watched her with shadowed eyes. “I’m here because he’s taught you well. Ask me why I can’t suggest you sleep, as I did Auntie.”

  “I already know. My psychic shields.”

  “Then why did you ask before?”

  Except for his hand against her chin he didn’t touch her, yet his gaze held her immobile. Another vampire trick? Why had Hugh not warned her? Was it something only Colin could do?

  “I didn’t know if you could overcome them.”

  “I see.” Sardonic amusement flirted with his lips as he tucked his fingers beneath her chenille scarf, slowly loosening it. Cool air wafted against her neck, sent prickles down her spine. “Because I once drank your blood, you thought I might have bound you to me. Like Dracula and Mina.”

  His lashes swept down as he dipped his head toward hers.

  Her breath hitched. “Yes.”

  “No, Savitri. Only when I drink does your mind open to me.” She began trembling as his mouth skimmed the side of her jaw. He spoke with his lips against her throat. “Invite me in.”

  “No.” She gasped the word.

  “I’ll make it good for you this time.” He dragged the inside of his bottom lip over her pulse. Hot. Wet. “Please invite me in.”

  She didn’t trust the pleading note in his voice; she couldn’t imagine him begging for anything. “No.”

  “Then lower your shields.” He raised his head when she stiffened. “That is not a threat. Only that I ask the lesser pleasure if you deny the greater.”

  “I have no reason to give you either, or to trust you. Particularly as I don’t know what you’ve done to me now.”

  As light and impenetrable as the fog, his gray eyes searched hers; then he tilted his head back, stared up at the sky. His laugh was pure frustration. “What I have done to you? What of what you are doing to me? I am risking one of the few friendships I’ve known by standing here. I’ve never run after a woman, yet the moment I realized what that scent was, I abandoned my hunt and came for you. Do you know what it is, Savitri? Do you know what you are doing to me?”

  “It’s psychic,” she realized, shaking. “Not physical.” It meant that the changes in her had gone deeper than she’d known. Would they fade?

  Guardians who Fell retained some of their strength and speed, and aged slowly—though in all other ways they were human, with no psychic abilities. Once transformed, some things could not be undone—and the longer the transformation, the deeper the change. Would it be the same of a woman who accidentally inges
ted hellhound venom and nosferatu blood?

  “Yes. I mistook it for peach through a trick of memory. I made the easiest and most sensible conclusion given what I perceived, likened it to a familiar scent—but it was wrong.”

  The Gestalt effect. Like in Caelum.

  As if the same thought occurred to him, he tensed. “Do you deny me as punishment for Caelum? Is this a lesson?”

  “No.” She wrapped her arms around her chest. Small defense, but she still couldn’t find the strength to move away from him. “I returned that favor in Polidori’s.”

  He let go a shout of laughter. “With an orgasm? With the most bloody brilliant kiss I’ve ever received?”

  She forced the rush of pleasure away. It had been good, but so had Caelum until he’d decided to give her a lesson. “You taught me to be wary, and it was what I most needed to learn. I taught you that you’re no better than those you feed from, because that is what you most need to learn.” His amusement faded, his gaze hardened to iron, but she forged on, “I don’t deny you as punishment. I deny you because you taught me too well.”

  He stared at her, then lowered his head, his shoulders shaking. But there was little mirth in his voice as he said, “I am fortune’s buggered fool.”

  “That’s what Hugh told me, but he said you liked it.” Sir Pup nudged her knee, and she was grateful for an excuse to look away from Colin’s sudden grin.

  The baseball dropped at her feet. She threw it with all the force she could muster. Perhaps she could take out all of this pent-up frustration in some kind of exercise; at least Colin’s hold on her seemed to have faded. She could move now.

  Sir Pup streaked away.

  Colin had half-turned to allow her room to throw. His features were curiously blank when he glanced back at her. “What do you think I’ve done to you?”

  “That thing with your eyes,” she said. “Keeping me here, though I know I should leave.”

  “The thing with my—” He broke off. His gaze roamed over her face. Suddenly, his focus narrowed on her mouth, became sharp and predatory.

  She took a step back.