Demon Moon

by Meljean Brook

  Colin stared at her. Nothing yet. Nothing. Perhaps after two centuries—

  She stiffened, shuddered. Pain burst through her psychic scent. Her eyes opened wide. Her fingers warmed against Colin’s skin, and he felt the flare of heat from her body.

  Colin slapped his hand over her mouth before she began screaming.

  The Guardian dropped out of the sky like a falcon and slammed to the asphalt in a crouch, his wingspan stretching the width of the alley. Colin rolled his eyes. Show-offs, the lot of them—though Colin had not previously thought Drifter was.

  The wings vanished as the Guardian rose to his feet; with his brown hair, a long brown coat, and coarse brown trousers, Drifter was a mountain of a man. A bloody tall mountain of a man.

  Drifter’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Colin leaning casually against the brick wall, and at a glance the Guardian took in the two figures at Colin’s feet. “I reckoned Agent Milton lied to me when she said that you were in danger.”

  “She likely wanted to see how quickly you could move.” No Guardian would have wanted to be assigned to cleanup.

  Judging by the wry smile on Drifter’s mouth, he’d come to the same conclusion. He sank to his heels and examined the bodies, the bottom of his duster bunching on the filthy asphalt. “That smell coming from this one?”

  “Yes.” Sulphur and burnt flesh, though no evidence of it showed on the female’s pale skin.

  With the tips of his fingers against her chin, Drifter turned the female’s head, exposed her neck. “You didn’t drain her?”

  “No.” And Colin had no intention of offering an explanation of how she could be dead with no injuries to show for it.

  Drifter propped his elbows on his knees, his gaze traveling between the female and the dead man. “Did she have a consort?”

  “Yes.” Colin had returned to the street, but the moment the other vampire had seen Colin, his brief flare of recognition had been followed by realization and terror. He’d run, leaving a psychic trail of grief and fear in his wake. Colin had let him go. “He fled. There are many in the city who still need a partner,” he said dismissively. “He’ll find another.”

  “A woman like this, you figure he’s mighty attached.” The female and the human vanished into the Guardian’s cache, and Drifter stood. “She may have been a murderer, but she was a fine-looking one.”

  “And even murderers need affection.” Colin’s smile was mocking.

  “That we do,” Drifter replied easily, and scratched his great anvil of a jaw. “Seems to me that you ought to have least found out who he was, explained the Rules, and warned him not to retaliate.”

  “Against me? Don’t be absurd.”

  Drifter’s brows rose. “Word around SI is you’ve been coming in every day, which you’ve never done before. And you’ve been visiting Miss Savi in the tech room regularly.”

  Colin straightened up from the wall. His voice hardened. “What is your point, McCabe?”

  “Just that if I have heard where your interest lies, just passing through, it won’t take long before others know it. Such as those who’ve been watching you.”

  The vampire community? Colin shook his head. “They wouldn’t dare threaten her.” And if they did, he’d kill each one of them.

  “It may be you’re right.” Drifter shrugged and moved back to the center of the alley, forming his wings. “And this vampire I’ve got in my cache is a powerful indication nothing will come of that interest, anyway. It gives me quite the advantage.”

  “How is that?” Colin asked softly. If Drifter thought to capture Savi’s affections for himself—

  “I figure it’ll only be another day or two before the novices at SI start up a wager, placing bets on when you transform her. So when I write in ‘Never,’ I’ll be guaranteed a win—though I reckon I’ll have to wait an eternity to collect it.” Drifter smiled; a wide-brimmed hat appeared over his hair, and he tipped it in a mock salute. His wings arched, and with a single beat lifted him straight into the air, high and quick; in the dark, no human would likely have noticed the movement or, if they had, been able to determine what it had been.

  A violent gust of air followed in Drifter’s wake, swirled the alley’s odors around. Colin returned to the street, and looked for the one who had appealed to him before. Gone.

  Blast. He ought to have just immediately contacted SI instead of confronting the female. It wasn’t his responsibility to police the vampire community or to slay those who broke the Rules.

  Colin plucked a rose from a vase on a sidewalk table as he passed it, crushing the bud in his hand, erasing the stink of the alley. Apprehension uncoiled in his stomach. Savi would undoubtedly learn of his killing the vampire. What would she think of it, when she was conflicted over the execution of a nosferatu?

  He shook his head, a reluctant smile pulling at his lips. As absurd as her concern for the nosferatu was, it had been the first indication of dissent she’d shown against Castleford and Lilith, and it had surprised him. Colin had seen her siphon knowledge from them but never question their methods or the morality of their decisions. And although he usually found discussions of morality unbearably tiresome—humans and vampires tended to wax on and on about The Big Picture and Meaning—coming from Savi, it had been intriguing, startling.

  Perhaps it shouldn’t have been surprising. She’d attacked a nosferatu against Lilith’s and—she’d thought—Castleford’s request. And Colin knew she’d never shown any conflict or doubt before that evening because she was certain he’d use it against her. Colin had been waiting for such an opportunity, but he’d not thought that when she finally exposed a vulnerability, it would be regarding a sodding nosferatu. She’d let him in, but—

  Oh, Christ. She’d let him in. Colin stopped, let the rose drop to the pavement. She’d finally trusted him again—and he’d lost his temper and frightened her.

  What a bloody fucking mess he’d made of it.

  CHAPTER 8

  Demons and Guardians must abide by the Rules, which are really pretty simple: They can’t deny a human’s free will, and they can’t kill humans. I suppose they could hurt a human, but only if the human wanted it.

  —Savi to Taylor, 2007

  The clash of swords and thuds of flesh against flesh filled the gymnasium at Special Investigations—vampires and fledgling Guardians, hacking and swinging at each other in practiced routines.

  Colin spotted Savi at the back of the room, in desperate retreat from Castleford’s flashing blade. His muscles tightened, but he forced himself to stay where he was. Castleford wouldn’t hurt her, and she was covered in heavy, protective padding.

  Colin winced as she tripped over her feet and landed hard on the floor. Awkward, clumsy. It would take years before she was proficient, even under Castleford’s expert tutelage. He’d mentored countless Guardians over his eight centuries, but teaching the ungainly Savitri might prove his most difficult challenge.

  They began again, and Castleford landed a sharp blow against the base of her blade, sending her sword flying. Savi hissed and shook her hand against the sting, and for an instant her shields fell.

  Good God, but that fragrance was exquisite. Unable to help himself, Colin sucked in a deep breath. It was undoubtedly psychic, but somehow best experienced though scent—and his reaction was physical, as well. He quickly sat on one of the benches lining the walls.

  Her blocks rose into place, and he recovered enough to glance around, realizing that none of the other vampires—nor Guardians—had seemed to note her slip, let alone been overwhelmed by it.

  Strange, but he didn’t mind. He preferred to have it to himself.

  He looked up as a familiar dark anger swept through the building, followed by the slam of a door. Lilith. The Pentagon must have denied her request to execute the nosferatu. Bloody fools.

  “Clear out,” Castleford said softly. “Or get to the side.”

  Colin caught Savitri’s attention as she glanced toward the gym entrance. She m
et his gaze, and her wide-eyed curiosity narrowed into a smile of greeting. No anger? He searched for signs of irritation or wariness in her expression as she jogged over, and found none.

  He barely suppressed the urge to shake his head. What was wrong with her? Did she forgive so easily—or did she care so little?

  Neither alternative pleased him.

  She slid onto the bench next to him just as Lilith burst through the doors, her sword in hand. Sir Pup was at her heels, but immediately veered toward Savi and Colin and flopped down at Savi’s feet.

  After scratching each of his noses, she began unbuckling the padding that protected the front of her thighs; she didn’t look up as Hugh and Lilith met in the center of the gym, though the clash of their swords came fierce and loud.

  Colin glanced toward the incredible display, then at Savi’s mouth, set in a firm line. “Do you need assistance with the back?” He didn’t wait for her nod, sliding his fingers beneath the buckle behind her shoulders. She didn’t object when his hand lingered longer than necessary. He might have felt a bit of triumph, had she seemed to notice his touch. “You’ve seen them do this before.”

  She nodded and eased the padding away from her torso. Her dark T-shirt was damp with perspiration, her black hair glistening near her hairline. Colin fought to keep his inhalation inaudible.

  Even with her shields up, she smelled incredible. Warm and sweet and tangy.

  “In ten minutes they’ll be laughing. But it’s difficult to watch when they aren’t.” She rolled her shoulders. “Did you see me fall?”

  Was that embarrassment flushing her skin? He skimmed his thumb over her cheek and smiled when he felt the warmth there…when she didn’t flinch away. “Yes.”

  “My footwork sucks.”

  “Yes. As does your bladework.”

  She pulled her upper lip into her mouth, as if in contemplation, and leaned forward to watch the two combatants in the center of the room. “Hugh says that I overanalyze each movement, and it makes me slow and clumsy. That I think too much.”

  “You do.” Far too much. “And you learn too well.”

  She gave a half smile at his rueful tone before she said, “Seeing them, I believe it. They don’t have time to think, only react. Yet they’re in absolute control.” She spoke more to herself than to him, her gaze fixed on the battle as if memorizing and calculating everything before her.

  Did she apply that focus and determination to her lovemaking? He’d had a taste of it, when she’d taught him his own lesson. And that had only been a kiss.

  Heat rushed to his groin, and his fangs began to ache. In Caelum, she had been enthralled and acting almost purely on instinct. He’d been enthralled as well, and half out of his mind. Certainly no judge of pleasure. He’d had no judgment at all, but that which had proved poor.

  Stifling a groan of frustration, he bent forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Willed away the arousal. He could wait. For now, he would be content to simply observe her reaction to Castleford and Lilith, until she found the questions she sought.

  It did not take long.

  “Does Lilith hold back? She is faster and stronger than he is.” She glanced over at him, her gaze searching his as she waited for his answer. She had the most marvelous eyebrows—almost without angle, but for a sudden arc above the outside corners of her eyes. In an underpainting, he could capture it with the flick of his wrist. Brush strokes, he took more care.

  Now, they were slightly drawn together, her lips barely parted—an expression that in the last week he’d come to know meant Tell me.

  Colin shook his head. “Castleford knows her weaknesses and exploits them to his advantage.”

  “If he wanted to win immediately, would he do the same?”

  “No. He would utilize his strengths, not her weaknesses.”

  “Is Lilith utilizing her strengths or his weaknesses?”

  “Weakness against weakness, or it would be over too quickly—and it demands more skill. I’ve seen them fight when it was in earnest; never did it last more than a few seconds.” He lowered his voice so that she would have to move closer to hear him. “This is not a battle, Savitri. The pleasure here is not the victory, but what comes before.”

  “What is it?” She moistened her lips. “If not a battle?”

  “Foreplay,” he said, and awareness flared in her eyes before she blinked, hiding it. “Or a similar principle. The give-and-take, the dance toward a common goal.”

  Her teeth caught her bottom lip, as if she thought this over. “That isn’t an apt analogy; one doesn’t use a lover’s weaknesses against them.”

  “For them, Savitri. Where is she most sensitive? What makes her shudder and gasp? What are those, if not vulnerabilities?” It took all of his control not to deepen his tone, to pretend as if the conversation were only of scientific interest. Did her breath come more quickly? “And is this not for her? To redirect her anger? So he meets his blade against hers; she is faster, but too low. She thrusts with greater strength but cants too far to the left. She is off balance, and he takes her.”

  Her gaze had not wavered from his, but now she raised her brows, humor evident in the tilt of her eyes. “We are speaking of Lilith?”

  He grinned, unrepentant. “Of course.”

  “Of course.” She tapped her finger against his knee, then rasped her nail over the slick denim. “I’ve never seen you in jeans. They look good.” Her mouth curved slightly. “But everything does on you.”

  Did she think to manipulate him, as well? He would disarm her first, and let it be an impasse. “Wait until I turn around.” She lowered her face into her cupped palm as if to catch her laughter. Her left hand was still near his leg; he brought it to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to the backs of her fingers. “Thank you. But I confess I only assume it is true. I can hardly look into a mirror and see.”

  As if his assumption was more hilarious than his certainty, she laughed the harder. Then she pulled her hand from his and leaned forward to collect the padding from the floor and bestow final pats to Sir Pup’s heads. Her shirt rode up, exposing a strip of silky skin across the small of her back, the shallow corridor of her spine. His hands clenched in his lap.

  “I’m heading for the shower; I don’t need to wait for them to finish whacking at one another. Do you still intend to go to Auntie’s with me?”

  “Yes. No chaperones.” Colin offered his most charming smile when she glanced back over her shoulder. “I’m all aquiver in anticipation of our kiss.”

  “I haven’t yet agreed to it,” she said dryly, sitting up. “Nani is there.”

  He lifted his brows. “I’m certain I shall kiss her, too.”

  I will treat you as a friend, said the cobra.

  Savi wiped the steam from the mirror—would a fogged mirror have the same effect on him?—and wondered if the little girl would have fared better with iron-lined pockets. Or would the snake have simply crawled to a better position before striking?

  And what if the little girl liked it?

  Shuddering, she closed her eyes and shook her head. Put that way, the question was too creepy to contemplate. And as much as she wanted to compare Colin to a scaly creature and herself to an innocent girl, they were neither.

  “The new ’do looks great. Very Halle-Berry-coming-out-of-the-surf in Die Another Day.”

  Savi smiled slightly and looked up, meeting Fia’s gaze in the glass. “Better than platinum-blond-wig Halle?”

  The other woman grinned, her fangs protruding over her bottom lip. “Much. Only—may I?” She raised her pale hands when Savi nodded and turned around. Her fingers were quick, pulling and tugging at individual strands. “I studied at a beauty school for a little while, before meeting Paul. You’ve got great cheekbones and face shape for this; not a lot of women can pull off something this short. Why are you laughing?” Fia’s green eyes were sparkling—the easy confidence of a woman who knew the joke wasn’t about her, and wanted to share in it.

  “
I think when I cut it a couple of years ago my intention was that I couldn’t pull it off,” Savi said.

  “A breakup?”

  “A rebellion.”

  Fia nodded, then pointed to the mirror. “Check it out.”

  It did look good; instead of the flat, shiny cap Savi had combed after her shower, Fia had added texture and softened the edges. Better than a hedgehog, but Nani would still think she looked too much the boy. “Thank you.”

  “Well, we can’t all shape-shift like the Guardians,” Fia said with a laugh. She glanced in the mirror and fluffed her shoulder-length brown hair, then grinned again. “You should have seen me a month ago, before Paul turned me and we came here. I was trying to do the whole black-hair-and-leather look. Then I saw Lilith and realized I didn’t have a chance of pulling it off half as well, and went back to natural.”

  “I think two thousand years as a demon gives anyone an edge.”

  “Yeah.” Fia threw a quick, speculative glance at her. “You know the Beaumont—Ames-Beaumont—vampire pretty well.”

  Savi’s smile froze in place. “A little.”

  “You were there the night at Polidori’s when he fought that thing—the wyrmwolf.”

  Savi couldn’t hide her surprise, and Fia shrugged. “I was there, too, with Paul. Hell, we were almost always there. And until we saw you, we thought Lilith was his…” She shook her head. “Anyway, there are others in the community who are thinking that he’s half demon or something because of that. He was so fast—and he can go out in the sun.”

  “I don’t know,” Savi lied.

  Fia sighed. “You don’t want to tell me.”

  “I can’t tell you.” If demons learned of Colin’s anchor to Chaos, he’d be endangered by it. Lucifer would have done anything to regain access to that realm; a rogue demon on Earth might try to do the same.

  Disappointment creased her brow, but Fia shrugged again. “It’s okay if you can’t. We were just trying to understand why he wouldn’t want to lead the vampire community; he’s the strongest figure. SI is great, but too secretive, and a lot of vampires outside are becoming distrustful of it. A little afraid, too.”