Demon Moon

by Meljean Brook

  Short dark hair.

  He shifted impatiently when she paused in the lobby to check her mailbox; disturbed by his movement, the air swirled and the odor of rot wafted around him. Feed. Warily, he tested the scent—winter cuttings, mulch.

  Just a false association. He forced the memory away, recalled himself to the woman as she neared his location.

  She couldn’t overlook him; beside the concrete walk, landscaping lights flooded the trellis and surrounding greenery. He’d deliberately selected a well-illuminated spot. Her fingers tightened on her purse strap and she gave him the half-hearted, quick glance so common from a woman alone at night.

  She stopped. Disbelief emanated from her psychic scent. Her pulse pounded, and she turned to him with her eyes wide. Silently, without expression, he let her stare; she’d make the decision now—to speak with him or not.

  “I know you,” she said.

  He was not surprised. Inevitably, this happened—he was too old for it not to, now and again. “When did you know me?”

  As if his soft question had been a command, her gaze unfocused. “Twenty-three years ago. I…dreamed of you. You came to me one night and I invited you up—” Her voice failed, and her cheeks filled with color. Blood, just under her skin. “It was a good dream.”

  He couldn’t keep the bitter smile from his lips. A night of extraordinary pleasure from a stranger, and he always became a drunken hallucination or a dream. Yet she remembered him better than most; he must have remained in her bed throughout the night instead of immediately forcing her to sleep.

  “And you’re still so beautiful.” A wistful note lilted in her voice, but she glanced down at her hands, not at Colin. His gaze followed hers. Age had not settled deeply on her fingers, but he could see the slight loosening of the skin, the veins more prominent than a young woman’s would have been. “Will you come up again?”

  He placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Yes.”

  Walking drew his attention to the stiffness of his cock. He’d not noted it over the bloodlust, but now it annoyed him—how vulgar it was for one’s prick to lead the way to dinner when its destination should be to bed. He loved the blood, he loved sex, but the mindless rutting that often accompanied the bloodlust could not even be considered fucking.

  Not that they were of a mind to complain once he began feeding.

  That did not mean, however, that he had to be an animal up to that moment. He’d have little choice if the bloodlust demanded the rut—and if she willed it. But until he lost that choice, he refused to devolve into barbarity or to rely upon the rapture for his pleasure and hers.

  He looked down at his companion as they stepped into the lift. A mirror screamed at him from inside the tiny cube; his focus narrowed to a swath of pink silk. “I pity the gentleman for whom you meant that astonishingly lovely dress. Did he see you in it before he cancelled? He must not have.”

  “No.” She blinked and shook her head as if to clear it. “How—?”

  Her skin shivered beneath his fingertips as they followed the U of her neckline from shoulder to the upper swell of her breast. “One does not cover beauty with drab.” Smiling, he tugged on the collar of her well-worn mackintosh. “This is the coat of a woman who has no fear that her lover will arrive early.” After a glance at her left hand, he amended, “Or her husband.”

  “Barely. We’re reconciling, but his standing me up tonight reminds me why we split.” Self-consciously, she checked her reflection—and didn’t notice Colin wasn’t there. The lift doors opened, and he pulled her quickly through.

  She hesitated in front of her flat. He took the keys from her, and once inside, there was no hesitation in her kiss. Colin kept his eyes open, surveyed the room. The edge of a mirror frame was visible in the hall; he’d not take her to the bedroom, then.

  It hardly mattered; the front door worked well enough. Her mouth moved beneath his—experienced, aroused, but not hungry for him.

  Savitri had been starving for his touch, her lips and tongue eagerly seeking his, her body a sweet weight, the scent and sound of her passion all the flavor he needed.

  Until the bloodlust.

  He edged the pink silk down over her breast, licked and suckled; she was lovely, but there was no flavor here, just the need to bite, to feed, to take the blood inside his mouth and fuck.

  I don’t want you tonight. Only your blood.

  But his hands lifted her against the door. He closed his eyes. Savi had wanted him. He’d not needed to pierce her shields to sense her desire. Ten minutes of seduction, and she would have willingly been his. One taste of rapture, and she’d not want to relinquish it. If he’d had her here, in the car, standing or lying…it would have been of her free will.

  Why the bloody fucking hell was he taking a substitute?

  Fear crashed through him—not his. He looked at her. She stood frozen, her body taut. Her lips trembled. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “You’re so beautiful.”

  He didn’t need to hear it from this one.

  Only your blood. He covered her eyes and turned her face away from him, pushing her cheek flat against the door panel and exposing her neck. He struck deep; liquid life pulsed into his mouth. His left hand tore at pretty pink silk and underclothing.

  Until it flowed into him, with the electric slide of her blood over his tongue: I don’t want you.

  His cock ached with need, but the bloodlust immediately retreated, regathered and shot upward, until there were only fangs and feeding. She shuddered against him, cried a name that wasn’t his. He smoothed her skirt down over her thighs.

  And he drank.

  “Oh, naatin, he is very handsome.”

  Savi grinned at the note of pleasure in Nani’s voice. Her grandmother leaned forward in the chair, squinting at the computer screen to read the text beneath the picture. The restaurant’s office was small, and Savi barely had room to maneuver around the desk to scroll down the e-mail to find his stats.

  “Manohar Suraj. He only has a master’s, but it’s a terminal degree in his field.” And better than anything she had to offer, Savi added silently. But it was probably best not to break Nani’s good mood by reminding her of her granddaughter’s shortcomings. “He’s a software engineer and he lives in Stonestown. He recently bought a condo there.”

  “You’ve spoken with him?”

  “Just e-mail. But I’m meeting with him tomorrow; we’re going to that little coffee shop off Wawona.”

  A small expression of distress furrowed Nani’s brow. “This is not how it is usually done, naatin. I should speak with his family.”

  “This is better than you talking with his parents and then having to withdraw later if we don’t like each other. Let us see if we are compatible, and if we aren’t, it’ll save you any embarrassment.”

  Nani gave a little headshake of assent. “What of his family? It cannot be good that they placed an advertisement; they must have no connections at all.”

  Savi had gone around that—found out who had paid for the matrimonial and then contacted Manu directly. “His father is at Cisco Systems. You might be able to ask Mr. Sivakumar if he knows him.” It would go a long way toward easing Nani’s fears if someone she knew could vouch for the family, and the son. “You should call Mrs. Sivakumar tomorrow.”

  Again that headshake. “Did you send a picture?”

  Savi nodded, trying not to laugh. “He wasn’t horrified. He still agreed to meet me.”

  “It looks better today, naatin. But still—”

  “I know. I’ll grow it out. My braid will be as long as yours before the wedding.”

  “Hopefully you marry before then,” Nani said, smiling. “Your mother cut her hair when she first started university, and it took eight years to reach this length again.”

  Savi couldn’t remember her mother without a chotee. Her father had often tugged on it, laughing. And when she’d brushed it out, it had fallen down her back like a waterfall of ebony satin.

/>   Her only memory of her mother’s short hair had come from pictures.

  Savi’s chest tightened, and she wrapped her arms around Nani’s shoulders. Neither she nor Nani were given to displays of affection, but there was no surprise or rejection in her grandmother’s form.

  It was brief; Nani patted her arm and pulled back. “Do not make me cry, naatin. Have you eaten?”

  The ache beneath Savi’s heart faded, replaced by amusement. Her grandmother would stuff her full, as if food would heal all of her ills, ease any grief. “Not yet, but I’ll get something in a moment—there’s not much here to do. Ranjit has been keeping it up well.” Though Savi had once been her grandmother’s sole help with the books, during their vacation to India and her subsequent fever, another employee had maintained them…and continued to do so. As Nani seemed comfortable with the arrangement, Savi hadn’t done more than act as fill-in when he took time off. Like tonight.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you need help out front?” As if on cue, the bell rang merrily, and voices carried into the back. Auntie’s did not have a large dinner clientele, but it managed a brisk take-out business in the evenings. “Is Geetha the only one out there?”

  Nani stood up. “We’re slow now. Eat first, and then you can take phone orders.”

  “Okay. Did any of the DemonSlayer players show up last week?”

  “No, naatin. Perhaps it’s best? That was a terrible business, what happened to them.”

  Savi nodded. “You’re probably right.”

  With a headshake that said, Of course I am, Nani left the office in a rustle of magenta silk and clinking bangles. Savi sighed and sank into the chair her grandmother had vacated.

  As much as it’d hurt, Lilith had spoken true: had Savi never translated Hugh’s book, and printed it at a vanity press as a present to him, and then developed a card game based on the story, the gamers who’d once gathered at Auntie’s every Friday night would never have been targeted. Lucifer and the nosferatu were to blame for their deaths, but Savi was responsible for creating the circumstances that had brought DemonSlayer and its players to Lucifer’s attention. Two dead, plus one of Hugh’s fellow professors—and four more taken and frightened beyond belief before Hugh and Lilith had rescued them.

  No wonder they no longer came to play—reality had taken the fun out of it. And they still didn’t know all of the reality; Lilith had managed to twist the truth so that the nosferatu became a cult of wannabe vampires. Insane, dedicated to extreme body modification, but human—and inspired to action by Hugh’s book and DemonSlayer.

  Just as Polidori’s popularity had soared, so had DemonSlayer’s sales.

  She glanced up at Manu’s picture. That was one thing she had to offer: a hell of a lot of money. None of the victims’ families had wanted it—they’d called it tainted…cursed. And though Savi would have once laughed off such an idea, perhaps it could be cursed. She was afraid to use it; her lesson had been learned. An anonymous donation to an orphanage in India? It would probably be destroyed in an earthquake.

  “Eat something, naatin,” Nani commanded. Savi glanced over in time to see her sweep past the door, heading for the kitchens with an order ticket in hand. “Take something out to Mr. Ames-Beaumont, as well. He cannot only want tea.”

  Colin had returned. She blinked, trying to decide how she should feel about it. Her body didn’t wait for her mind to decide; it seemed to hum in anticipation. Even with her shields up, she could no longer ignore the effect he had on her.

  Slowly, she turned back to the computer and moved the mouse pointer to close the e-mail window. Before she could click, a warm hand covered hers and a low voice purred in her ear, “What is this, naatin?”

  Colin. His chest against her upper back, his jaw against her temple as he looked over her shoulder. His middle finger slid alongside her forefinger, and he used the mouse wheel to scroll down through the e-mail.

  “A prospective groom?”

  She closed the window with a keyboard command and fought an overwhelming urge to run. “Yes.”

  “You hold your breath. Your heart races. Did his picture cause this sudden excitement?”

  “Yes,” she lied.

  “He will not do at all, sweet Savitri. He is far too handsome.” His voice seemed to rumble through her, prickling beneath her skin.

  “I’ve always liked a pretty face.”

  He laughed softly. “Is that so?”

  His teeth scraped her throat.

  And then she was alone in the office again, her grandmother singing lightly as she carried a dish to the dining room.

  Oh god. The air left her lungs in a shuddering rush, and she gulped in more. She scooted forward in the seat, tried to use the movement to ease the sudden, unbearable ache that pulsed low and heavy. Hot and liquid.

  It didn’t work.

  “Naatin?”

  “I’m coming,” she said, and bit her lip. “I’ll be right there.” Let me dry hump this chair first.

  What had that been? Sometime between her leaving his car and now, his “let’s be friends” had apparently lost its allure. Or he grew impatient with her, his obsession for a taste outweighing his intention to wait for an invitation—to wait for her to make a choice.

  Both options were sobering…and ridiculously painful.

  She liked being with him, but it was all too quickly becoming something deeper, something complicated. His attractiveness and her arousal were simple. Their easy banter was simple. Knowing what he wanted from her made it simple. Her experience on Caelum had been simple.

  The shuddery ache she was feeling now was not; the whole had become more than the sum of its parts—and she had to keep it simple. She couldn’t let it go any further. After she met with Manu and started on that path, she couldn’t turn back.

  She didn’t want to leave part of herself bleeding behind her. If this continued, she would.

  Unless she gave Colin what he needed tonight; the object attained, the hunt would be over. And she would gain pleasure from it, as well—her curiosity fulfilled.

  A perfectly simple solution.

  Savi automatically looked for Colin at the table where she’d first seen him eight months ago. He’d been wearing sunglasses, pretending to be blind so he could bring Sir Pup into the restaurant.

  But she didn’t see him there—didn’t see him anywhere.

  Very few diners sat at the tables. Colin would have stood out even if the restaurant had been crowded. Savi frowned, then noticed the table near the front window with a single teacup steaming on its surface—though no Colin. Geetha stood at the front counter, giving a woman in a pink dress and a gorgeous black shawl a take-out order.

  Savi smiled and said a quick hello; Roberta was a regular, though she appeared rather dazed at the moment. When she left, Savi pointed toward the window.

  “Is that Colin’s table? British, white?”

  Geetha grinned. “Handsome? Yes.”

  Nani brought another take-out bag to the counter and clicked her tongue. “Did you call Mrs. Karlen? Did she come for her order?”

  “Yes. She said she fell asleep.”

  “She makes too long a day, that one. And her divorce! So much stress. Is that all you are eating, naatin?” Nani shook her head at Savi’s soup bowl and disappeared into the kitchen again.

  Savi met Geetha’s laughing gaze, and sighed. “I’ll be by the window if the phones get too crazy.”

  It didn’t surprise her that Colin was at his table when she turned around. His fingers curled around the teacup, his thumbs absently tracing the rim.

  Her bowl clinked against the sheet of glass protecting the crimson silk tablecloth. She kept her tone light. “You drank from one of our customers?”

  “Hiding beneath the table was its own reprimand,” he said easily. He looked at her soup and drew in a long breath. “What is that?”

  “Mulligatawny.” She pushed her spoon into the thick soup. “Lentils, vegetables. Tamarind and coconut milk. Lot
s of spice. Not true Indian cuisine, but popular, so we make a meatless version of it.” She lifted her gaze to his. “The British are responsible for its creation, actually.”

  “Our colonies did produce many a spectacular concoction.” His teeth flashed briefly. Though he laughed and smiled openly in private company, he was careful not to expose his fangs in public. It was a shame, she decided; his mouth was incredible. Remembering how the sharp edges of his teeth had skimmed over her neck, she repressed a delicious shiver.

  She studied it for a bit longer, until the headlights of a passing car illuminated him with bright light. Her gaze dropped to the table, and she slid her napkin across the glass.

  “You have lipstick. Here.” She pressed her finger against the corner of her bottom lip, and watched her spoon swirl in the bowl.

  She glanced up to find him staring down at the streak of color against the white linen. “Pink is not a flattering shade on me.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at such a rueful observation. “No.” And she prevented any further conversation by taking a bite of the soup, letting its heat fill her mouth.

  She had to force herself to swallow past the ache in her throat.

  He kissed them. She’d known, but the implications of it hadn’t truly occurred to her before—of course he would kiss them. Hadn’t he told her that physical lust rode behind the bloodlust?

  I do not realize I’m hard until I’m inside her.

  No wonder Roberta had seemed so dazed.

  The napkin crumpled in his hand, and he threw it to the table. “I didn’t fuck her.”

  Startled by the anger beneath the statement, she met his gaze again. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You assumed it.”

  Her brow furrowed. “You have to take blood; you’re a vampire. Sex goes along with it.” She waved her hand at his cup. “Like tea and sugar. You can have one without the other, but it isn’t as good. Is it?”

  “I don’t know,” he said tightly. “I can’t bloody taste it.”

  She pressed her lips between her teeth and played with her soup.

  “Don’t laugh.” But his voice shook, and he passed his hand over his face as if to hold back his own laughter.