He peeled away his shirt, let it drop to the ground.
“Are there Elves and faeries? Michael has a magic sword, so I can’t rule out rings, Hobbits, and dark mountains.” Her voice deepened. Her gaze moved over his chest, and she licked her lips, swallowed before she spoke. “What are you doing?”
“I intend to bathe in the sun,” he said.
“Oh,” she said breathlessly. Then her mouth pulled into a frown, her eyes narrowing. “You can tan?”
“Yes. Quite easily, though another vampire would be a fool to try.” He raised his eyebrows in an imitation of her expression. “I shall be gilded within an hour or two. You know that I’m resistant to the sun, why are you surprised by the tan?”
She pursed her lips and glanced up at the sky. “It just completely overturns the theory I’d been forming about vampire immortality. I didn’t think your cells changed—that you remained exactly as you were in life. But you must produce melanin.”
“The changes that take place are all superficial; features and form don’t alter—thank God. I like my features as they are.” At her quick smile, he added, “Good God, Savitri, to be this pale in life, I’d have to have been the most simpering, lily-livered dandy ever to grace London.” He placed the back of his hand against his forehead and sighed dramatically, bending his knees as if in a swoon. “I confess I may have been a bit of a dandy, but I never simpered.”
She tilted her head back and laughed; the perfection in the curve of her throat made a joke of the fountain’s arc of water. The deep, rich sound should have echoed in the courtyard of stone, but Caelum seemed to swallow it, take it for itself.
Colin could not fault it for that.
He slid his tongue across the tips of his fangs to soothe the ache building in them, then softly said, “You complained earlier of not bathing these four days; perhaps you should take advantage of this opportunity.”
Her laughter faded. “I do stink.”
Her sweet, feminine odor may have been stronger than she liked, but there was nothing offensive about it, and very much about it he found appealing.
Colin was all too familiar with stink, with burning, rotting odors, terrible… No.
He held her gaze and didn’t attempt to hide the heat in his. “No, Savitri. I simply want you out of your clothes.”
Her lips parted. “Oh, god, it’s too much,” she breathed, and rolled over into the water.
Her shriek pierced the air.
Colin fell to his knees as if he’d been struck from behind, fisting his hands against his eyes. “Freezing.” He heard Savitri’s laughing cry beneath the screams of the frozen faces and the howls of the ravenous wyrmwolves. He held on to the sound, forced himself to lower his palms from his face and see—not Chaos, but Caelum.
Heaven. He looked up, at the spires and the impossibly sublime arrangement, and welcomed the awe and fear. Let it tear through him, leave him senseless.
Until Savitri’s laugh surrounded him again. Colin crawled forward, gripped the fountain wall, and pulled himself up. He didn’t look down into the water, but across; Savitri had swum to the center and was examining the base of the obelisk.
His fingers trembled. He concentrated on the beating of her heart, the pulse of her blood, and let hunger push the lingering weakness and terror away.
If he had to lose himself, he preferred to do it within her.
“It translates from the Latin: ‘Deeper than you think.’” She threw him an amused glance. Drops slid from her shining cap of hair, down her cheeks and brow, fell from her delicately pointed chin. “I can’t touch bottom, though I could have sworn it wasn’t deeper than three feet. Appearances are deceiving—and despite all appearances, Michael must have a sense of humor.”
“Oh, I doubt that very much,” Colin murmured, unable to manage a stronger tone. Need rode hard on his tongue, swelled his shaft almost painfully erect.
He had to taste her. Had to have her.
“Come here, Savitri.”
Her eyes darkened, and she pushed against the obelisk with her feet. She arrowed through the umbrella of falling water; it splashed against her cheeks and hair, her hips, but fell unbroken around her. Her movement created not the slightest wave in the pool, as if the water were thick, heavy.
He stepped back as she came near the edge; he couldn’t look away from her, but it was better to remain at an angle that would not expose him, would not declare him absent.
She gripped the low marble wall. For a moment, she seemed all coltish long legs and awkward elbows and knees. Then she braced her foot against the edge of the wall and rose in a flowing, elegant motion, a cascade of water slipping silently away.
Oh, sweet heaven.
His chest tightened. His breath stopped.
She stood with her legs apart, and the sun outlined every curve, framing her exquisite composition with golden light. Water rendered the white linen transparent, hiding nothing from his hungry perusal—every color and shape, his to see. Her small breasts and taut nipples; the slender line of her waist; her slim hips and the shadow of her sex.
She stared down at him, and the warmth and arousal and awe in her eyes left him aching with need that had nothing to do with blood or lust.
How perfectly her expression reflected everything within him.
Her throat worked, her lips parted, and the movement gave life to the scene, made it flawless.
“We’re enthralled,” she whispered. “Like a Guardian going back to Earth for the first time. Only it’s the opposite for us. Completely overtaken by sight when other forms of sensory input are effectively absent.”
“I know.” It didn’t matter.
“And we aren’t thinking clearly. I’ve never been this…” She trailed off, her gaze falling to the front of his trousers as he pulled his belt from the loops. The tug of material stretched over his cock was like a brief, teasing caress. “I don’t know what to call it,” she finished hoarsely.
“Overcome?” Astonished. Entranced. Lost.
“It’s exponentially greater than that.” Her eyes closed as he stepped forward and gathered the hem of her skirt in his hands. The linen was wet; her skin was cold.
She shivered as he ran his palms up the length of her legs, drawing the soaked cloth ever higher.
Look at me.
He wrapped his hands around her lower thighs, to support her, to keep her open for him. Leaning forward, he covered her sex with the heat of his mouth, pressed his tongue against linen and the sensitive flesh beneath.
Disappointment speared through him, exposing a wish he hadn’t realized he’d made. He couldn’t taste her. Why had he been foolish enough to hope he could?
He’d known better.
He inhaled instead, and the scent of her arousal filled his mouth, his lungs. It was flavor; it would have to be enough.
“Colin—” She broke off on a soft, breathy moan. Her legs shook, and she sank down onto her heels until her eyes were level with his. He held her knees wide, the skirt bunched atop her thighs.
She rested her palms on his forearms, balancing her perch. A teasing smile pulled at his lips.
“Savitri,” he said. “Your hands are as cold as a vampire’s.”
She blinked, her eyelashes matted into thick spikes. Her gaze fell to his mouth. “I don’t have fangs, but—”
Rocking forward, she drew her lips close to his…then dipped her head beneath his chin and bit his throat.
Oh, good God. His body stiffened in unbearable erotic pleasure. Biting him. No one had ever, only—
No, no.
A sharp, sweet pain brought him back: her teeth, fastened on his neck. A long, high-pitched keening rose from her chest, resonated through him.
Tight, slick heat sheathed his cock.
When had he…bloody fucking hell, where had he been? Colin froze, trying to regain control. His breath came in desperate pants.
She unclenched her teeth, swiped her tongue wetly over the stinging skin. Her thighs flexed
as she lifted her hips, and she pressed a kiss to his neck, sucked lightly before her mouth released him.
“Savitri…” Bloodlust raged through him—and fear; he began shaking with both.
Run, Savitri.
Too late. Her head fell back, a blatant invitation. Impossible to resist, impossible to let go now. She slid down over his shaft with a trembling moan.
Her eyelids fluttered shut.
No. “Don’t close your eyes.” He stroked into her, a demand. “Tell me. Tell me what you see.”
See me here. Keep me here.
“So…beautiful…”
Triumph shot through him. “Yes.” He laughed raggedly and thrust again, dropped quick, biting kisses to her collarbone, her shoulder. “Tell me.”
“Perfect. Don’t know—” The breath ripped from her as his teeth closed over her nipple, tightly drawn beneath her shirt. Her hands gripped his biceps for support. “—what to call it. So blue.”
Realization struck. The sky. She was staring up at the sky. Overcome, but not by him. Caelum.
“Cerulean,” he supplied thickly.
“Cerulean,” she echoed, her voice filled with wonder.
Straightening, he cupped her nape and brought her face to his, then used both hands to hold her hips motionless at the edge of the wall. He thrust deep and withdrew. “Look at me. Tell me.”
Her lids were half-lowered, her gaze soft and unfocused. The racing of her heart pounded loud in his ears. Her chest heaved, and she tried to move forward, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling. When he gave her no inch, she emitted a frustrated, panicked laugh and fell back, lying on the wide fountain wall.
He didn’t look away in time, and her body no longer blocked the pool from his sight. Not there. The reflection of her arms, her hands held on to nothing.
Slipping…slipping. “Look at me,” he pleaded. She had to feel him inside her, touching her. “Tell me.”
“I can’t—it’s too much.” Her back bowed, and she drew a sobbing breath. “It can’t be real.”
Despair clogged his throat. Always a dream. I’m here. He pushed in deep, hard, and she cried out.
Screaming and tearing. Blood, need to feed, then he can protect himself, protect Savitri—
Savitri.
Her teeth clamped on his shoulder. Safe, shaking beneath him, her warm flesh clenching around him in an unbearably sweet caress.
He hadn’t seen her go over. He would—his fangs ached with need. She’d come again, and this physical release would be a pale substitute for what he’d give her.
She let go of him with a shuddering sigh, easing back. Her gaze roamed over his features, her eyes bright.
“I don’t want to wake up,” she said softly.
Bitterness swelled through him. “You’ll awaken. And you’ll forget.” He ran his thumb down the length of her neck, felt her pulse beneath the thin layer of skin.
Her lips curved slightly, and she turned her chin to the side in welcome. “No, I won’t.”
Good God, if only that could be true. He lowered his head, kissed the corner of her jaw. She shivered when he scraped his fangs over her vein, and he paused. “Are you frightened?”
“No,” she said without hesitation.
He smiled. “You should be. I should teach you a lesson in self-preservation, about vampires and their dark needs. You should not offer yourself so easily to one.”
“Go ahead,” she said, trembling with her laughter. “Teach me. Hugh says I’ve always been too trusting for my own good. But I hardly think immortality and incredible sex are things to fear.” She rocked her hips against him, and he groaned against her throat. His cock was still buried deep within her, still hard and aching, though the bloodlust had temporarily over-whelmed the physical desire. “Next time I’ll ask you to turn me, and I’ll explore those dark needs myself.”
He raised his head to look at her, traced his finger over her cheek. “I’ve not the ability to transform you, Savitri.” And he was surprised by the regret that accompanied the admission.
“I’ll settle for great sex then,” she said. “If you’ll just get on with teaching me that lesson.”
Delightful girl. Castleford was an idiot if he thought he could keep Colin away from her after this. A kiss to her neck, to soothe the fears she must have, despite her words. The tips of his fangs pierced her skin; a sharp prick, but as soon as the blood flowed, he could breach her psyche, send her the rapture of it.
Yes, too trusting…too fearless. Her blood filled his mouth. Pleasure spilled through him, and he gathered it, prepared to give her the same.
Chaos roared up from beneath. Feed. Ripping and tearing and running. Feed. He choked, stiffened. No. He reached for the ecstasy, found despair and terror.
“Colin?” Her voice, vibrating against his lips. Fearless. “It’s okay. I want this.”
And she wouldn’t remember, he realized numbly. It wouldn’t matter. It would only be a dream. For him, too—for one moment not being alone in this. Sharing beauty and perfection, and the depths of Hell. Savitri, she wasn’t afraid. Never afraid. And she’d wake up. Despite her wish, she’d wake up.
He hadn’t wanted to awaken, either.
Chaos rose and rose…he opened his psychic shields and let it out. He sipped. Tasted.
She was sweet. So very sweet. Her mind lay ordered and calm, with a single dark corner that she’d covered and pushed away as if she’d been expecting guests. He skated around it gratefully, tried to go deeper—and slammed into a thick, dense spiral, sticky with curiosity and striated with brilliant emotion…
What the hell was that?
Startled, he pulled away, then gasped as the bloodlust broke and the orgasm tore through him in pulsing streams. Pain joined it, agony that began in his testicles and radiated out—his chest, his neck, clawing at his cheeks.
Savitri. His eyes flew open as her knee rammed into him again. Her fingers swiped at his face. He instinctively jerked his head back; her nails scraped his chin instead of blinding him.
Her eyes were vacant with horror, tears leaking from the corners. Scarlet trickled from the wounds on her neck.
Oh, good God. What had he done?
On the verge of panic, he bent his head to her throat again. Heal her, put her to sleep. She’ll forget.
With a strangled scream, she slammed her foot into his chest. He didn’t move, but she did, sliding back across the slick marble and tumbling into the pool. She went under, and he lurched forward, her name tearing from his lips.
He could still taste her blood.
She surfaced, slapping at the mirrored water and taking deep, gulping breaths. Cupping her hand over the punctures, she swiveled to face him. Wariness tightened her features. Her lips were trembling, her eyes dark, shimmering wells.
“Savitri…” His throat closed. What could he say? And her shields were too high for him to put her to sleep. He held out his hand, gave a charming smile. “Allow me to assist you.”
“You’ve helped me enough. Lesson learned,” she said, her voice harsh. A denial rose to his lips, but it died when his gaze fell to her fingers, clasped against her throat; she was shaking, shivering with cold. And fear. She shut her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I feel the desperate need to bathe.”
Without looking at him, she turned and swam toward the center of the fountain. She laid her cheek against the base of the obelisk, presenting her back to him.
He couldn’t breathe. His stomach burned, the acrid flavor of shame stiffened his tongue. Her shirt clung to her shoulder blades; each vertebra in her spine was clearly outlined by the thin linen. Bloody hell, but she was so slender, frail. Defenseless.
The sickly odor of rot filling him, overwhelming her sweet psychic scent.
But he didn’t dare remain with her, not when he couldn’t protect her from himself. Better she feared him, would stay away from him.
He couldn’t trust himself to do the same.
Slowly, he backed away. He could wat
ch from a distance, make certain she left the frigid pool. He’d not hit her vein; she’d bleed a little, but it wouldn’t be life-threatening. And when she fell asleep that evening, she’d wake up with only the vaguest remembrance…
Running. The frantic whines of the wyrmwolf. Too bloody tired to fight it.
Colin shook his head, trying to rid himself of the dangerous memory. The putrid scent faded, moving off to the southwest. The sun began to burn, and he glanced up at the crimson sky.
The grass was warm beneath his bare feet.
Wake up.
Colin opened his eyes and immediately squinted against the sun. He stood outside, on a lawn—the UCSF campus. A mile from his home.
His heart was pounding; perspiration poured from his brow. Dazzling, intense sunlight danced like fire across his exposed skin. Bewildered, he looked down. Sir Pup tugged at his trouser leg, a questioning edge to his high-pitched whines.
Odd…he’d dreamt the sound had been coming from a—
Oh, Christ. He broke into a sprint before it fully registered. Sir Pup cantered along beside him.
A wyrmwolf…heading southwest.
“Savi,” he said hoarsely. “It’s after Savi. Run.”
Sir Pup streaked ahead. There was no contest between a vampire and a hellhound.
Even a vampire like Colin. Already at Sunset, he leapt across the wide avenue, soared over the speeding cars. Not fast enough. He was going to be the loser in a futile race; the wyrmwolf was too far ahead.
His feet hit pavement again as terror flared through her psychic scent. No. God please no. He stumbled; it took everything in him to stay upright.
Then her fragrance vanished, and it didn’t matter anymore.
He fell.
CHAPTER 14
Demons can simulate sex, but they don’t experience arousal or orgasm. Halflings—the Guardians, vampires—were originally human, and have a human’s physical responses. Nosferatu…I don’t know about nosferatu. And the idea of nosferatu sex is kind of disgusting, isn’t it?
—Savi to Taylor, 2007
Demon Moon Page 24