Demon Moon

by Meljean Brook

  She gave another startled laugh and cupped her breasts again, this time to cover them. “Are you sure you’re too tired?”

  “It’s a bloody miracle I can do this much. What pain thing?” His hand ceased its luscious motion through her wet folds.

  She turned her face into the pillow. “I told you in Caelum. At the fountain, during…”

  He was suddenly so silent, so still, she realized, “You don’t remember.”

  “Did I hurt you?” It ripped from him in that gritty voice.

  “No! I just wasn’t ready because the water had been so cold, and I’d bitten you and you were inside me so fast and I was…surprised at how big you were, and you asked if I was hurt, so I told you.” And now she recalled the dazed expression in his eyes, as if he hadn’t been completely aware of what was taking place. She’d thought it was part of the enthrallment, but—“You were hallucinating then?”

  She tried to turn to look at him, but he didn’t let her move.

  “What did you tell me?”

  Her eyes squeezed shut. “That I can’t come without a little bit of pain, anyway.” He didn’t immediately respond, and she explained, “I have to use it to get my head into my body, get past my shields, to really feel what’s going on. Like closing a circuit; it jolts me in there.”

  His thumb took up a lazy rhythm over her clit. “And that is what took place in the gym, when you dropped your shields in response to Castleford’s strike?”

  Yes, she thought, but couldn’t say it. Her lungs lost their air when he pinched the slick bundle of nerves. Her back arched, thrusting her taut nipples against her palms.

  “What did I do after you told me, Savi?”

  “You told me to bite you again and then—ah, God…please.” His fingers slipped into her, then withdrew to circle wetly around her clitoris, teasing, teasing.

  “And then…? What did I do?”

  Another thrust inside, and she began shaking, her foot sliding back and forth over the sheets in an uncontrollable need to move.

  “You fucked me.” She gasped. “So hard. And I came so hard.” Desperate, she twisted her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, but he caught her hands in his right and drew them forward and up, holding her wrists in front of her forehead.

  He pushed another finger deep, stretching the delicate flesh, rubbing thickly against smooth inner muscle. “Are you thinking of it now? How I felt inside you?”

  His cock, pounding into her with a force that bordered on painful but was too good to hurt. His skin firm against her tongue, trapped between her teeth. “Yes. Please, Colin. Don’t make me do it myself.”

  “How would you do it, sweet? I’ve got your hands.”

  She twisted forward at her waist and bit the skin just below her elbow; not hard, just to demonstrate. And she had no time to process his reaction—a sharply drawn breath, a whispered “bloody hell”—before he let go of her wrists and used his thigh and both hands to thrust and pinch and send her hurtling into orgasm.

  She cried out against her arm, shuddered as the world broke into pieces, breathed his name as she tried to reorder it again. Dimly, she felt a tug at her waistband as he refastened her jeans, then his strong, soothing touch across her chest as he wrapped his forearm around her again, but his other hand was at her back, tracing a line between…

  Her scars. She tried to remember if he’d seen them before, and realized he hadn’t. Better to have prepared him.

  “I should kiss Castleford for saving you.” The exhaustion and roughness had returned to his voice. “Then kill him for allowing it to happen.”

  She smiled, too satisfied to move anything but her lips. “They just look terrible because they’re exit wounds,” she said, and glanced down at the puckered scar over her breast, its mate high on her abdomen. “Not so bad in front. And the marks from the surgeries have almost completely faded.” Only thin, silvery lines remained.

  “You should have run.”

  “From a gun?”

  “From the wyrmwolf. Locked yourself in here. You have the symbols ready on the door.”

  A precaution used in almost every room. “If I had, it might have gone after a neighbor. Or taken Hugh and Lilith by surprise when they came home.”

  “They can’t be taken by surprise. And you’re too fragile to be fighting.” She felt him shake his head, as if to keep himself awake. “A gun wouldn’t have protected you if there had been two. You have to run.”

  He was right; she’d been lucky. But it wasn’t that simple. “It’s difficult for me to run.”

  “Why?” The question was heavy with fatigue. He laid his cheek against her neck, and his breathing slowed. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll give you the protection you need. I’ll give you everything you need.”

  Her heart constricted. “You will?”

  Why did those two words make her sound like such a needy little girl?

  He made a sound of assent, a hum against her throat. “The sod you plan to marry won’t be able, if he’s like the others. When you find he can’t, come back to me.”

  She stared down at his arm crossed over her naked chest, her throat tight. That’s what he’d meant?

  “For sex? After I’ve married him?” The hollow ache opened up again, worse for having been filled for a brief, stupid moment. She’d had sex. She’d always had sex—often good sex. “I don’t need an orgasm, Colin; I need something that will last. I won’t cheat on him. Even with the others, even if it was of short duration, I was faithful. Could you be?”

  She immediately regretted asking, hated the pain that it exposed and the wish behind it…and he was silent for so long that she began to think—hope—he’d fallen asleep.

  And when his softly spoken answer finally came, it was the sharp blow she’d needed. But it was hardly merciful.

  “If I could, Savi, it would be with you.”

  A simple “no” would have been easier to take.

  CHAPTER 15

  You may be correct; he was melancholy and hesitant—and he had taken a concoction designed to ease the pain from the initial attempt. Perhaps that interfered with the transformation? I shall rest easy, then: I am obviously not responsible.

  —Colin to Ramsdell, 1821

  Colin woke slowly, and the heavy weight upon his chest was not wholly unexpected. He’d fallen asleep with Savi lying still and silent in his arms, then dreamt he drowned in a sea of warm salt water, unable to draw a breath—unusual, but not inexplicable, as in deep daysleep vampires did not breathe at all. No, the torment had come from sensing her pain yet being unable to move or offer comfort.

  Bloody hell…there’d been none to offer. And God knew, he could have used some, too. The weight on his chest grew heavier.

  Where was she? He couldn’t feel her in the room, nor did his psychic probe detect her in the apartment. Even with her shields high, he’d have sensed her—but there was only the familiar presence of Castleford and Lilith…

  Lilith. Oh, Christ.

  “Get off,” he said, opening his eyes.

  Lilith grinned down at him from her perch on the center of his chest, her dark eyes and her teeth gleaming. She rested lightly on the balls of her bare feet, her leather-clad knees outspread and her hands against his collarbones, as if she could hold him down. “That’s so much better than ‘Fuck off, Lilith’ and ‘Sod off, Lilith.’”

  Colin glanced heavenward, but relief was not to be found on the ceiling. “Good God, this is my worst nightmare come true: I’ve woken up with you in my bed.”

  “Savi’s bed. And it gets even better, bloodsucker,” Lilith said. “Hugh’s here to watch. He likes to see me work.”

  A single look confirmed it; Castleford stood by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms across his chest, regarding them with an unreadable expression.

  “As you are still wearing that corset, he’s probably the only one who likes to see you work.”

  Her grin widened. “Savitri liked it, as well. She kissed me, sh
e liked it so much.” Her feet slipped to his sides; she straddled him and leaned down, her mouth just above his lips.

  He inhaled—and God, yes, almost imperceptible, but there: Savi’s sweet, tangy physical scent.

  “Jealous? She really appreciated my guns, gave me a nice hard smack…but apparently she didn’t appreciate your little pistol as much, because she left to go meet her suitor.” Her mouth flattened. “You know how she likes her men; she might be in another bed with him right now.”

  Colin’s gut clenched, agony tearing through his chest. Christ, but Lilith knew how to stab a man where he was most vulnerable, and in a location Colin had done everything he could to hide from himself.

  But slicing him open, leaving him raw and exposed was not enough for her demon tongue. “You’re so pretty, she was probably flattered that you panted after her. But a smart girl like that wouldn’t take long to realize you’ve more interest in your pleasure than hers, and that you’ll only sniff around until you get what you want.”

  “Lilith, you’re on the verge of damaging a bloody fine friendship,” he said tightly.

  “As are you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you so tanned?”

  He flashed his fangs in a snarl. “Won’t you tell me how beautiful it is on me? Perhaps you can manipulate me into a confession about Caelum. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Castleford said quietly. “It’s about making certain Savi wasn’t crying over a demon. It’s Colin, Lilith.”

  Startled, Colin’s gaze moved back and forth between them. Then anger took the place of surprise. “Next time, shove me in front of a fucking mirror.”

  He sat up, and Lilith leapt lightly to the floor. He pulled a hand through his hair, threw the sheet back.

  “When was she crying? And how the bloody hell could you confuse me for a demon? He copied my face. You may not have psychic abilities, but you’ve two hundred years’ acquaintance and a sodding hellhound!” Walking around the side of the bed, he faced them and said softly, dangerously, “And why was she crying?”

  Castleford slid his hands into his pockets. His gaze skimmed Colin’s length, pausing briefly at his knees. “Sir Pup went with her, and if you were a demon and only pretending the daysleep, we didn’t want to alert you to our suspicions. That is also why we didn’t bring in a mirror, take a picture, or examine you physically. She said your skin was still hot—that, combined with the difference between the way you two parted at SI this morning and the way we found her, the fact that you should have been across town in your daysleep, and that Savi is very, very wealthy—an excellent target for a demon, particularly if the vampire he’s impersonating is already connected to her—gave us concern.”

  “Of course, now it’s obvious that when she spoke of your skin, she meant a burn…Cerberus’s balls, Colin, what the hell were you thinking? Why didn’t you call SI and have Selah or Michael teleport over here?”

  A hoarse bark of laughter escaped him. “I didn’t think. I sensed the wyrmwolf and…ran.” And had been certain that he’d been too late. Even his experience in Chaos hadn’t equaled the terror and dread that had accompanied him the rest of the way here.

  How easy it had been when he’d seen her alive, the sword wavering in her hands, to decide to be anything she needed, do anything she wanted. Followed by the triumph of knowing he could fulfill her needs as no one else could, and the certainty that once she realized it, she’d not seek out anyone else.

  And then to discover the one thing she wanted most was something he couldn’t give her. I need something that will last.

  A phase didn’t. Why would his confirmation of his incapa bility make her cry, if she knew her feelings would be short-lived? He swallowed thickly. “How did you find her?”

  “Like this.” Lilith hopped up on the bed, folded her legs beneath her and sat on her heels. She laid her hands in her lap and gazed at them morosely for a moment. “She’d been wiping up blood from the floor.” She raised a brow at him. “Yours? We wondered why Sir Pup hadn’t taken care of it.”

  “Yes.” It was all he could manage. She’d been on her hands and knees cleaning up after him?

  Never again.

  “And then she did this.” With a flourish, Lilith pretended to swipe tears from her eyes and cheeks, then pasted a huge, sunny smile on her lips in a perfect imitation of Savi’s guarded expression.

  Castleford lowered his head into his hand and began laughing. Colin could not.

  “And then she said, ‘Oh, great, you guys are here! I was just finishing up, then I’ve got to go meet this guy at the café, and I’m taking Sir Pup with me because the wyrmwolves are after my psychic scent. Oh, and I shot one and I’m kissing you for putting your guns all over my house, and Colin cut off the thing’s head and he’s sleeping in my room, but his skin is still a little red and hot. Oh, and could you go to Auntie’s to watch after Nani until I come back here and we all talk to Colin about those transactions, and we’ll send Sir Pup to look after Nani for the rest of the night? Thanks!’”

  Castleford lifted his head, his eyes bright blue with amusement. “Actually, it took about half an hour, during which Sir Pup carried the wyrmwolf’s corpse to the lab and returned with your car—else we would have determined your identity with him. But that neatly sums up all we learned from our inquiry.”

  “And then she left,” Lilith said.

  “What time?” Colin started toward the bedroom door. It was almost six now. The sun had set shortly after five, and wyrmwolves weren’t the sole danger after night had fallen. “She only has Sir Pup?”

  “She left in a taxi at three.” Lilith’s mouth curved into a mocking smile. “You’re going to stalk her?”

  “Yes, but I prefer to call it the protection that you two have been too lax to provide her. Why so bloody early? She doesn’t meet with the sod until eight. I’d have woken by then and offered her a ride.”

  He walked into the living room and stopped as quickly as if he’d slammed into a wall. He turned, looked through the door to her office. Oh, Christ. The desks and tabletops, clear of electronics. The boxes of wiring and components, gone. The racks of DVDs, video games, and graphic novels, pared away to a few volumes. The DemonSlayer posters taken down. And despite the colorful silk paintings, pillows, and furniture that decorated the flat…it was sterile, lifeless, as if she’d taken everything that had ever been of interest to her and thrown it away. Gutted herself.

  If this was what she turned herself into to please her suitor, Colin would murder the fucking sod. This was what she wanted to last? Stripped down into a clichéd representation of a suitable woman?

  “It’s remarkable how much cleaning one can do with a hellhound and his cache,” Castleford observed from behind him. “Lilith does the same thing on her night for dishes, and they reappear when it’s my evening.”

  Not discarded then. Concealed. Yet so much worse: to be close to everything she needed to reflect her, to know where it was but be unable to have it…

  He’d known that ache too well since Caelum. Now she was slipping away from him again. And this time, taking everything with her.

  “Your clothes are by the door,” Lilith said. “The courier delivered them about fifteen minutes ago.”

  His brows drew together as he crossed the room toward the door connecting to Castleford’s house; he immediately recognized the elegant packaging and discreet logo from his preferred clothing store. Oh, sweet Savitri. His throat thickened with an unnamable emotion. Lowering himself to his heels, he slid his fingers beneath the tape on the largest package.

  A card sat on top, with a message scrawled in nearly illegible handwriting. For saving me—three times. And because ripped pants are so 1990s. I hope they all fit; they had your measurements on file but these are off the rack. There wasn’t time to do alterations. The receipt’s in here if you want to return them.

  She hadn’t signed her name, but had drawn a big smiley face. Guarded, even on a note. And prepared for rej
ection.

  They let me go.

  An ivory cashmere sweater. A pair of charcoal trousers. A jacket. A shirt, gray with green pinstripes. Trousers identical to those he wore now. All replacements for items ruined fighting the wyrmwolves.

  But she’d included more—things he’d need to leave her house without borrowing from Castleford or going without: handmade shoes, silk socks and handkerchiefs, underclothes. Cologne.

  And a finely knit sweater in cerulean blue. No use for it, nor was it a replacement. It was the only item she hadn’t seen him wear before. A personal gift—and he could easily imagine her stopping, her attention arrested by the color, touching it…and choosing it on impulse at the last minute.

  It had to have been at the last moment; if she’d taken time to reflect on how much it revealed, she’d have put it back.

  I’m not attentive to them.

  Was this attention, or simply what she’d learned about him from casual observation? It didn’t matter. It would be wasted on any other man. And if she would only offer it to one, if it had to be a suitor so that she could fulfill her promise to Auntie…then it would be him.

  He needed this. He’d secure her attention for himself if he had to move heaven and earth to do it.

  And there was no way in hell he would let her go.

  Colin’s hair was damp when he went down the stairs to Castleford’s. He glanced at the painting of Caelum, then followed the sound of cursing and found Lilith in the hallway near the garage, shrugging into her jacket and snapping her cell phone closed. The rest of her leather ensemble had been exchanged for loose cotton cargo pants and a T-shirt. Castleford entered from the kitchen moments after, his helmet dangling from his fingers.

  “That bitch Taylor is avoiding me,” Lilith announced, sliding a gun into a holster at the small of her back. Her long black hair concealed the slight bulge it left in the line of her jacket.

  A pair of grooves bracketed Castleford’s mouth, but he refrained from commenting.

  Colin shook his head in disbelief. “Your diplomatic skills are atrocious, Agent Milton.” The last time he’d seen Lilith and Detective Taylor in the same room together, Lilith had been using Sir Pup to frighten the woman and her partner speechless. “I’ll speak with her before you completely destroy all relations with the San Francisco police; it primarily concerns me, anyway.”