“‘Beta, did you eat today, or was it only junk?’”
“Your parents, too?” She glanced at him in sincere sympathy, though her smile tempered it with humor. “College, food…riding the bus. She’s certain I’ll be killed on it.”
“Yes. God forbid I walk outside without a jacket and three layers, even during the summer.” He regarded her closely. “If you don’t mind my asking, how is it that you don’t have your degree? Your nani seems as if she’d push you, just as my parents did.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at her hands, then at the window. It was difficult to see much outside; their reflections hid the darkness beyond. Movement near her feet on the opposite side of the glass caught her eye: Sir Pup. She smiled down at him. “She did, I just…I just kind of didn’t follow through. I have my bachelor’s, but…” She lifted her shoulder. “Not the same as a master’s or doctorate.”
“What was it in?”
His tone had changed from simple curiosity to something more; this was not just about her personality, discovering if they would get along—this was the interview.
“Premed. I went to Berkeley when I was fifteen, then to Stanford after getting the bachelor’s. I was in my second year in the medical program when—” When a demon had used Savi’s stupid mistake with the IDs to threaten Nani’s status. “—when I transferred to SF State so I could help at Auntie’s—Nani’s restaurant—and I switched to electrical engineering. Then I got frustrated with that, so I went to mechanical. Then into a liberal arts program, because I hadn’t done that before. History and literature, but the papers drove me nuts. Same with physics—I like the reading and the research, and the theory, but there wasn’t a future in it for me. I don’t have any ambition to publish or teach. And getting stuck for years in one line of theory—or one project—while doing research and development didn’t appeal, either.”
Manu’s eyebrows drew together, his fingers clenching on the cup.
Stop, Savi.
She couldn’t. “Then to programming and information systems, which was rather redundant by that point. I thought about going back to medical school, but my credits had expired and I didn’t want to redo everything I already knew. And I considered CalTech, but I didn’t want to move away from Nani. So I went into graphic design, but I wasn’t very good at it. So I dropped out of that program, too. And then finally dropped school altogether, and worked on a few other projects.”
He leaned back in his chair a little. “What are you doing now?”
She swallowed. “I just started a new job. Updating a law enforcement personnel database. It’s mostly data entry.”
Biting her lip, she watched his reaction. Confusion, withdrawal. She should have lied.
His gaze dropped to his cup before he met hers again. “I looked up your name after you contacted me. Online.”
She tried to smile. “I did you, too.”
He nodded, pressed his lips together. “Are you the same Savitri Murray that developed the DemonSlayer game? Your name is on the credits for the card game, but I thought it must be someone else until you mentioned Auntie’s, and your projects…I just put it together with that stuff on the news from last year.” His brow furrowed. “Do you actually believe in all that?”
All that. Her smile widened. She was probably blinding him with it. “Vampires and demons and guardian angels?”
His expression lightened, as if the words, when spoken aloud, declared their own absurdity. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Her knuckles were white with tension. Lilith’s voice suddenly echoed in her head: Can you be happy lying?
But marriage wasn’t about that. Not just that. And it didn’t matter; she wasn’t going to be happy either way. She should lie. Concealing the truth wouldn’t hurt him. She should—
“Yes,” she blurted. Stop, Savi. But she didn’t. “I do.”
The right words, but the wrong time to say them.
And he was so perfect, so nice; he steered the conversation back to innocuous topics, the kind they’d started with—though he likely thought her insane at best, and an idiot at worst. Not much different from what she’d called herself many times since Caelum.
Since Colin.
It was ten minutes before Manu paused, and said earnestly, “Savi, we get along well, so I really enjoyed meeting you. But for marriage…” He took a deep breath, studied her with an apologetic curve to his mouth. “I just don’t think we’d suit.”
Not unexpected, yet it was still difficult to hear. She gave a short, soundless laugh, dipping her head in acknowledgment. “No,” she agreed. She rubbed the back of her neck, glanced up at him. “We probably wouldn’t.”
“But it was great meeting you,” Manu repeated as he slid from his chair. “It’s gotten late, though, and I should…” He hesitated, waved toward the door with his hand. “Do you need a ride?”
She shook her head. There was no reason to make this any more awkward than it was.
It seemed less pathetic to watch him leave than to hide her face in her hands. At least until he moved past the wide windows and could no longer see her; then she could privately berate herself for her stupidity. Though she couldn’t imagine Manu telling too many people the truth behind his reason for rejecting her, how long would it be before word had spread through the Desi community, spoken in loud whispers over dal and roti, sandwiched between comparisons of MCAT scores and wedding costs, until all of Nani’s acquaintances thought that her granddaughter danced naked in the moonlight and worshipped demons?
They would blame it on America, and TV. And the number of suitable men willing to meet her would quickly decline.
She’d completely screwed herself over—and she wasn’t certain if she’d done it deliberately. And if she had, if it was for her sake…or for his.
With a sigh, she turned to the window again. Sir Pup had his head raised, looking at something across the street. She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus through the reflection—but it was too bright inside, too dark out. Until a passing vehicle’s headlights illuminated—
Colin. Standing beside his new car with his jaw set and his gaze locked on Manu. Oblivious to the vampire’s attention, he walked quickly down the sidewalk, his shoulders hunched against the rain.
Savi blinked in surprise, and Colin was on this side of the street, his long stride easily matching Manu’s rapid steps.
Her chair scraped against the tile floor as she jumped to her feet, pressed her palms against the cool windowpane. “Don’t do anything,” she said desperately, loudly, staring through the glass. The couple at a nearby table turned to look at her—but she’d just admitted to a potential suitor that she believed in vampires. Talking to herself was nothing.
Colin turned and flashed a playful grin over his shoulder. His eyebrows tilted in mock innocence. Me?
She saw his lips move, and Manu halted. His mouth dropped open as he looked up into Colin’s face.
Oh, god. It worked on heterosexual men, too.
“Sir Pup, stop him.”
The hellhound yawned and lowered his head to his paws.
Relief slipped through her. If Colin had been intent on hurting Manu, Sir Pup wouldn’t have allowed it. Or would have at least showed signs of nervousness.
And Colin was…her lips parted, and her throat dried. Both men stood in profile to her, and the intensity of Colin’s gaze as he spoke to Manu sent heat tearing through her—and she wasn’t even the focus of it.
Then Colin smiled, and his fangs gleamed. Manu stiffened, took a step back, nodding frantically.
Apparently satisfied with that response, Colin turned on his heel, walked toward the café entrance. Savi took her seat again, tried to smooth her ragged nerves. Silence fell over the patrons facing the door when he strode through, and deepened as others looked up to see the cause of the sudden hush; then it was broken as, behind the counter, a barista dropped a dish.
Despite the noise, despite the attention, Colin’s gaze didn’t stray from her. He stopped ne
xt to her table, but made no move to take the seat opposite.
“No wonder you’re reclusive, if this is what happens when you go somewhere,” she said, and her gaze drifted down to his throat, his chest. He’d worn the blue sweater. “It fits.”
He performed a slow spin, his arms held wide in blatant invitation to look and enjoy. She did. “Beautifully,” he agreed when he faced her again. “Everything does. You’ve excellent taste.”
Rolling her eyes, she took a sip from her cup and attempted to appear unaffected. “Not mine. I just remembered where you’d made the majority of your clothes purchases.” And there had been a lot of them in his financial records; his wardrobe must have been completely destroyed in the fire.
But then, previous years’ records indicated he replaced his wardrobe regularly.
“Yours. I could eat you in those boots.” He smiled lazily, as if the sudden increase in her heartbeat and the catch in her breath pleased him. “I may yet. Come and sit with me, Savi.”
He lifted her cup, threaded the fingers of his left hand through hers, and tugged.
She blinked in sudden understanding; a mirror sat above the bar. The café was shaped like an L, with sofas and comfortable, upholstered chairs in the short leg—and it angled outside of the mirror’s reflection.
“Or this is why you’re reclusive,” she said as he led her to an unoccupied love seat. “Mirrors everywhere. And cameras.”
“Yes.” He brought the cup to his lips, inhaled. His eyes closed. “What is this?”
How could he sniff tea and make it an exercise in sensuality? “Chai. Tea, milk, vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon. A little ginger.” Food, everyday ingredients. Something she knew intimately; listing them shouldn’t have this effect on her, make her want to pour it over herself and let him inhale her, too.
Colin set it on the low table in front of the love seat, drew her down beside him. Resting his arm along the back, he turned toward her.
His pale gaze held her immobile. “Don’t move,” he said softly.
She couldn’t anyway. His warm hand tilted her chin up; he leaned forward, his mouth hovering above hers, and breathed in.
Exactly as she’d wanted. But she wanted more.
“Cinnamon. Vanilla.” His thumb traced the curve of her bottom lip. “What I would not give for a taste. I am mad for you, Savitri.” Did you intend to string me along until I was so mad for you that I’d beg and promise to forsake every other woman for a taste of you?
She hadn’t. But she didn’t need to think about what he could give; she’d already thought it over—dreamed it, wished it—too much, and it came easily. So easily.
“A month,” she said against his mouth. “I want a month.”
His brows drew together. Pulling away, he echoed, “A month?”
She couldn’t interpret the sudden hardness in his eyes, the clench of his jaw. She looked at her hands fisted in her lap. She could do this. There was nothing left to lose, anyway. And if he said no, why not pile one rejection on top of another?
“A month. Just me. I’ll give you as much blood as I can; I’ve been looking at donation and testing sites to see how much is safe. And I’ll look for any drugs that will keep me from becoming too anemic, and boost my blood production. And if you supplement with animal…I know you can’t for long, not more than a month or two.”
Probably not two; he’d had to rely on animal blood the year before, and it took time to rebuild immunity against it. Years, for most vampires, but he was stronger than most.
“I don’t want you to get to the point that its degenerative effects begin to slow you down, or make you sick, especially not with a demon impersonating you. And if it’s only a month you’ll be at full strength again within a couple of days of regular feeding—”
“Stop, Savi.”
She bit her lip, held her breath.
“Look at me.”
She was too afraid. “Tell me first.”
His silence stretched her lungs tight, knotted her stomach.
“On the condition that you move into my house for the duration,” he finally said. “I want you readily available to me.”
She exhaled, and a relieved smile curved her lips as she met his eyes. “Won’t that be like scavenging?”
“And on the condition that you never remember anything I said to you when I was being an ass.”
“There won’t be many conversations to recall, then.”
“No.” He brought her hand to his lips, watching her over the kiss he pressed to her fingers. The tip of his tongue swept into the sensitive juncture between her middle and ring fingers, streaked a wet line of heat from her hand to her sex.
“Let’s go,” she breathed, and tried to pull her hand from his, get to her feet. She might as well have tried to escape a singularity. Yes, she’d likely already crossed that critical point. Nothing to do now but let it take her.
“Your impatience is flattering, but I’m too aggrieved to give in so easily; you have completely disrupted my plan to seduce you into my bed tonight. I’d thought of witty observations, romantic lyrics designed to sweep you off your feet. Yet all my scheming has gone to waste.”
He smiled against her hand when she laughed, but he made no effort to move.
“One more condition: If you’ll make a list, I’ll procure any medications you require through Ramsdell—but if the drugs have side effects, don’t use them.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and his voice carried a thread of something that sounded like wonder…or hope. “And it’s possible that with your new strength, you’ll not need them.”
She shook her head and turned her palm over. He glanced down at the jagged cut, just beginning to scab over; then back up, his brow lifted in query.
“It’s not healing at an accelerated rate. I doubt my blood production has increased. In vampires and Guardians, the two seem to go together.”
His lashes lowered as he examined the wound again. “I could heal it for you with my blood—as I did before.”
She curled her fingers, covered her palm. “No. Some scars are better to carry. This one will remind me to be careful of my shields, so that I don’t endanger those around me by attracting wyrmwolves.”
“You cannot forget.”
“No, but I don’t always think.” She tried not to laugh at his affronted stare. “You were being an ass then—but you were right.”
“If I was right, then I suppose it is acceptable to mention it.” His hand lifted from the back of the love seat, and he tweaked a short strand of hair near her temple. “We shall have a matching pair, Savitri.”
She glanced down as he spread his fingers, turned his palm up. The overhead lights shone on the ridge of the clean, straight scar. His hand, so strong and elegant.
She clenched her thighs together, remembering how easily he had brought her pleasure that afternoon. Thinking of how desperately she wanted it again. She had to swallow before she said, “It’s comforting to know that you have one flaw.”
He gave a short, deep laugh, exposing his fangs before he dipped his chin and hid them. He slanted her an upward glance, his eyes bright with amusement. “I hate to cause you discomfort, my sweet Savitri, but this is not a flaw.”
She arched an eyebrow. “No? It’s brought you much discomfort. Don’t you resent the sword’s effects? You don’t enjoy the…the—” Unwilling to say “Chaos” aloud, she settled for, “—what you see in the mirror.”
“No.” He leaned back, his elbow propped against the back of the sofa, and he rested his chin on his loosely curled fist as he studied her. “But it is a price worth paying.”
“For not immediately burning in the sun? Extra strength? Giving an orgasm with a sip?”
His lips quirked. “You make my argument for me.” Then he sobered, and said, “Ramsdell and Emily were also tainted; it is not for myself I am grateful, but for them. What it gave them.”
She quickly reviewed everything she knew of the couple. “But I thought there hadn’t been an
y lingering—” Her lips rounded as she realized, “Oh, my god. I hadn’t really calculated the date before, their age. He’d been a Guardian, so it didn’t strike me as unusual, but she…and on the same night?”
“Yes.” His throat worked, and a sheen rose in his eyes before he turned his head in profile. “I didn’t expect it for several more years. Perhaps another quarter century. They never appeared much older than fifty, though they were over twice that and ridiculously healthy.” He expelled a long breath, smiled slightly as if in memory. “I heard them in their room. She said she was a bit tired, and he said that perhaps it was time to see what came next.”
Oh, god. She could hardly speak past the lump in her throat. “Colin—” Her hands shook as she touched his shoulders, his jaw.
“I found them in their bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, as if that was exactly what they’d done—turned to each other, and left to see what came next. If their faces were any indication, whatever they found together was perfect. Beautiful.” His eyes locked with hers, and the moisture pooled there seemed to flood hers. “It gave them that, Savitri. A bit of Hell is nothing.”
She couldn’t respond; only look at him, touch him. Her fingers traced his brow, the angular beauty of his cheekbones.
He sighed, caught her wrists. “Oh, sweet, don’t cry. I can’t bear it.”
“Then don’t tell me stories like that. I’m such a sucker for happy endings. It’s my mother’s fault,” she whispered, and leaned forward to bury her face in his neck. She’d have given anything for her family to have had something like that, instead of violence and fear. “Do you miss them?”
“Every bloody day.” His arms tightened around her, and his voice was rough in her ear. “No more crying. I shall have to punish you if you stain my sweater with your tears. It has quickly become my favorite.”
She choked on her laughter. When she pulled back, he had a handkerchief ready, and she gratefully mopped her face with it. She glanced around them; everyone on the other seats and sofas was looking intently at something else.
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