Demon Moon

by Meljean Brook

  Colin couldn’t defeat the demon in combat; he hadn’t the strength. He could, however, fortify himself with the vampires’ loyalty, by playing on the very thing the demon would never recognize in them, would never think to recognize: modern vampires did not want to be led, particularly by a figure who would raise himself above them.

  They wanted order; they wanted protection. They wanted knowledge. They didn’t want a barbaric hierarchy based on physical power and age.

  But they were too entrenched in vampiric tradition to know it yet.

  Fia met them at the private entrance to Polidori’s, carrying a tranquilizer pistol and accompanied by her partner, Paul. Two more vampires stood just inside the door, their guns trained on Colin’s head and chest.

  Savi apparently hadn’t been expecting such a greeting, and he’d not thought to warn her of the preparations he’d made; her left hand found his, and her right rested near the weapon at her thigh. Colin reassured her with a squeeze of his fingers, but his amusement died when one vampire shifted his aim.

  “Mr. Levitt,” he said softly, “if you cannot immediately determine a demon from a human, I am quite capable of sending you to Hell to better learn the difference.”

  Levitt quickly retargeted Colin’s forehead.

  Paul slanted a glance back at the pair, then frowned at Colin. “Dalkiel could impersonate her, too.”

  Sir Pup flopped down at Savi’s feet, panting from his run. Obviously considering the hellhound proof of their identity, Fia holstered her gun. “Or take a partner and throw us off-guard by impersonating the both of you, when we only expect one.”

  Savi’s gaze was assessing as she studied the vampires. “I can make more of the handheld IR detectors to augment door security; they’ll be useful inside, as well. Inside,” she repeated with a lift of her brow, “where a vampire sniper might not pick me off from a rooftop.”

  Bloody hell. Colin had her through the entrance within moments.

  “I can’t believe I said ‘vampire sniper’ with a straight face,” Savi said as he led her down the corridor to the private suite.

  Colin couldn’t believe he’d been so careless. The thick red carpeting muffled their steps, but the quick beat of her heart raged in his ears; if it ever stopped, he’d be completely lost.

  “In the future, you’ll wear a Kevlar vest and helmet in and out.” Sir Pup carried them for Lilith and Castleford; a simple protection that he’d overlooked.

  “That’ll be sexy,” she said dryly, but he didn’t hear any objection beneath it. Surprised, he glanced at her, but she only shrugged. “I don’t want to be shot. I remember it too well.”

  His lips firmed as he nodded and escorted her into the suite. Sir Pup lay down in the hallway; if someone tried to take them by surprise whilst they were inside or planned to ambush them upon exit, they’d have to go through the hellhound first. Colin waited for Fia and Paul to follow them into the room, then activated the symbols.

  Only drops from his fingertip, but the odor of his blood sent a dull, throbbing ache to his fangs, mirrored by a tightening of his groin. Christ. He released Savitri’s hand, and she immediately moved across the main living area, toward the bank of monitors on the far wall.

  These monitors showed the same images the guards in the security room would see. Redundant as they were, Colin had kept the cupboard closed and the doors hidden behind Savi’s portraits when he’d stayed in these rooms—but those paintings had been moved to his gallery, and it served Fia and Paul to keep the security feed uncovered.

  Just as well, he thought; she glanced back at him, and his talent seemed inadequate. Gold shadow glimmered across her lids; she’d lined her eyes with a smoky gray, emphasizing the exotic tilt at the corners. Her glistening, full lips were sultry, berry-stained perfection.

  Paint, on a canvas far more enticing than any he’d ever worked—and the result much more beautiful. Good God, but he would give anything to take his brush to her skin.

  With effort, he forced himself to look away from the picture she made. She’d been psychically and verbally distant since they’d left his house, holding herself rigid as if trying not to tempt him in the small confines of the car—and likely mulling over the revelation he’d made about the curse. But even with her shields up, she was an irresistible temptation.

  He’d have preferred to tease himself with her nearness and his arousal, heightening their anticipation through simultaneous pursuit and self-denial, but they had too much at stake for him to lose his focus.

  And so with a sigh, he focused. “Did Castleford learn anything useful from the boys?”

  Shaking his head, Paul took a seat on the sofa and rested his elbows on his knees. “They talked, but had nothing that might help narrow down the demon’s location, or even any names of other vampires.”

  “Dalkiel only met with them at Denver’s apartment. No motel rooms, no restaurants, nothing that might give us a place to start,” Fia added.

  The demon had likely cultivated them for the single purpose they’d served, then. Too young and weak to be true assets, but desperate enough to be useful, even if their use was of short duration.

  “You’ve got metal detectors at the front doors?” Savi said, peering at one of the monitors.

  Fia nodded. “We’ll be carrying, but no one else is allowed through with anything sharper than a nail file.” As if reminded by the mention of weapons, she unbuckled her holster, replaced it with a sheath that would carry her sword on her back—more for show than for use, and less dangerous than a gun to carry around in the crowded club. Even if a vampire got hold of the sword, he’d have to move close enough to Savi to use it.

  Close enough to Colin.

  “If I were one of Dalkiel’s vampires, I’d snap off the stem of a martini glass and stab it through my target’s throat. Or use my fangs; they’ve got to be good for something.” Savi glanced over her shoulder at Colin, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “But that’s just me. Hopefully they’ll be reliant on their guns and swords.” Her gaze shifted to Fia. “You’ve got your security guy walking a circuit of the cameras to make certain the video isn’t compromised, but he’s using the same ‘OK’ thumbs-up each time. It’s too easy to loop. The first thing I’d do is record about ten minutes of that, then hack into your feed and send it back. By the time your guys in the security room noticed something was off, you’d have a breach.”

  She should have been a criminal. Smiling, Colin wiped his fingertip with his handkerchief; the puncture he’d made had already healed. “What do you suggest, sweet?”

  “Song lyrics,” she said, turning to study the monitors again. “Have him sign a line at each camera, using a different song each round. Some firms use the time, but if Dalkiel has enough patience, he can just record one day and use it the next.”

  Paul stood, gathered his sword from the low coffee table. “Do you know the Guardians’ sign language? If we need to talk to you, can we?”

  Though Colin couldn’t see her face, couldn’t sense her emotions through her psychic blocks, he could feel the blood rising to the surface of her skin as her cheeks flushed.

  “No. I haven’t been paying attention. It’s visual, so it should be easier for me to pick up than something verbal.” She slanted a glance at Colin before looking away. “Can you teach me a basic vocabulary tomorrow?”

  “Yes. We’ll use Hindi or Latin until then.” Both languages were somewhat obscure; there’d be little chance more than a few—if any—vampires at the club knew them.

  “Paul and I don’t know Hindi,” Fia said.

  “And I don’t understand spoken Latin.” No embarrassment colored Savi’s voice this time; her attention was fixed on the monitors. She pressed her finger to one of the screens. “We need to talk to this woman. Do any of you recognize her?”

  Colin crossed the room, careful not to touch her, not to contemplate what lay beneath the white silk making a marble column of her slender throat. She pointed to a thin female with short
, platinum hair, but it was impossible to determine through the small video if she was vampire or human. “No. Fia? Paul?”

  “Yeah,” Fia said. “That’s Raven. About twenty years plus seven as a vampire. That’s her partner, Epona.” She indicated the bosomy brunette rubbing her pelvis against Raven’s bottom. “I’ve chatted with them a couple of times. They stay pretty low-key. I think Epona bartends on the weekends at The Thirst, down on Folsom; Raven works the night desk at a hotel in the Tenderloin.”

  “The last time I was here, Raven was dancing with the guy with the mullet—the driver in the Navigator that followed us from SI on Friday. She might know his name,” Savi said, then pointed to another monitor. “And this guy, too. The blond talking to the Vampire Princess Miyu wannabe. He was Mullet Boy’s passenger, though he’s traded in his suit for that fishnet shirt. Do you know him?”

  “No,” Fia said, blinking rapidly in surprise before glancing at Colin. He gave a quick shake of his head, a hard knot forming in his stomach.

  Savi’s stiff silence in the car apparently had a different cause than he’d thought: she’d been searching through her memories of that night. Painfully, he imagined—she’d been drinking too much to have paid such close attention to those around her.

  And he’d no doubt Caelum—and Chaos—had been her emotional anchor to access those memories.

  “Do you want us to bring him to you?” Paul asked.

  “No,” Colin said. “Watch him, see whom he speaks with. If he leaves, take Varney and follow him.”

  “And if he meets up with Dalkiel?”

  “Run.” Colin saw Paul’s surprise. “If the demon senses you, he’ll kill you. Once you’re secure, contact my phone or SI immediately.”

  Savi continued searching through the faces onscreen. Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t see anyone else I recognize. Does the club keep the security tapes more than a month? Maybe we can track down Mullet Boy that way, get a name.”

  Colin’s teeth clenched. They might have, had he not ordered them erased after two weeks: only enough time to use them in case of an investigation or a crime committed at the club. He’d not been able to hide his absence from the club employees who worked security, but he hadn’t wanted it archived and filed away interminably.

  “No.”

  “It’d be nice to have a name when I hit the computer tomorrow. I can do a lot with a name: find locations they’ve visited, movements, purchases.” She stepped back from the monitors and turned, her coat hem swirling around her ankles. “Do you know Raven’s name?”

  Fia’s mouth quirked into a smile. “It’s really Raven. Raven Thorne. Shall we ask her to join you at your table?”

  Good God. Her parents had essentially birthed her with fangs in her mouth, giving her such a name. Colin glanced at the screen, and shook his head. “No. Invite Epona. I have a proposition for her.”

  Colin was the most accomplished flirt Savi had ever seen. She watched in amazement as, with a few choice compliments, Epona’s and Raven’s expressions transformed from fear as they hesitantly approached the table, to stunned admiration as they took their seats on the low sofa adjacent to Colin and Savi’s, then to easy, slightly girlish enjoyment.

  And though she’d known he’d use this tactic—and why—she’d feared jealousy would unwittingly rise within her and ruin the evening, leave its insidious ache.

  She needn’t have worried.

  He flirted outrageously, but never indicated his affections lay anywhere but with Savi. Though his eyes shone with interest as he looked at them, when he turned to her to gauge her reaction or seek her response, either they darkened with heated intensity, or his lips curved in a delighted smile he reserved solely for her.

  And she’d guessed where the conversation would eventually lead, but she was surprised by the skill with which he guided them all from a discussion of the tattooed Gaelic knots decorating Raven’s wrists, to their desire to visit Ireland, to pubs and San Francisco nightclubs. And, when a note of disillusionment entered Epona’s voice when she spoke of The Thirst, Colin pounced.

  “I must confess that when I invited you here, it was to discover any secrets my competition has; The Thirst is quite the success.” Colin raised Savi’s hand from her lap, pressed a kiss to the back of it, and stared contemplatively at Epona. Sitting so close must have been torture for him, but he’d kept Savi against his side since they’d sat down. Likely weighing her need for protection against his bloodlust.

  Protection—and appearance—won.

  Epona laughed shortly and shrugged. “I’m only part-time. Barely that. Just Fridays and Saturdays.”

  Raven patted the brunette’s thigh, her black-tipped nails stark against Epona’s white skin. Her own thin legs were tucked underneath her on the sofa cushions, her high heels lying tumbled on the floor.

  It was a gesture that spoke of a long relationship, and with a familiarity to it—it wasn’t the first time Raven had given her that encouraging caress.

  Difficulty in finding a better position when she could only work evenings? Or did it arise from another complication?

  “Forgive me for prying, but you don’t sound as if you’re satisfied with your employment. Surely you can do better.”

  Epona’s lips twisted into a hard smile. “Are you offering me a job?”

  “Yes,” Savi said. “If you are looking for something fulltime. We could use more help at the bar, and we prefer to hire within the vampire community.”

  “I applied when you reopened, but I didn’t get a callback. You have pretty stringent background checks.”

  “It’s a necessary evil,” Colin said. “But an easily circumvented one. What name did you use? I’ll ask my manager to pull up your file.”

  She glanced uncertainly at Raven, who nodded. “Epona Smith.”

  Smith? It clicked into place. The weekend employment, the frustration, the unfulfilled dream vacation. Had Colin already realized? “You were passed over because of a lack of ID?” And probably without the necessary Social Security number for above-the-table employment.

  Bad enough that vampires were limited by their daysleep and a need to hide their nature from humans, but legal requirements made finding a suitable job doubly difficult.

  A grimace briefly pulled Epona’s red-slicked mouth tight. “Yeah. I’ve hit the age where my birth certificate is useless. The DMV won’t issue me ID, and trying to get a passport is impossible. I don’t look seventy.”

  Savi’s brows drew together as she glanced up at Colin. He watched her, a smile lurking at the corners of his lips. “Who did yours?” she asked. His identification and backup documentation were perfect. “Was it someone here in San Francisco?”

  He nodded slowly. “Stephan. An elder.”

  Raven heaved a long sigh. “Yeah. Who isn’t much help now.”

  “The nosferatu killed him last year? Here, at Polidori’s?” Savi guessed. Apparently Colin was rebuilding more than just a structure. Too many of the community’s sources for help and businesses had been disrupted by the nosferatu’s slaughter of its elders, then the subsequent flight of the younger vampires from San Francisco.

  Savi suddenly grinned up at him. “This feels like a big ‘fuck you’ to Dalkiel. This is what got me in trouble in the first place, you know.” Before he could respond, she leaned forward and said to Epona, “E-mail a picture to me—preferably a passport photo—and I’ll set you up.”

  Colin slipped a business card onto the table in front of her, and Savi scrawled her address across the back. It disappeared into Epona’s generous cleavage.

  His fingers played with the hair at her nape as he added, “And should anyone else require the same service, we’ll provide it for them.” He pulled Savi back against his side again, his arm wrapped around her waist, his hand at her hip.

  There’d likely be no need for Epona and Raven to tell others; Savi could feel the change in the attention they’d been receiving from the vampires who’d listened nearby.

&
nbsp; Suddenly, Colin wasn’t just a beautiful vampire oddity—he and his human consort were useful.

  With luck, now Raven would prove to be, as well.

  “That didn’t work,” Savi muttered in Hindi, and took a sip of her water. The faint citrus of the lemon slice combined with the fragrance of her soap and her natural feminine scent, making an intoxicating perfume.

  Doing his best to ignore his own thirst, Colin smiled into her hair, the short, gelled strands stiff against his cheek. “We accomplished something almost as important,” he said softly. Even if someone could understand the language, they’d likely not hear him over the music.

  His gaze skimmed the lounge on the second level; Fia stood near the railing, looking down at the dance floor, Sir Pup at her heels. He raised his voice and said her name. She glanced at him, shook her head.

  She quickly signed, Fishnet Shirt slipped out about ten minutes ago with the woman he was with—probably his partner; Paul and Varney are following them. Raven didn’t know the name? And do we need to have someone watch the women to make sure they aren’t targeted for your questioning?

  No, Colin signed. Raven remembers him, but he was just a random bloke. Send the pup down, and order the DJ to lower the volume a bit.

  He turned to Savi. “Are you up for a tour?”

  With a nod, she downed her drink and set the glass on the table. For just a moment her brow quirked, as if she wanted to make an observation. Then she hesitated, her lips pressed together, and she rose to her feet.

  He allowed her to pull him up, kept his hand clasped in hers. “You’re correct,” he said, leaning forward to speak against her ear. “You can say it.”

  “It just occurred to me that you were holding court.” Her voice was amused…and somewhat apologetic.

  “Yes,” he agreed easily. “It came naturally.” He drew back to search her expression, found humor and relief. “I’ve since realized it isn’t the right tactic.”