“No.”
If anything, it had only raised more questions. “What did you expect Michael to say when he popped into the tech room earlier? When you said you didn’t want to know the balance of your accounts.”
Colin stiffened; though the bubbles hadn’t disappeared, he took a drink from his glass. Delaying his answer?
She forced another smile and waved the carrot in the air. “I know the balance of all your accounts; does that make me terribly vulgar?”
The glass clinked sharply against the countertop. “I daresay it makes you practical, sweet. Every woman should calculate her suitor’s worth.”
“After calculating it, I daresay I must be brilliant.”
“Disagreement would insult your intelligence and my vanity.”
“You’re insulting it by pretending there was nothing; even Hugh looked as if he was ready to argue with Michael, when usually I can’t tell if he’s upset.” Savi tried to hold her smile when he didn’t answer; she failed. Her stomach ached. Shoving the curry away, she said, “I’m sorry. Not stopping again. You don’t want to tell me; it’s none of my business. A different topic then: You thought the same thing I did, didn’t you? That Hugh didn’t tell me about James Anderson because he was afraid I wouldn’t forgive him.”
“Yes.” His gaze was steady on hers, dark as iron.
“When I was sitting alone in the tech room, I was thinking: All of this time I’ve been telling myself that Hugh understood me when I did that shit with the IDs as a kid, and that was why he never disapproved of me or lectured me about it. Because Nani sure as hell did.”
“As she should have.” He took another drink.
“Yeah. But then I realized he used his Gift on Anderson, and my first reaction was: He didn’t understand me. He’s just got such a screwed-up sense of morality that anything is okay; that his idea of what’s right is so wide, it encompasses even the unforgivable shit. So what was a little bit of forgery to someone like him?”
Colin’s brows drew together; he shook his head. “That’s exactly opposite of what it is, Savitri.”
“I know; I remembered what you said of his warning to you, and I realized it’s so narrow that the only thing that matters is that no one is cruel if they can help it, or interferes with someone’s free will if they can help it, or kills if they can help it—but if it has to be done, it will be. So by the time he came in to talk to me, I was thinking that what he’d done to Anderson had to be done, and I wasn’t comfortable with it—but I was okay with it. But if I hadn’t spoken to you this morning, I never would have been okay with it; would have never seen that other way of looking at it. And I don’t think I could be like Hugh or like Lilith, but at least I can see better how they decide those things.” And how, as head of the vampire community, Colin would have to make similar decisions. “And then I realized he does understand me, maybe better than I do myself.”
“It’s an exceptionally annoying trait of his.” He downed the remainder of the blood.
“Yeah.” And a trait of Colin’s—despite his tendency to talk about himself in any other circumstance—was to barely respond when something about Chaos came up. He didn’t like to brood over the past, or things in the present he couldn’t change. And he probably didn’t want to worry her, either.
But she was worried for him, dammit.
She took a deep breath. “So when Hugh wants to argue with the Doyen about something that pertains to you, but stops himself, it scares the shit out of me. Because it means something that he doesn’t want to happen needs to be done. And whatever it was, it scared you as well. And I only know two things that do that: wyrmwolves and Chaos. But the wyrmwolves are pretty much under control. So it’s Chaos, right? You have to go back for some reason, and finding the bridge today made it the more urgent. Probably because of the nosferatu; if they realize what’s going on with the wyrmwolves, they might try to copy it and break out of Chaos.”
“You deduced that from half a second’s reaction?” Colin stared at her, his face a rigid mask.
“No. It was a combination of things. Something you said in the parking lot, the way you responded to Michael last week in the hall, seeing a new side to Hugh, thinking about the nosferatu and his execution.”
But she hadn’t wanted to be right. Would Michael try to take Colin against his will? Was there any way she could stop it? She was human; Michael couldn’t go against her will, even if he could a vampire’s.
Sighing, she felt her frustration slip away; just once, she’d have liked to hold on to it—but she couldn’t solve anything now, anyway. “It also helps that my freak brain remembers that half second really well.”
His expression softened but slightly. “I love nothing so much as morally conflicted women with freakish brains.” With slow, deliberate steps, Colin stalked around the counter and braced his arms on either side of her chair. Sudden heat built as he shoved himself between her legs. He lowered his nose to hers and said through gritted teeth, “But if you do not use your freakish brain to discover a way to stay with me, I’ll hunt you across the Earth. I vow it.”
Her chest heaved; a flush of excitement spread over her skin. “Will you fuck me senseless when you catch me?”
“Yes. The first time, for you.” He nipped sharply at her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth, tried to catch his in turn. He evaded her easily. “Then slowly, for me.”
“I love it when you’re selfish,” she said, and her back arched as he lifted the hem of her T-shirt and his teeth scraped her breast. Her hands threaded through his hair.
“This is completely selfish. An experiment to ascertain that my libido still functions.”
“I daresay it does,” she moaned as he rocked the evidence against her.
“I daresay.”
Two days later, Colin had to admit that although regular sex and blood were more conducive to charm, the damage had been done—his physical prowess had won over more of San Francisco’s vampires than his smile. And Savi’s video, Fia and Paul’s oft-told description of the chase, Varney’s open appreciation for his raise, and Darkwolf’s quiet support had made the venture more of a success than Dalkiel’s escape warranted.
“There’s Darkwolf,” Savi said quietly. Her margarita sat untouched in front of her; though she’d not taken much alcohol of late, Epona had discovered her favorite drink, and seemed bent on showing her gratitude for the position by continually supplying Savi with a fresh glass. Another success, and one that had kept her busy with an influx of requests for IDs and documentation.
It was just as well; there was not much else she could do to flush out Dalkiel. Colin studied her face beneath the changing lights from the dance floor, the soft glow of the sconces above them.
Though her shields were up and her gaze alert, exhaustion seemed to hang about her; a touch of lethargy deepened her voice. The stress of Dalkiel’s constant threat, combined with work and their nightly visits to Polidori’s? The change in her sleeping pattern?
Or had he been taking too much? He’d not fed from her but once. There was little danger in taking a small sip while making love to her…except he’d made love to her with desperate frequency.
A subtle tension gripped her; Colin glanced away from her face as she said in Hindi, “He has Fishnet Shirt with him.”
Not in his Goth clothing any longer, Colin noted, but a pair of jeans, a heavy jacket, and a wide-brimmed hat…almost as if he intended it as a disguise. The vampire appeared haggard, hungry.
Grief emanated from his psychic scent.
“Ken Branning,” Savi reminded him beneath her breath. Her fingers played at her neck, hooking in the slim chain and around the pendant that doubled as an alarm.
“Mr. Branning,” he said, and his gaze shifted to Darkwolf. “Do we need privacy?”
“No.” Branning shook his head; his shoulders were hunched, his fists shoved into his pockets. “I’m going to say this and go.”
Darkwolf slid into the adjacent sofa; Sir Pup lifted his head to mak
e room for him. “He came to Arwen. She sent him here.”
“She wasn’t close to Guinevere, but Arwen was the first when we came here to—” Branning choked, pressed his hand to his face. “Fuck, I can’t believe he did that to her. I can’t believe it.”
“Do you know where we can find him?” Colin asked quietly.
With a shudder, a clench of his fists, Branning nodded. “Yeah. There’s an office on Lawson—”
“Between Funston and Fourteenth?” He saw the other vampire’s surprise, and sighed. Taylor had contacted him earlier in the day, reported that one of the Navigators had been parked in front of the building. Lilith had led the raid on the office and come away with two vampires, still caught in their daysleep.
And when they’d awoken, Colin had found it difficult to punish them in wake of their effusive thanks for their capture.
“And another in St. Francis Woods—a residence.”
Colin felt Savi’s immediate interest. “Do you have an address?” She pulled out her cell phone as soon as Branning recited it.
Castleford answered on the other end; Colin refocused his attention on Branning. “Will you flee the city?”
Branning nodded, swallowed hard. “He’s told us too many times that he’ll kill us for deserting. I’ll go back to my first community—I’ve got friends willing to take me in until I can find…” His countenance smoothed, as if he simply couldn’t think of taking a new partner at that time, and pushed it away. “We heard about what you did. A few of us have been trying to get out, since things started going bad—they want to know if you can help them. Keep them safe if they run.”
“Yes. It may require relocation until Dalkiel has been slain, but if they come in, we’ll provide them protection.” Colin held his gaze. “If they lie, or come to me with the intention of using my promise as a way to hurt anyone in the community, I’ll know it.” Castleford would question anyone relentlessly; they’d not be able to deceive him. “And I’ll not be merciful if they do.”
Darkwolf waited until Branning had left. “Is he lying now?”
“If he is, I’ll kill him; if he’s not, Dalkiel will.”
“Lilith and Hugh are taking a few Guardians to check out that address,” Savi said, closing her phone. “You don’t think he’ll make it out of the city?”
“Perhaps if he leaves immediately. The longer he remains and tries to contact those still following the demon, the lower his chances.”
“He doesn’t look as if he cares all that much.”
“No.”
Darkwolf slid his hand over Sir Pup’s ears. “Dalkiel is using threats against their partners to keep them in line. For some, it’s not effective—some partners are together because there’s no one else, and they just have to feed.” He glanced at Savi, then back to Colin. “I am not one of them. I won’t bargain with a demon to save myself, but I will Arwen and Gina. I have refused him once; the three of us have. Gina witnessed his humiliation. We were already in line of Dalkiel’s anger, but we may be more so now.”
“So we are perfectly clear: I will destroy you if you try. And if I ever need make a choice between Savi and the lot of you, I’ll choose her.” He smiled slightly, took her hand to ease her sudden tension. “But there are alternatives.”
“I don’t want to flee.” Darkwolf’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Not again.”
“It may be what saves you,” Colin said. “But you’ll not have to run far. The nearest room typically suffices.”
Savi blinked. “You’re going to show him the symbols?”
“We’ve told the employees; it’ll hardly stay secret for long. It’s a temporary measure,” Colin told Darkwolf as he took out his card, a pencil. “Though the three of you could stay within its protection indefinitely, you’ll only need the extra time for help to arrive.”
“It’s fleeing,” Darkwolf said, though he leaned forward with interest. “I’m not a coward.”
Amused, Colin lifted a brow. Did he think it made him seem weak? “It’s survival,” he said. “We’re prey to a demon. And a warren is a more attractive choice than an eternity frozen motionless in the putrid bowels of Hell.”
“Well, god, when you put it that way…” Savi rolled her eyes and burst into laughter.
Colin grinned and began to sketch the symbols on the card. The line of the first wobbled. The pencil shook in his hand.
He swallowed, concentrated. Forced it to steady.
Perhaps he was a bit tired, too.
It was eerie, how still he was.
For a few moments, Savi’s own breath seemed to stop as Colin slipped into his daysleep. The rise and fall of his chest ceased; his features took on the waxy, bloodless cast of the newly dead.
The subtle radiance that differentiated him from Dalkiel died, like a film of grease over a lens. He was still beautiful, but she decided that bouncing on him in this state wasn’t the least bit appealing.
It’d be hours before he awoke. There was nothing she had to do that she could. The symbols protected the house, but prevented her from working online. She wasn’t hungry, and there wasn’t anything to clean.
Days like this were why video games had been created. DemonSlayer it was.
She planned her strategy in the Seventh Level of Hell as she arranged the curtains around the bed. It was Savi’s favorite level, full of violent sinners and harpies that had to be killed before moving up to the Sixth Level. Her gaze skimmed the room. Why didn’t he put drapes on the windows? He painted in the dark; surely he didn’t need natural light for his gallery. Perhaps he just preferred it—
She stifled the scream that threatened to tear with jagged fingernails at her throat.
Outside the turret, Dalkiel hung upside down, grinning though the glass. His scales gleamed dully in the sunlight, his eyes glowed scarlet. In his talons, he held a twelve-inch cardboard box.
Her hands fisted in the heavy velvet, her gut clenching. She was safe. Colin was safe. Dalkiel couldn’t break through the spell.
Despite that reassurance, clammy perspiration snaked the length of her spine. Naked. She grabbed for her robe, pulled it on.
As if in response to her sudden fright, her discomfort, Dalkiel shape-shifted into her form. The box disappeared, and he twisted and clutched at his breasts and crotch in a disgusting parody of masturbation.
Anger rose to take the place of fear. Yanking the belt tight around her waist, she stalked into Colin’s dressing room. A pistol lay on a pile of neatly folded undershirts.
She could shoot through the glass; the symbols only prevented things from coming in.
When she returned to the bedroom, the gun in hand, Dalkiel was gone. Her breathing rapid, unsteady, she cocked her head and waited. And immediately berated herself.
Stupid. She was listening for him; she couldn’t hear him any more than he could her.
A red blur had her spinning around, aiming the gun at the eastern window. Nothing. Another blur, across the bay window. She whirled.
Nothing.
He’s just trying to scare you.
And doing a good job of it. He was too quick; she imagined him skittering around the exterior of the house like a spider, all grasping fingers and clinging feet.
The hair at the back of her neck prickled. Fighting to keep her arms steady, she looked at the turret window again. In his demon form, Dalkiel beckoned her with a crook of his claw, then sliced a fingernail over the tape sealing the box closed.
She didn’t want to know what was in there; he liked to rip off heads too much. But if he had killed someone, she needed to know who.
She swallowed and stepped forward, until she was only a couple of feet from the glass.
Dalkiel flipped open the lid, lifted out the head by a tangle of blood-matted hair. Eyeless. In the instant before the sun disintegrated it to ash, Savi recognized him.
Ken Branning.
The gassy pop! of the silencer was louder to her ears than the snap of glass, the fissured hole in the wind
ow.
She’d missed; he was too fucking fast. Her teeth grinding, she made a slow turn. Her heart skipped, raced.
His wings slowly flapping, Dalkiel hovered at the side of the house and flicked open a lighter. A tiny flame leapt from the igniter.
Savi jumped onto the bed, rolled the sheets around Colin’s body, scooped him up, and ran.
Colin woke, fear and exhaustion heavy in his lungs and mouth. Savi’s psychic scent.
He opened his eyes to smooth steel walls: the shelter in the basement. He sat up, silk falling to his waist; Savi turned away from the monitors, offered him a strained smile.
“Dalkiel. He didn’t burn it; I thought he was going to burn it,” she said in a near-babble. “But I think he just wanted to freak me out. Branning’s dead, and I shot out one of your windows.”
Oh, Christ. She’d been trapped in here, prevented a call for help by the very thing that protected them. Even the pendant around her neck had been useless behind the spell. Colin wrapped her in his arms, tucked her head against his chest.
“Is he still out there?” His voice was rough.
“I’ve been watching, but I haven’t seen him pass any of the security cameras in a couple of minutes. Not since the sun set, and the thermal sensors aren’t picking him up anymore.”
“Inside or outside?” She could have escaped without fearing for herself—Dalkiel couldn’t hurt her, even if she’d abandoned the house—but it would have left Colin alone, vulnerable.
“Outside. I’m not paying for the window.”
He tried to drum up a smile as his palms swept the length of her. No injuries, but he needed to touch, to be certain. His fangs ached to taste, to feel the truth of it from inside—to completely erase the fear. He kissed her instead, a sweet slide of texture and scent against his lips.
The tension in her slim form slowly eased; her muscles quavered lightly beneath his hands, as if she’d held them too tight for too long.
She breathed his name when he drew back. Arched her neck in a wordless plea.
Oh, sweet Savitri. No need to ask for this; he would beg for it. Her blood: a shock to his tongue, a burst of light and color. She gasped, panted as he slipped in, around the thick spiraling vault of memories, sampled the emotions spinning over its surface, found the right notes to strike.
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