Demon Moon

by Meljean Brook

  Awe. Fear and delight. Passion and enthrallment.

  Caelum.

  He could give her this. If only this.

  It was hardly enough.

  CHAPTER 26

  Before the Guardians were created, angels protected humans from demons and nosferatu—but mankind never mistook them for humans, even though, beautiful or not, their forms must have been perfect replicas. So what gave them away? Are they beings of light who transform to matter when they shape-shift? Is it energy they couldn’t obtain? A psychic presence? I don’t know…but I think I’ve seen something like it in Caelum.

  —Savi to Taylor, 2007

  This was not a course he should have been taking—not with Savi. And yet Colin still found himself sitting on a bench outside the new glass-and-steel Federal Building in the middle of the day, waiting for a man who could kill him with little effort.

  Probably would kill him for daring to manipulate him in this way.

  “I should have expected this of you,” Michael said as he sat beside him. “But I’ll admit I did not. Do you need a covering?”

  Thick gray clouds hung low in the sky; there was direct sunlight enough to make him squint, not enough to burn. “No.”

  Michael leaned back, observing the busy human foot traffic, the flow of government employees in and out of the building. He wore linen trousers and a tailored shirt as a concession to the public, but his sandals appeared castoffs from a poorly produced gladiator film.

  “Before I left, Lilith informed me that the latest raid was successful. Seven vampires; there cannot be many more under his control. You have taken the community well in hand.”

  “I’ll add my self-congratulations to yours when Dalkiel has been destroyed.” Colin studied the Doyen’s profile. Savi’s efforts had uncovered almost every avenue of concealment the demon had taken, and his only remaining hold on the vampires was their fear. There was little left for Dalkiel to do in San Francisco but to pursue his revenge. “If he manages to destroy me, however, you’d do well to ask Castleford to continue training Fia and Paul. They could take my place, with assistance from Darkwolf and his consorts to form a council.”

  “And if Dalkiel does not?” Michael’s gaze moved from the people to the bubbling fountain in the concrete courtyard.

  “I will stay sixty years, perhaps.” He could not think beyond that time; Savi would age beautifully…and he could not conceive of a life here without her. “And if what Savi fears comes to pass, and we are exposed, I’d be an unlikely spokesperson for any community. So I will establish a council regardless; cameras do not flatter me as well as they do others.”

  “Others, such as a demon who was elected to human government office because of his performance on-camera.”

  “Yes.”

  Michael turned his head; his eyes were hard, his gaze like onyx. “You would not.”

  “I am myself surprised by the lengths I’d go to to keep her with me; a demon has no sexual need. There’d be no danger of the bloodlust forcing from me what I don’t want to give anyone but her.”

  “So you would take his blood, and your blood would be the trade? He’d most likely find a way to kill you. Rael is adept at bargaining; you are not.”

  “I may die, yes. His liege is embroiled in a war against Lucifer; he would accept the power it can provide Belial. I would have five hundred years, I think, before he would kill me. That is time enough. “

  “Are you attempting to force my hand?”

  “Yes. It would be unfortunate if you lost your only access to Chaos.”

  Michael smiled, and it moved like ice through Colin’s veins. “You are mistaken; Belial wants nothing of Chaos. Only to return to Grace. Rael would probably kill you the moment you stepped into his office, or play with you for his amusement.”

  “We shall soon see.”

  “Perhaps,” Michael said after a moment of silence, “you are not so poor a bargainer. But you did not have to go to these lengths.”

  Colin relaxed slightly. “You denied Savi’s request to visit Caelum. You don’t have to honor my free will, and may take me to Chaos at any time; but I know Guardians too well. You prefer choice over force. So I’ll go willingly, if you allow her access to Caelum whenever she wishes it.”

  “Caelum is not for humans,” Michael said. “Nor for vampires.”

  “I daresay that in essence, we are not truly vampire or human. And it did not affect her poorly when she was.”

  “Perhaps.” Michael watched him; without waiting for an invitation, he sent a psychic probe through Colin’s mind, then eased away. He could have no doubt of Colin’s resolve, no doubt that this was not a bluff. “Very well.”

  “Take her for her protection upon my next daysleep,” Colin said. “I’ll not have her terrorized by Dalkiel again.”

  “A pair of novices can be sent to the house.”

  Colin shook his head. “I confess it is not only for protection; I need to make amends before she leaves. It is best done there, where the injury was given.”

  The Doyen’s hard mouth softened. “For that reason alone, I would have agreed to this.” Michael stood, lifted his face to the sky, his eyes closed as if soaking up the weak sunlight.

  “Would you have forced me?”

  “Yes.” With a sigh, Michael looked at him again. “A Guardian prefers not to impose upon the free will of any being, but when it is a moment of necessity and it does not break the Rules, we are often more men than angels—and perhaps more demonic than human.”

  Colin nodded, and watched as the Doyen walked slowly across the courtyard and disappeared beyond a concrete sculpture.

  What would he be if he forced a commitment from Savi?

  Demonic came to mind. So did selfish. But they did not concern him as much as they might have, if the alternative for Savi and him was not alone.

  The first time Michael had teleported Colin to Caelum, the Guardian had dumped him unceremoniously in the middle of his temple, and disappeared immediately thereafter.

  And as pleased as Colin was not to be thrown to the floor, he’d have preferred Michael left as quickly. Instead the Doyen walked with him, nattering on about the effect of the realm seeming to lessen over time—and indeed, Colin noted with idle curiosity, he was not as overwhelmed by it. He’d attributed it to his eagerness to see Savi, but when he stopped and looked, he saw the same beauty, the same perfection…but it did not bring him to his knees.

  Nor did it seem a tomb. The faint sounds of Guardian life reached his ears: conversations, practice, movement. Only a few Guardians now—not enough to populate the realm, nor to protect Earth without human and vampire assistance—but it was life.

  “Perhaps I am better prepared to see it this time,” Colin said as he crossed the courtyard. The archway Savi had declared impossible rose in front of him, and his heartbeat sped to an equally unlikely rhythm. He could hear her, scent her. So close.

  She’d teleported with Selah almost three hours earlier; Colin had remained behind to collect the few gifts he’d kept hidden from her since his conversation with the Doyen earlier that week.

  “Perhaps,” Michael agreed. “Though I maintain you were both fortunate. With an anchor to Chaos in your blood, your passing through the Gate could have had a much different outcome.”

  Colin’s brows drew together, and he hesitated for just an instant. “A Gate?”

  Michael cocked his head toward the archway. “If I—or any other Guardian—passed through, we’d emerge in a Vietnamese village. I can teleport into that part of Caelum, but not walk.”

  Though his stomach was slightly unsteady, Colin grinned. “I must confess it gratifies me exceedingly, knowing there are two things I can do that you cannot.”

  “An orgasm with a kiss,” Savi said, poking her head into view beyond the left side of the archway, “and walking through a Gate. What’s that?” She nodded toward the case in Colin’s hand, curiosity widening her eyes.

  “One thing,” Michael said withou
t expression. “I’ll return for you in two days.” He disappeared before they could respond; a sound like a dainty thunderclap echoed through the courtyard.

  Savi blinked. “Did you hear that? The vacuum filling. It works up here. What’s in the bag? I brought food. And a digital camera, but nothing appears on the display except the sky, me, and the Guardians. Oh, and Selah showed me the apartment we’ll stay in during your daysleep tomorrow; it looks terribly uncomfortable. How do they regulate time when the sun always shines? I wouldn’t have minded a trip to Vietnam,” she said as he stepped beneath the archway. “I imagine I’ll be traveling a lot pretty soon. I’ve been thinking.”

  The soft despair in her psychic scent told him before she did. His tongue felt thick as he led her toward the fountain. “Will I hunt you across the Earth? Or will you stay?”

  “Neither,” she whispered, and her breath hitched in her chest.

  The case fell from his grip, the paintbrushes and bottles rattling together. Her weight was nothing; he lifted her onto the wall, pressed his forehead to hers.

  “Stay,” he pleaded. “Stay with me, marry me, be with me.” It was selfish to ask; he didn’t care. If it took manipulation to force her to commit to him, he would manipulate.

  “I think about it,” she said, and her voice was hoarse. “I get to the point where I almost convince myself I could do it. Because my head knows you can’t help it, that you won’t really want to have sex with them, that it’s the bloodlust. And how many people have you been with—have I been with? They don’t matter. Why should any in the future be different?”

  They won’t be, he almost lied. But he could not. In the past he had wanted them; now, there was no one else. They would matter, because their very existence would hurt her.

  “I try to tell myself it’s just feeding, like stopping for take-out. And I think you’d be careful. You’d shower before you came home. But then I’d know when it happened, because you’d be in different clothes; so maybe you’d shower every day before coming home so that I don’t know exactly when, but it would still be a constant reminder. Eating away at me. At us. And not just the sex—you’d feel like shit because it hurt me, and I would feel like shit because you felt guilty for something you can’t control. It would ruin—taint—everything good between us.”

  She was right; and she saw far too much for him to hide anything from her. “And so your solution is to run? To avoid this for the remainder of your life? Do you think that will hurt less?” His tone was harsh, but not cruel. Still he saw each word striking her, the depth of his pain reflecting hers. “You love me, Savi. You will always love me.”

  “I know.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “I’ll come back. A day or two at a time. Once a month. More frequently, if I can.”

  His throat closed. Like a blood donation schedule—enough time between feedings that it wouldn’t endanger her. But even once a month would take its toll. Hope warred with misery, anger. “Must you leave San Francisco?”

  Her hand cupped his cheek; her gaze searched his. “Yes. It would kill me to have you so close, but not to have you to myself.” She forced a smile. “And I’m rich, but don’t have much time compared to an immortal; I might as well spend some of both seeing the world. I can perform most of my responsibilities online: work, help out with the community stuff, the information and IDs. I can come back to check on Nani—and be with you as much as I can. And maybe once a year or so, when you’ve built up your tolerance to animal blood, we can have two weeks. Or three.”

  His chest constricted painfully. This would be their life? Was their situation so hopeless that a stolen moment here and there was the only solution; that her gaze brightened as if three weeks per year was a bloody miracle?

  Yet it was a solution—far from perfect, but he would take it. Take anything she had to offer him. “There will still be others,” he said softly. “How will your leaving make that different?”

  Moisture pooled in her eyes; she blinked it away. “Because it’s not as real if I don’t see it.”

  “And I’ll not be the only one who pretends things I don’t like don’t exist,” he said ruefully.

  Her smile was watery, but genuine. “Yes.”

  “You’ll ring me every day?” And he would hunt her down when he couldn’t bear the separation.

  She nodded. “And instant messenger. And text message.”

  “I’ll be fastened to my computer and cell phone in anticipation. Only I hope not to receive more e-mails whilst you are aboard airplanes, unless they are to inform me of your flight home,” he said. “I will live for your every return, Savitri, and die upon your departure.”

  “That’s so melodramatic,” she said, but she kissed him frantically, as if her leaving would be in the next moment and death imminent.

  He slowed her, soothed her with lips and hands until her breathing regained its steady rhythm and his eyes no longer pricked with tears.

  With a sigh, she leaned back to look up at him.

  “So…what’s in the bag?”

  The paintbrushes he laid out on the fountain wall didn’t surprise her; the airtight bottles of prepared henna did. Colin poured the mixture into a wide-bottomed bowl; the fragrance of tea tree oil, lavender, and lemon saturated the sterile air. The dark scent of mehndi.

  Mesmerized by his hands as he stirred and smoothed the mahogany paste, she belatedly realized, “The consistency’s too thin.” Like pudding, when it should have been like frosting.

  “For cone application, perhaps.” A half-smile curved his lips as he selected a line brush. “But I’ve no intention of decorating you as one ices a wedding cake. Lift your arms.”

  He stripped her T-shirt over her head, then picked her up to slide her skirt and panties over her hips before setting her on the wall again. Stepping back, he surveyed her as he did a canvas before he blocked out the underlying shapes. Her skin tightened; her nipples hardened beneath his slow, assessing gaze.

  “What do you intend?”

  His lashes lowered, and he took her right hand in his. “My intentions,” he dipped the brush into the paste, turned her palm up, “were completely destroyed. Do not move.”

  She couldn’t, not when he rapidly traced a tiny flower in the center of her palm, reapplying henna to the bristles every few seconds. Over her fingers.

  In less than a minute, he covered her skin with a complex design that would have taken a skilled mehndi artist an hour or more. He released her hand, lifted her left.

  Stunned, she examined the petals of jasmine, the scrolling lattice and delicate leaves. Her stomach hollowed when she recalled where she’d seen it before.

  “Where did you get this pattern?” Did he know the significance of it? Or did he just think it attractive?

  “In your flat, from a book of traditional henna designs.” His breath swept as lightly over her palm as his brush. “Intended for brides. If you do not want it, wipe it away before it dries. Before the stain sets.”

  Colin pulled a white tea towel from his case. The thick terry was soft against her thigh, waiting.

  Never. She stifled the urge to curl her fists protectively, stared at his bent head. He held her hand in his, but didn’t continue painting; a fine tremor transferred from his fingers to hers.

  Ohmygod. Caelum swallowed her whisper.

  He’d remained in this realm for two months after she’d left. And the month before that, he’d lived almost wholly on animal blood—unable to hunt while the nosferatu had roamed the city. What had she imagined he’d done, fed from the Guardians here? Hunted them? She’d been so stupid; she hadn’t thought.

  Three months…and less than a year to recover from it, to build up immunity again. Now he was shaky. And only three days had passed since his last daysleep; he’d take another at the end of the night.

  His jaw tightened, and the trembling stopped. His brush moved over the heel of her hand, then began a bracelet around her wrist.

  “What did you intend?” she asked softly.r />
  “To manipulate your emotions.” The backs of her fingers now. “To force you to commit to me; to bargain for more time.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until Dalkiel was dead, but that could be tomorrow. Hardly as long as I’d like. Perhaps until the henna faded.”

  “Two more weeks. A month.”

  “Yes. Still not enough.” He paused, cleaned the bristles before setting the brush down. From his trouser pocket, he withdrew a small box. “Until these wore thin.”

  He met her eyes as he opened it; two rings lay nestled in velvet—a band for her, a thicker one for him.

  Her breath caught on laughter or a sob—she wasn’t certain. “Platinum doesn’t wear.”

  “I’d have invoked your promise to Auntie, and wept pathetically if you’d said no. The tears would have been sincere, but quite calculating. I find, however, that I prefer what you give without manipulation.”

  Her gaze dropped to her palms. “Then why the henna?”

  “Because, my sweet Savitri, you asked what was in the case.” Colin tilted her chin up, caught her lips in a soft kiss. “And I’ve ached to paint your skin for weeks. Months. Your hands, done quickly, was for you. The rest is for me.”

  “I wondered why I had to be naked,” she said breathlessly.

  “That is for me as well. What shall we do with these?” He gestured with the jewelry box; the rings gleamed silver beneath the sun. “Toss them into the fountain and make a wish?”

  “You should never pay more than a penny for a wish. I’ll put mine on until it wears thin.”

  “As I will.” His eyes closed briefly; when he opened them again, he smiled at her, his fangs flashing. “I’m pleased you are so practical in budgetary matters. Now, turn around and brace your elbows against the wall; I’ll begin with your back. Take care not to smudge your hands—good God, you’ve the sweetest arse.”