Demon Moon

by Meljean Brook

  “No. You feel wonderful.” Her fingers shook, her voice thickened. “You feel so good and I can’t think of anything.”

  “Don’t cry.” He couldn’t drink from her—couldn’t help her as he had before. Desperately, he pushed the glass into her grip. “Eat.”

  Savi drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, god. Just like Nani.” Her head bowed, and the bed began to tremble beneath her.

  “I used a kitchen tool and made a spiral of orange zest,” he said. “It was a lovely embellishment until it sank.”

  The blood sloshed; he quickly took it back.

  It was with a long sigh that her laughter ended. The slice of orange sat on the rim, and she pulled it off. Holding it as someone taking a shot of liquor would a wedge of lime, she drained the blood in one gulp—then bent forward and, her throat convulsing as if she fought nausea, sucked the juice from the orange.

  Colin sat frozen with astonishment. “You can taste it.”

  “I didn’t think it would be that bad.” She wiped at her mouth. “That was pig?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m officially a carnivore now. Excuse me.”

  Did she know how quickly she moved? In less than a second, he heard the sound of the faucet in the washroom, the scrub of her toothbrush. She returned a few minutes later, the sharp aroma of mint on her breath.

  “It must be the hellhound part of me. I can’t eat like Sir Pup, though—I had a piece of bread at Hugh’s, and it didn’t stop the hunger. But the blood did.”

  Crawling onto the bed, she laid her head in his lap and rolled around to look at him upside down. Her hair was silk beneath his fingers, and he vowed never to have anything less against his skin.

  “It will be more pleasurable when you take it from a human or vampire.” He hoped he would not be proven a liar. “Will you return to Castleford’s home? There is no vampire like you, Savi; he’s most qualified to help you adjust.”

  “I guess so. Until Dalkiel is dead, anyway.”

  And then what would she do? But he daren’t ask; it was agony enough to offer: “I’ll take you to Polidori’s tomorrow night and teach you how to feed; it is the one thing I’ve more expertise in than Castleford.”

  “Just bite and suck, right?”

  Her humor was forced, but so was his. “If you wish to be a bourgeois sort of vampire.”

  “No. Never that.” She turned her cheek, rubbed lightly against him. “Your libido still functions.”

  He could have wept. “Yes. But I’d not be able to prevent you from taking my blood. You’re exceptionally strong, with little practice at control—and the most beautiful vampire I’ve ever seen. I’d not be in my senses.”

  Her lips pressed tightly together, she nodded and sat up, linking her arms around her bent knees. “Will you stay with me until the sun rises?”

  “Yes. Until it sets again. Until you have to leave.” He memorized her profile. The curve of her back. The tips of her hair. The lay of her hands. “I love you, Savitri.”

  “No.” Her shining eyes met his. “The evidence suggests that your feelings are exponentially greater than that.”

  Christ, how she tore him apart. He swallowed over the ache in his throat. “It never ceases to amaze me, how extraordinarily brilliant you are.”

  She sighed. “I wish I were brilliant enough.”

  CHAPTER 27

  The Sunday crowd at Polidori’s was thinner than it had been the previous week, the vampire-to-human ratio much higher. Savi had seen more than one human group leave, complaining of the temperature and rubbing their arms to warm themselves; others took to the dance floor with dizzying vigor.

  She could hardly bring herself to watch them as they smiled and laughed and their blood pulsed through their veins like electronic music. Could barely see anything.

  Perhaps she was enthralled—her heightened senses bombarded by light and sound and psyches, until Polidori’s faded into a surreal backdrop.

  How could this be real? This couldn’t be how it would end: infinitely simple.

  Infinitely painful.

  She couldn’t think. Blocking hadn’t helped. She wasn’t the least bit intoxicated, though Epona had sent Bloody Mary after Bloody Mary to their table. As a joke? As congratulations?

  Savi didn’t know. Didn’t ask. She chugged them down, felt the burn of alcohol that couldn’t assuage her thirst and didn’t numb anything.

  And she didn’t want any of them, but she forced herself to ask, “Why not Denver?” She nodded toward the vampire signing lyrics at a camera. Colin had consulted with her about hiring the kid, and they’d agreed it would be easier to keep an eye on his activities—and protect him from Dalkiel—if he spent most of his evenings at the club. “He volunteered. His new partner doesn’t care.”

  “He’s too young; he’d not have enough control to prevent his feeding from you.”

  Her smile probably would have frightened a human. “Good. I could conduct an experiment and see if my blood will turn his brain to mush.”

  The gleam of humor in Colin’s gaze was the first she’d seen since they’d arrived at the club. “That is wonderfully unforgiving, sweet.” He flicked a dismissive glance at the waitress gathering Savi’s empty glass from the table, but his brows rose when it was replaced with a fresh drink. “Another?”

  Savi shrugged and looked toward the bar. Epona caught her eye. Her fangs protruded over her red lips; her attention shifted to Colin and she turned away, fidgeting with a tall bottle of tequila. “Raven’s not in her usual spot tonight. Perhaps Epona is volunteering. She seems kind of frustrated and hungry, doesn’t she? Maybe they had a fight.”

  “If I’m to teach you survival, sweet, the most important lesson might be this: Never come between two women.”

  “Is that why you told Darkwolf no?” She tried to imagine herself fighting Arwen and Gina, and almost choked on her drink.

  “No. He is not handsome enough.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “What does that matter?”

  “You prefer a pretty face, Savi.” Colin rested his arm along the back of their sofa. Despite the casual pose, he radiated tension, his body rigid beneath his clothing.

  “He’s kind of hot. The shaved head, the tattoo.”

  “If your tastes ran to bald and brutish, I suppose he might be.”

  “My tastes generally don’t run to blond and British.”

  “I’ll not push you onto someone unsuitable just because they are available. And he did not want you; for that alone I should kill him.”

  “Will anyone be suitable?”

  Music pulsed into the silence between them. Colin stared at her, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “No.”

  “Maybe I should do this alone.” Her whisper was strained; any other vampire likely wouldn’t have heard her.

  “No. I have to know that you’ll be well.” He turned his face up to the ceiling before looking at her again. “I apologize, sweet. My jealousy is making this difficult. I did not want our time together to end this way.”

  “I know. I didn’t either.” She clasped his hand in hers. Tried to think of anything good. Her head buzzed, like a moth zapped in a buglight. “Do you know what I realized in the car? Tonight’s the full moon. Not a whole month, but we proved Dalkiel wrong.”

  Smiling slightly, Colin said, “Perhaps Dalkiel will abandon his plans, humiliated that it did not rise over our graves. Just a moment, sweet. I have to take this.”

  Not her head buzzing—his phone. Detective Taylor. She could hear the other woman as clearly as if she’d been holding the receiver to her ear.

  The detective interrupted Colin’s polite greeting. “I’ve got about thirty seconds. A uniformed officer found two dead-on-scene when responding to a DD. I just arrived here; two male vampires. No humans. A Navigator—yours—is parked out on the street. We weren’t able to open one of the closets, but Savi’s infrared detector tells me that a vampire is behind the door—either knocked out or tied, judging by the position. Fe
male, by size.”

  Colin frowned and looked at Savi. She shook her head; she couldn’t understand it, either. A vampire might lock herself inside to avoid detection or capture, but it wouldn’t be unconscious—and why leave one tied, except to starve if no one could get through the spell to reach her?

  “What’s the location?”

  Taylor recited an address; Savi’s eyes widened.

  “That’s Raven and Epona’s apartment,” she said under her breath.

  “There’s more; the male vampires aren’t just dead, they’re torn apart.”

  Colin stood up, his gaze searching the dance floor, the upper levels. “Torn apart? Or decapitated?”

  “Ripped apart. Like those kids last year.”

  The nosferatu had slaughtered two of Dalkiel’s vampires? In revenge, out of hatred—or with Dalkiel’s consent?

  Colin signed an instruction to Fia. A moment later, she and Paul were herding Epona away from the bar.

  Two inches above the sofa, one foot in. Savi pressed the spring in the wall. So many drinks. And her partner not in her usual spot. A joke…congratulations…a taunt? A warning? Perhaps it would be nothing, a coincidence. Perhaps Raven had to work a different shift—

  Oh god. The weapons hold was empty.

  “Thank you, detective. I’ll ring Agent Milton; she’s out hunting it. With luck, it’ll have left a scent for the pup to follow.”

  “For once, I’ll be glad to see her. I’ve got to get—”

  The call dropped. Fear slid icy through Savi’s stomach, caught at her throat, and she met Colin’s eyes. In the club—from only three or four humans, but it rose like a chorus around them: Are you there?

  The signal lost, as if the spell had been activated around the club. To prevent a call for help from going out—or to prevent help from coming in?

  It didn’t matter: the symbols did both.

  Colin didn’t bother with silence, with signing; he shouted. “Varney! Darkwolf! Get them all out!”

  He grabbed her hand and they darted across the floor; so fast that the dancers seemed to still around them, a 3-D music video in slow motion. The frozen rainbow of lights flickered, casting an odd shadow across the wall.

  A naked white form scurried across the ceiling.

  Nosferatu. Even with her shields up, Savi could taste the darkness in its psychic scent, the malevolent intent.

  Ariphale dropped, falling faster than gravity could have pulled it. Its feet slammed against the floor; the polished wood shivered and cracked under the impact. Its pale, membranous wings snapped wide. God, had it been so big on the plane? In the cell? Colin slid, skidded. They couldn’t avoid it. Momentum carried them forward; Ariphale knocked Savi aside with a brush of its claws.

  The hands that caught her were warm—too warm to be human or vampire or Colin. Too strong and too fast to mean anything but death.

  She watched as Colin stopped himself before crashing into the nosferatu, but the creature clamped its talons over his shoulders, turned him around and held him in place. Colin didn’t fight. He stared at Dalkiel, his face tightening as heated fingers wrapped around her throat.

  Not to squeeze, she realized—only to threaten decapitation. A sharp pull would kill her; strangulation wouldn’t.

  “Little Savitri,” Dalkiel crooned into her ear with Colin’s voice. “Listen to the worms scream.”

  They were screaming—and running. Humans, mostly. A few vampires. Their footsteps pounded up the stairs. Were they remembering how the nosferatu had burned the eldest of them the year before?

  Or they were just smart. A beautiful demon was reason enough to flee; only an idiot would stay to see what a seven-foot winged-and-fanged nightmare would do.

  Savi would have run, too, if fear hadn’t immobilized her. If Ariphale hadn’t been staring down at Colin with hungry amber eyes.

  The music cut off. Colin’s plea seemed a yell in the relative quiet.

  “Let her go.”

  And echoed from the side: “Let them go.” She couldn’t see him, but she recognized his voice. Darkwolf. Savi felt Dalkiel’s surprise; if Colin was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Even if you kill them in combat, prove yourself strongest as by tradition, we won’t follow you.”

  Her feet swayed over the floor as Dalkiel lifted her and turned—not far, keeping Colin in his sight, despite the nosferatu’s hold and the threat to her life.

  “Then I’ll kill you,” Dalkiel said. “Your friends, your consorts—you cannot fight me. And if you flee my rule, you will only prove yourselves cowards. Either way, I am satisfied.”

  Darkwolf’s jaw hardened and he took a step forward. Gina, Arwen—others Savi didn’t recognize. All moving, their psychic scents filled with determination.

  The demon’s fingers clenched, his nails digging in.

  Blood. Savi’s chest heaved; she couldn’t draw a breath, didn’t need it, but terror and pain wound themselves slick and greasy over her skin.

  “Stop,” Colin rasped, and though his command was for Dalkiel, the vampires immediately halted. “I’ll bargain.”

  The demon laughed, dismissing Darkwolf and returning his attention to Colin. But he directed his response to Savi, in a low and triumphant rumble. “Your pretty young vampire knows I must consider the terms of the bargain, but he has no leverage and nothing to offer. I hold everything valuable to him in my hands; there is nothing I desire that equals his need to protect you. It is such a liability, these bloodsharing partnerships. They weaken vampires—but I am the stronger for them, the more powerful. I could have threatened to slaughter every vampire here and he’d have allowed it, but for your life he remains still.”

  Colin’s mouth curved in a thin smile. “Ah, yes. A true leader sacrifices himself—not those around him—to preserve what he loves. I confess, I’d trade every worthless one of them for her.” His gaze shifted to the side. “Darkwolf knows this well.”

  “Yes.” Disappointment roughened Darkwolf’s reply. “We have no use for such as you.”

  “You’d best run; you’d best go far. The foxes are inside the warren; there is no protection here for you and your partners, and no help will arrive. He will kill anyone who witnessed his humiliation, or he will force me to do it.”

  The warren? Savi forced herself not to think, not to give anything away.

  A breathless silence hovered between them; then the sound of Darkwolf’s boots as he turned and left. Arwen’s soft slippers. Gina’s heels. Dalkiel’s laughter filled in the rest.

  “You don’t seek to control us,” Colin said. “You allowed the nosferatu to murder two vampires; you cannot rule over those who are dead. What is it you truly want?”

  Ariphale spoke for the first time, its voice guttural. “Chaos.”

  Savi was certain she misinterpreted the emotions that flashed over Colin’s expression: surprise and dismay, she understood—but relief? How could it be anything but disastrous for a demon to know Colin was anchored to that realm?

  Oh, god. Because he did have something Dalkiel wanted—and it gave Colin room to bargain.

  “Eavesdropping,” Colin murmured with a smile, “is a rather boorish activity. Don’t you agree, sweet?”

  She nodded as best she could, though her heart pounded an unnatural rhythm. Don’t bargain.

  How much had Ariphale heard through its cell walls? How much had it told Dalkiel?

  Apparently enough.

  “An open portal to Chaos,” Dalkiel said. “Lucifer derived so much of his power from the dragons in that realm before he lost access to it, I’d be a fool not to take advantage of it. Five hundred years will be time enough to learn to wield it. When the Gates open, Hell will be mine, and I’ll leave the Earth to Ariphale, and free his imprisoned brethren.”

  The nosferatu’s eyes burned. Impatience surrounded him, like an electric blue fog. Not much trust existed between the two, Savi realized, but they’d formed a partnership out of necessity.

  “You’ll need Savi alive.” Colin
’s gaze held hers. “The portal opens when her shields fail.”

  “Yes, but we don’t need you,” Dalkiel said. “Only your blood. If the other nosferatu were anchored to the realm by drinking it, so will Ariphale be. And so you will submit to him. Here, standing before those weaker than you. If your blood kills him, she will die. If you struggle before he’s drained you, she will die.”

  Savi fought to speak. The demon had it wrong. The imprisoned nosferatu had taken Colin’s blood, but it had been shed in a ritual, from specific symbols. And the portal depended upon the both of them—Ariphale couldn’t have heard that. The room had been shielded when they’d realized it.

  But Colin wouldn’t correct his misassumption, as it probably rendered useless whatever bargain the nosferatu and demon had made. Their misconception that Savi alone was the key prevented Dalkiel from killing her.

  From killing them both.

  Colin shook his head—a tiny, almost undetectable movement.

  And what came out instead was her laughter. “You’re afraid of him,” she realized. “You have to threaten me to control him? You can’t forget what he did to you on the roof, can you? He humiliated you.” Dalkiel’s claws pierced her side…and dug deeper as she continued, “You don’t know what the hell he is, and he frightens you. Does he remind you of what you used to be? Two times you fought him, and two times you ran like a fucking cow—”

  “Stop, Savi,” Colin said desperately. “Stop.”

  She had to anyway. The pain swamped her vision, blinding her with crimson.

  “Take him,” Dalkiel said.

  And she saw that, somehow. Though the red haze, saw Ariphale’s fangs rip at Colin’s neck, his mouth cover the wound. She scented the rich flavor of his blood.

  Her blood, too. It leaked out of her, wet and sliding, and all of her seemed to be sliding and moving and pushing the wrong way.

  “Hold on, sweet.” He was losing strength, losing blood, but even now he was thinking of her, thinking…

  Think, Savi.

  Dalkiel’s hand twisted before he yanked it from her flesh and slapped it over her mouth. Was she screaming?