Demon Moon (32 page)

She flipped through the folder he'd given her. “You just want me to keep my eyes open, then. And listen around, see if anyone's talking about these guys.”

“Yes. You don't want to engage or approach them,” he said. “This isn't typical behavior for a vampire community. If a demon is directing them, they may disregard the Rules.”

She looked up at him. “You mean he might have them kill. Kill humans.”

“Yes.”

Letting go a long breath, she nodded again and said, “How will I know him from you?”

It hadn't occurred to Colin. He was unaccustomed to being mistaken for anyone else. He stared at her blankly before remembering, “Miss Murray has been working on a gadget. I'll request that one be sent to you.”

“We can't ask her now?” Taylor looked through the window again.

He hesitated; then he heard Savi's laughter, the echoing rumble from the suitor. “No.” Taylor might not respond kindly to his draining the sod dry. Savi likely wouldn't, either.

Her eyebrows drew together, but she nodded. “There's Joe anyway.”

She gripped the door handle, pulled it open.

“Detective Taylor.”

She paused, glanced back at him.

“I know you are not on the best of terms, but Milton and Castleford have answers, if you seek them. More answers than Miss Murray and I do.”

Taylor sighed. “I saw an angel drop Castleford out of thin air into the middle of Savi's apartment. His throat had been torn out. I saw kids who'd been ripped apart by something neither Heaven nor Hell wanted. Then I saw what Lucifer did to that dog…right in front of us, after the poor thing had saved our lives.” She gestured toward Sir Pup; her fingers shook. “Considering that both Milton and Castleford chose to be human, I don't think the answers they have to give are what I want to hear.”

He smiled without humor. “I've had a similar experience of late.”

She could have been happy with him.

Manu Suraj was exactly the type of man she'd have chosen for herself—that Nani might have chosen, as well. So attractive—and with his dark hair and eyes, his unpretentious eyeglasses and clothing, intelligence, and fantastic laugh—the type of man she'd always been with in the past.

He should have been perfect. He probably was. The problem lay with Savi; she shouldn't have allowed herself to fall for someone completely unsuitable.

As long as she didn't fall any deeper, she'd be okay. Or she hoped. Was there an event horizon or a point of no return for such things? Would a person traveling through an event horizon know it? But she could still pull herself out.

She
could
.

“You don't live with your
nani
?” Manu sipped from his cup, his gaze steady on hers.

Shaking her head, she said, “No. I couldn't do it anymore.” Her lips curved in remembrance. “One day, I'd rented
Bend It Like Beckham
, thinking that it would be a nice change from the Bollywood movies she always brought home. And something I could watch without falling asleep halfway through a dance number.”

Manu began laughing softly, and Savi was certain he could see where she was heading before she finished her explanation. Perfect.

“So, we got to the part in the car…you remember that?” At his nod, she grinned and continued, “They weren't even naked, but she made me cover my eyes—and I decided that living on my own might be a nice change. God, if I'd rented
Monsoon Wedding
I'd probably be living in another state right now.”

She looked down into her cup, swirled the tea at the bottom. It hadn't been that simple, but it had been a different point of no return. Though one of her own making. “I think she enjoys living alone, though. Her friends come over quite a bit—and it's the first time that she hasn't had to take care of someone in…” Savi blinked in realization. “Well, her entire life. But she still nags, of course.”

“‘
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 next 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.”