Demon Moon (57 page)

His eyes widened for an instant; then he laughed softly and a heady, textured scent flooded the air. Citrus. Sandalwood.

“Oh, god. It's just like your cologne. But better.”

“My cologne,” he said, “is just like me.”

It would be. She inhaled; bliss rolled through her. She rocked with it. Euphoria spiraled from her sex, filled with him. Her lungs, filled with him. Her mind—“Let me go first.”

She felt the icy slide of fear, the blunt denial in him before he said, “No. No, Savi.”

“You're stronger than I am,” she said. Her gaze dropped to his neck. “I can't do what you do—I can only make it feel good. But you won't be incoherent. If something goes wrong, you might be able to stop me.”

“If my blood hurts you…” He shook his head. “No.”

“If it does, it will whether I go first or last.” Her thumbs smoothed over his cheeks. Crimson light glistened across the sharp angles, cast shadows in the hollows beneath. “And you've never had someone feed from you like this. Not to give you pleasure.” Only nosferatu and wyrmwolves who'd offered pain; only men and vampires who'd wanted immortality and power from him and died of it. “I want to be the first. And if it's the only time…I'll just regret that I couldn't leave you senseless.”

“You do. Kiss me again. And again. Bloody hell, we are mad. Your eyes are shining, sweet. Are you frightened?”

“Yes.” Her blood roiled through her. “But more afraid of eternity without you.”

“Oh, Savi. I am, too.” And she could see it in his face, that enthralling beauty that came over him when he was overwhelmed—with rage, with fear, with passion or beauty.

With love.

A final kiss, and then his breath stilled as she touched her lips to his neck. Everything stilled—even, she was certain, her heart.

Her fangs pierced his skin.

I love you
. It slipped over her tongue, and she didn't know if it was hers or his. Or if there was a difference.

Oh, god, and he tastes so good
.

“Oh, sweet,” he said, and his hoarse laugh rumbled across her lips. “It's better than good. It feels incredible.” His hands gripped her hips, and he thrust.

It doubled within her, the pulse of Colin's pleasure through his blood, the tight clench of her slick heat around his shaft. His moan reverberated against her tongue. She swallowed, drew more. Opened her senses, and awkwardly tried to slide in.

His mind welcomed her. Oh, god. Everything beautiful, radiating an exquisite brilliance. Was this how he saw her? And there was darkness alongside it, unhidden. He tensed and breathed a denial as her mental touch flitted over it; she tasted, expected bitterness, but found it rich and thick and deep.

“Savi…tell me,” he said, his voice strained. “Are you hurting?”

No
.

This was the opposite of pain.

His relief rose through her like heated air. Gingerly, he set his teeth against the curve between her shoulder and neck. His palms flattened over her hips, up the length of her spine.

A trickle of blood, then gentle suction. Not the rapture.

Wait, Savi. I want to be certain
. He drank slowly, measuring each swallow.

And in that moment of quiet, she felt the pleasure her blood gave him, flowing through his veins and uncoiling within her. Caution accompanied it, his careful test of her emotions, the tender probe against her memory.

Savi didn't know how to invite him in.
I'm sorry
.

His amusement melted like spun sugar on her tongue.
Don't apologize, sweet. Just hold on
.

It gathered beneath her skin—beneath Colin's skin—large and powerful and spinning toward her. Her hands clenched on his shoulders. His heart raced against hers.

She swallowed and it roared through her, familiar and just as impossible as before, and all the better for experiencing his through their blood link.

She writhed and shuddered, but there was more, and it shook from her, passed into him.

Colin growled and then she was on her back, and he burrowed deep, hard. Her legs wrapped him tight. His blood filled her mouth, and everything he gave her, she sent back.

He stiffened, thrust with fangs and his blood and his cock, and it hit her again, at a higher pitch. Higher.

A feedback loop. Painful, ratcheting and rising with each stroke, each draw. She couldn't let go. He grabbed hold of her mind, tore across it on a frenzied wave of pleasure.

And still higher. The tension spread her thin, long and taut and brittle. On the verge of fracturing.

But it was dawn that broke; the sun spilled through the window, across the far wall. Daysleep dragged her down, tried to take her from him, but Colin surrounded her body, shielded her mind with his. Didn't allow her to fall; didn't allow her to burn.

Don't be afraid, sweet. Don't be afraid
.

But even he was swept along by it, and she tasted his fear just below the ecstasy. His body plunged deep and deep, and the orgasm spread through her again, wound her higher. And then his as he came, pulsing into her, his rapture into her blood, back into his. Cycled again. And again.

Too much
.

She shattered out from beneath him.

Brilliant, sweet Savitri. How perfect her mind was; how clear and detailed every memory.

She'd claimed it hadn't hurt, and their mental link had confirmed the truth of it—but Colin was relieved when the fractures began to close, to heal. He had an eternity to repeat the process, to slip through the fissures and examine everything that made up Savi.

That was, when she stopped showing him images of himself.

His hair was a terrible mess, but he wasn't surprised it looked so bloody spectacular that way. And she apparently adored it, so he'd not change it anytime soon.

Exhaustion quickly enveloped her; the few remaining cracks surrounding her memory sealed shut, pushing him outside. She'd been using her fangs to reopen his punctures, to keep the blood flowing…but now even that effort seemed too much.

Colin floated along with her until he couldn't hold her up, and let her sink into the daysleep.

Then, to his astonishment, he'd barely a moment to pull the blankets over them before it took him down as well.

Savi woke from dreams almost as lucid as life…and they immediately began to slip away. No surprise in that; even her memory could not hold on to them—had never been able to.

Colin lay on his stomach next to her, his face in her pillow. Not breathing; his heart beating a sluggish tempo. She slid her hand across his shoulder. Warm.

Daysleep.

Early for it, but perhaps the past evening had taken its toll on him. The past weeks, drinking the animal blood. She wouldn't worry yet; it was just after sunset, but he'd always been terribly lazy, never waking the moment the sun dropped below the horizon.

She had.

Curling around him, she waited. Nothing felt different, though it was difficult to tell: she'd barely had enough experience with her body as a vampire. But there was no pain. Her skin was still cold. She waved her hand in front of her face; her eyes weren't glowing, but perhaps they only did that when her shields were down, or she was afraid.

Her ring was still missing.

She spent fifteen minutes trying to feel around her mind for her hammerspace before she gave up. Hugh could teach her. Or Sir Pup could. What had she looked like as a wolf? Could she talk to other dogs?

This was killing her.

She slipped out of the bed. It would only take her a few moments. Almost sliding across the slick bathroom tile in her hurry, she stopped and stared at the mirror in surprise. Everything was the same.

Not for long. She activated the symbols; the bedroom was spelled, and it extended into the bathroom, but this way Colin wouldn't be disturbed when she lowered her psychic blocks and maybe even howled—

Her reflection wavered; she faded. The shower curtain's bold diagonal pattern appeared
through
her, like a double-exposed photograph. Silent screams ripped through the small room.

She didn't see herself transform.

Savi prepared the breakfast out of habit, rather than hunger. Orange juice. A frozen blueberry waffle. She didn't want to eat it.

Why hadn't Colin woken yet? In three minutes, she would fetch Hugh and Lilith. Two.

She heard his first deep draw of breath, and sagged back against the counter. Listened as he shuffled into the bathroom, pulled on his pants. As the water ran, and the sound of him brushing his teeth.

And his strangled cry of surprise.

He was still faster than she. Before she'd taken a step, he was standing in the kitchen, looking wildly about. Her toothbrush dangled from his mouth. He pulled it out, grabbed her orange juice and gulped down half of it.

“Colin—oh, god,” she said, and covered her face, began giggling when his lips turned down and he stuck out his tongue as if to rid it of a terrible taste. “Orange juice after mint is
bad
.”

He tore off a bite of the waffle, chewed. Grimaced again. “That's revoltingly tasteless.”

She pointed toward the syrup.

His gaze narrowed on her. “I've something sweeter in mind.” His kiss was flavored of orange and mint, and she clung to him until she was breathless. And continued, because she didn't need to breathe.

Finally he pulled back to stare down at her. “Are you well?”

She nodded. “I can still turn into a wolf.”

His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, her brows. “Your shields are up. Can you lower them without transforming?”

“Yes.” Her throat tightened. “Did you see the mirror?”

“That you'd covered it? I do like to perform morning ablutions without the screaming.” Despite his light tone, his body tensed against hers. “Why?”

“Will you go look at it?”

His jaw set. “Why? What are you not—”

“You can taste,” she said. “I think I got something of yours, too. I can still see myself,” she added quickly when he paled, his skin drawing taut over his cheekbones. “Just go look.”

His fingers threaded tightly through hers; he led her back to the bathroom. Her heart was in her throat as they stood before the mirror. She'd tacked the shower curtain across it.

His bare chest rose and fell on a deep breath, and he ripped it down.

He wasn't there. Still not there. She tried to pull him out. He didn't move. “I'm sorry…I'm sorry.”

“What did you think it would be, Savitri?” His brows drew together, and he tilted his head as if studying his missing reflection.

“I didn't know. I dropped my shields, and I saw it—”

He whipped around to face her. “Chaos?”

“Yes. But only when my shields are down.”

“Bloody hell.” He stared at her for a moment, his throat working. “I'm sorry, Savi.”

“Don't apologize. I'm okay now. More than okay.” Whatever price she had to pay, it had been worth it.

He glanced at the mirror again, his lips parting slightly as if in wonder. “So am I.”

Her breath caught. “You can see yourself?”

He shook his head. “No. Just you. The shower behind me. Not Chaos.” His voice thickened. “Like the reflection in glass, or water.”

“What if you lower your shields?”

The scent of papaya, of orange; he cringed, and it disappeared. “That is not as pleasant,” he said softly.

She looked at the mirror. “But still…” He wouldn't have to be alone in it. Wouldn't have to suffer it, except by choice.

He pressed his lips together as if to hold back tears or laughter, and nodded. “But still,” he agreed.

Surprisingly, Michael followed Savi's suggestion—though they didn't use a nuclear bomb, uncertain of the effect of such a powerful weapon.

In and out within seconds, and she watched in the Room as Michael and Colin appeared at the top of the mountain. The charges had been prepared; Colin simply had to set them against the rocks and start the timer.

Fifteen seconds later, Colin was in the Room with her, holding her hand as the explosion obliterated the symbols, a good chunk of the mountaintop, and a few curious wyrmwolves.

“It's done,” he announced, and held her gaze as he pressed a kiss to her fingers. She raised her shields a moment after he did; she reflected infinitely in every mirror, each successive image decreasing in size. Dizzying.

“Well,” Lilith said from behind the glass. “Despite all of your whining, that wasn't bad at all.”

Colin rolled his eyes; his fangs flashed with his grin. “Sod off, Agent Milton.”