Demon Moon (6 page)

“Yes. I didn't have piano wire in my gold watch, unfortunately.”

He chuckled softly. “The nosferatu is no 007. What are these?” Faint mahogany lines formed an intricate design on her palm. He gently turned her hand over, saw the same on the backs of her fingers. “Henna?”

“My friend's wedding.”

A sudden image of those decorated hands sliding over his skin made him ache. He glanced up; she was staring at his mouth.

Would her lips taste as she smelled? Sweet Savitri. He'd only had her blood and her body—her tongue had been busy speaking of beauty that wasn't his. “Do you trust me?”

“No,” she said. “But I'll let you, as it is your blood that will be spilled this time.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his jaw clenching. Why hadn't he healed her in Caelum, and immediately put her to sleep? Whatever vague, lingering memory produced this continued resistance could have been prevented with little effort—but he'd not made it.

It didn't matter. This obsession
would
fade.

He viciously scraped his tongue beneath his fangs, and brought her hand to his mouth. She gasped as he painted the blood in short strokes over the wounds, then spun her around and pulled down the neckline of her shirt to do the same to four punctures on her shoulder. They were surrounded by livid bruises; the nosferatu's dark scent clung, despite her shower.

He lifted his head, fought to control his breathing, his arousal, his bloodlust. Her pulse raced in the hollow beneath her jaw.

“Colin—”

He closed his eyes at the tinge of fear in her voice. Wasn't that what he'd wanted? “Clean it off, Savitri. I'll wait in the car.”

A cop pulled them over on Sunset. Savi wordlessly gave Colin her driver's license, and he handed it over along with his license and registration.

“I apologize for speeding, Officer,” he said pleasantly. “I was distracted by my companion's sparkling repartee.”

Savi squinted as the cop shined his flashlight over her face, and tried not to laugh. Silence had reigned between them from the moment she'd slid into the passenger seat, but in the midst of this absurdity, it was impossible to hold on to her anger or her fear.

“You were going ninety in a forty.”

“Sparkling Savitri Murray,” Colin said. “Like champagne. Sweet Savitri, my sparkling wine.”

Two sobriety tests and a warning to install rearview and side mirrors later, Colin pulled back into traffic and sent her a sidelong glance. “Do you have credit cards?”

“Yes, but it's not necessary. I can fake the charges.”

He shook his head. “We need more than a paper trail.”

He took her to a convenience store, where she debated longer than necessary over the candy bars, making certain her face showed to the camera aimed down the aisle. A fast-food restaurant, where she argued with the manager about the temperature of her French fries.

“I feel like a bitch,” she told him as she returned to the car with a free apple turnover. “Here I am, in a Bentley with Ramsdell Pharmaceutical's primary shareholder, and I'm complaining about a dollar's worth of food to a guy who probably makes less a week than I spent on my coat.”

His smile didn't touch his eyes; his gaze was fixed on the red box in her hand. He inhaled deeply, then turned to look out the windshield. “We've done enough for now. We can go to a sit-down, if you're hungry.”

She wasn't. “Are you?” Once, she'd seen him eat food at her grandmother's restaurant.

A smile hovered around his mouth. “I ate.”

“Polidori's reopened when I was away; I'd like to see it.” After a brief hesitation, he gave a stiff nod. She watched him steadily, trying to discern the reason for his tension. She opened the box and pinched off a bite. “Do you want some?”

“No.”

“Do you like food?”

“I can't taste it. But the scent…” His lips firmed. “I remember some, particularly fruits and sweets. The cinnamon, the apples. Oranges—I had them several times.” He looked at her, then away. “The privilege of aristocracy.”

“Too exotic for the plebs?” As the younger son of the seventh earl of Norbridge, he'd have had access to a variety of luxuries a commoner could never have afforded.

“Yes. We had—have—an orangery at Beaumont Court. Though my nephews had transformed it into a fort upon my last visit.”

“Do they know what you are?”

“Yes. I'm their beloved blood-drinking Uncle Colin, as I have been for generations.”

“They don't think it's weird?”

“My youngest niece's response upon learning the truth was, ‘Brill!'” Colin shook his head. “She was not a bit disturbed, though I'll admit to some dismay at her vocabulary. Worse, that the longer I visit, the more I adopt their speaking habits. That is the true horror, my sweet Savitri.”

“Do they know about your sister and Anthony Ramsdell?”

He heaved a long sigh, but the amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes belied the harassed sound of it. “Yes. Indeed, I have to recount the events every Christmas season; the children especially enjoy it when I linger over my part—bedridden and starving, attacking Emily and trying to drink her blood until Castleford and Ramsdell arrived at the penultimate moment and rescued her from my evil clutches.”

“Evil?” Grinning, she popped another bite of the apple turnover into her mouth.

“Quite, though they do not seem to believe it.” His voice lowered dramatically. “Instead I must tell them stories of the evil demon Lilith, and of how Ramsdell thwarted her and returned Michael's magical sword to his possession after centuries in Beaumont Court's library. So, yes, Ramsdell has become a family legend, Castleford and Lilith slightly less so; alas, despite my exquisite appearance and the immortality I gained from their actions, I'm neither legend nor villain.”

“I guess it's more exciting to hear tales of winged Guardians and demons than a mere vampire.” She caught her tongue between her teeth to stop her laughter when he turned his head to stare at her, an aggrieved impatience creasing his brow. But his lips twitched slightly as he looked back toward the road.

“It's
most
disagreeable.”

“And I suppose it also helps that his medical practice was the basis for Ramsdell Pharmaceuticals,” Savi said. “Your family still reaps the benefit of it.”

“Yes. When creating legends, possessing both virtue and money is an unbeatable combination. I have one, but have no inclination to acquire the other.” He smiled briefly. “You do not have the history or familiarity with such things that my niece does, yet you have adjusted very well. Particularly considering your pagan roots.”

“I don't know if that helps or hurts—have you seen Detective Taylor lately? Since she found out about all of this?” She shook her head when he arched a brow and replied in the negative. “Never mind. Despite all of the stuff in the restaurant, even in my apartment, I can't really say that Nani and I are pagan—or much of anything. Between Nani and Hugh, my upbringing was completely secular.”

“Perhaps it is more shocking, then, your adjustment.”

“Well, I'm not convinced anything I've learned is faith-affirming or-destroying; at most, a shifting of a paradigm. We don't really know.”

Colin gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Savitri, don't be absurd. You've not seen enough evidence? You've a rational explanation for Caelum, and its effect on us? For the symbols' protection, and the spell's prevention of communication of
any
form, as if it can recognize intent?”

“No. I don't,” she admitted. “But what's the reason behind it? We have an explanation that it all derived from Heaven, that demons were created when they followed Lucifer in his rebellion, that the nosferatu were cursed with bloodthirst and vulnerability to the sun when they refused to take sides in the First Battle—but who witnessed this? The demons and nosferatu, who
say
they were once angels.”

“Ah. But they're all liars, so you assume they lie about this as well.”

“Well, I don't
know
that they do; I just don't rule it out as a possibility. And doesn't it benefit them to say they came from Heaven? Maybe they're just capitalizing on things people already believe, and they change the details of their story according to the culture. It inspires more power, more fear—is more impressive.”

“And what of Michael and the Guardians? Do you doubt his word as well?” His fangs gleamed when she shifted uncomfortably. “Do you think his story of the Second Battle is a lie?”

“No. Demons are real; I'm not questioning that—or that they probably were jealous of the angels who were on Earth, protecting it. I live with a hellhound, so I don't doubt Lucifer bred them, and used them to massacre the angels during that battle. And I've seen what Michael can do.”

“So you are willing to believe that he really did lead an army of men who fought against the demons, and killed a Chaos dragon with his sword?”

“Yes.”

“How generous of you, Savitri.” His voice was teasing. “And what about afterward—that the angels gave him the power to transform other humans into Guardians, and take their place as protectors in Caelum?”

“I'm willing to accept that, too. I just don't necessarily think it has to all come from some huge, ineffable source. There might be other explanations. Stop laughing, it's not that funny,” she said, but when he glanced at her and sucked in a long breath as if he was trying to suppress it, then failed and burst into laughter again, she had to join in.

“Oh, Savitri,” he said. “You are incredible. Still a skeptic.”

She shrugged. “They—you—do things I have no explanation for, but maybe in three hundred years, there will be one. A thousand years ago, the world was flat, gravity didn't exist, and lightning was a sign from the gods. And no one's studying Guardians or demons—except for the quacks, scientists don't even know they're supposed to be figuring this shit out. They don't have terms for most of it. But once people take a look at it, pull it apart…demystify it all, maybe they'll find a reason for it. So I'm not saying it isn't true—but I'm not ready to say it is, either.”

“Do let me know when you are; I think I shall very much enjoy hearing your conclusions, however convoluted they may be.”

“I may take a long time.”

He grinned. “I'll wait.”

The turnover had almost completely cooled; she took another bite. His lids lowered as he inhaled, his gaze falling to her mouth. “That is apple?”

She nodded.

He blinked and gave his head a slight shake, turning his attention back to the road.

“Actually,” she said, “the only reason I'm not running away screaming is because it's all so interesting. I live with a two-thousand-year-old woman and an eight-hundred-year-old man. Did you know Lilith once tried to tempt Isaac Newton?”

“She told you that?” Colin glanced at her. “She may have been lying.”

“Hugh said she wasn't. But even if she had been, it's still fascinating.”

“And are you so certain Castleford tells you the truth?”

“I think so. Usually, if I ask a question he doesn't want to answer, he just says it's not for me to know.” He didn't say it very often—and the majority of the times he had, it had been in relation to Colin and Chaos. “Except it doesn't sound so condescending when he says it. Is all that stuff about you in his book true? Have you read it?”

After he'd Fallen, Hugh had written a manuscript describing his life as a Guardian—a life he'd dedicated to saving Lilith. Savi had stumbled across the file on his computer and had assumed he'd been writing a fictional novel. She'd found out later he'd intended it for the library in Caelum, to be included with the Scrolls that detailed Guardian rules and history. But by then, Savi had already developed popular card and video games from its storyline.

“Yes. With a title such as
Lilith
, how could I not? But I am never mentioned.”

“Not by name. But it's not all that hard to figure it out. The dates, the locations—they match up. You really lived a month only half-transformed?”

A puzzled frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. “I'm certain Derbyshire was not mentioned, Savitri. Nor were there specific dates.”

“Oh!” She shook her head. “No, I don't mean the printed version—god, you read
that
?”

“Yes,” he said. “It's quite terrible.”

“It's not surprising: I ran his original Latin document through a language translator, then tried to spiff it all up before I had it printed for him.”

He turned his head to stare at her.

“It was a present,” she said, grinning. “I was young.”