Demon Moon (18 page)

It wasn't a lie, but Fia would assume that Colin had simply been physically aroused, and the blood pushed him over. And it was less embarrassing than admitting it had nothing to do with Savi, but rather the psychic effects of ingesting hellhound venom.

“Oh.” Fia sighed. “I'd really hoped that someone had gotten the better of him. It's not fair that he can look like that
and
have that kind of power.”

Savi grinned and shook her head. She'd tried, but apparently the only person she'd gotten the better of had been herself.

What would happen if she allowed him in? What price would she pay? Whatever Fia had experienced, it obviously wasn't the same as Savi had in Caelum.

Savi pulled on her jeans, then shrugged into her white cotton shirt and left it unbuttoned. “Was it that good? What he did to you?”

Fia's gaze unfocused. “Yes. I think. Afterward, I was completely blown away and shaky, but trying to pretend I wasn't. But when he was feeding from me—” Her brows drew together, and she shook her head. “I don't really remember. Maybe it was
too
good; now it feels absolutely unreal.”

So were demons and Guardians and vampires. Given that reality had shifted so drastically in the last year, Savi had no idea what that meant.

When Savi pushed through the locker room door, Colin was leaning against the opposite wall with his hands tucked into his pockets, an easy smile on his lips, and a predatory gleam in his eyes. “It was that good, Savi.”

She couldn't conceal the flush that rose over her neck, but she didn't need to feign her laughter. “You just lost all of the progress you made this week. You could've at least pretended you didn't eavesdrop.” And she shouldn't have assumed he'd remained in the gym waiting for her.

He placed his palm over his chest. “You wound me, accusing me of such.” His smile faded. “You should indulge your curiosity.”

She looked away, tried to steady her heartbeat.

He gave a short, self-satisfied laugh. “Your line
used
to be: ‘I did that once.'”

Her breath caught painfully, and she glanced back at him. “That bordered on ‘complete ass.'”

He stilled. “So it did. I shall try not to triumph over my small victories, sweet Savitri.”

Surely it'd be like trying to deny himself blood—but at least he didn't falsely apologize for it. “Not aloud, anyway.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Yes.”

But if Colin still triumphed as they neared the exit, Savi was certain it left him the instant Michael teleported into the corridor ahead of them and folded his giant black wings against his back.

She read the sudden tension around Colin's mouth and eyes; he'd been smiling over Jeeves's overly formal farewell, but now his lips were stiffly curved, as if he held the smile through force of will.

The Doyen nodded in response to Savi's greeting, but his eerie obsidian gaze remained on Colin. There was no differentiation between whites and irises and pupils—just a deep black. They weren't always so inhuman; why adopt that look now?

“You are not going in tonight?”

A muscle worked in Colin's jaw before he said, “Tomorrow. After sunrise.”

Though almost impossible to tell, Savi thought Michael's gaze shifted to her before returning to the vampire. His hand rose, and his fingers moved in the sign language the Guardians had adopted for silent communication. Colin had apparently learned it in the past eight months; Savi had not.

Colin made a tight gesture of assent, then added sardonically, “I've delayed my daysleep this week, intending that it will come upon me quickly after I leave tomorrow. If you take me, please wait until I am fully asleep. And remove my head first; I'm certain curators at The British Museum would like to pickle it for posterity.”

Michael remained silent for a moment, then sighed and disappeared.

Savi blinked and listened for a pop of air rushing to fill the Doyen-sized vacuum; but as always, there was none. Nothing worked as it should with these Guardians. She glanced at Colin and found him watching her with a raised brow.

“I'm trying not to,” she said, and pressed her lips together.

If his laughter was a bit strained, she barely noticed—not when he took her hand in his and tucked it into his elbow, holding it clasped there as they continued outside. He wasn't as massive as Michael or Hugh, but there was no mistaking the lean strength of his muscles under her fingers—the result of an active lifestyle when he'd been a human, not magic. “You may ask. But allow us to reach the privacy of the car first.”

The scent of his cologne clung to his jacket—and she thought she detected a deeper, warmer scent beneath. Male skin. Had her senses been enhanced along with her strength? She hadn't noticed any difference before now. “May I ask others on the way?”

“Such as?” He guided her around a hole in the asphalt.

“What did an aristocrat's son do that gave him a laborer's hardness?” She squeezed his taut forearm.

“Primarily, I beat my valet for tying my cravats in an unsatisfactory manner,” he said, and her bubbling laughter evaporated against the heat in his gaze. “You should not ask about my hardness, Savitri.”

“I don't mean to be a tease,” she said softly.

“I know. It is your prejudice against the upper classes speaking, not your desire to bed me. Alas.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again. He'd said it lightly, as a statement rather than an accusation; she wasn't certain how to respond. He stopped beside the Bentley, and she withdrew her hand and crossed her arms over her chest.

“The truth is, my valet was worth a thousand men. I'd have beaten my father before I spoke harshly to Winters, for fear that he'd abandon me for a more amiable employer,” he said as he unlocked the passenger door. “The answer you seek is: riding and driving my horses. Fencing. Pursuing other pleasures, usually of the female variety.”

Savi nodded absently, arrested by his lack of reflection in the car's tinted windows. She had one; her cream coat mirrored in the darkened glass—why didn't his clothes? And though half of him was between her and the window, none of her seemed to be blocked or missing. How could light pass
through
him?

The key in his hand didn't show up, either—nothing he held or wore did, apparently. “Can you see my reflection in the window? Does it look like I'm alone?”

His voice hardened. “Yes.”

She peered intently at the image. Her coat ended mid-thigh; it belted at the waist, though she hadn't bothered to button or tie it closed. It should have fallen straight past her hips, but it slanted in toward her left leg. “You aren't completely absent; I can see you in the way your thigh against the bottom of my coat keeps it from hanging vertically.”

He drew in a sharp breath, and stepped aside. In the window, the fabric swayed as if from a breeze. She was watching the reflection, and couldn't see his expression when he reached out and lifted the end of her dangling belt.

“Oh my god,” she laughed, enchanted. Instead of vanishing as the keys had, the belt floated upward; it dropped back to her side when he released it. If he lifted her, it'd probably look as if she were floating, too. “And apparently, only things that are yours are affected. Like placing items in a hammerspace—the disappearance is contingent upon possession.”

She turned her head to glance at his profile; he stared at the window, his gaze tracing whatever he saw reflected from that angle.

“Hang Michael and his bloody mirrors,” he said quietly. “I'm going to kiss you senseless once we are in the car.”

Liquid heat slid down her spine, and she had to swallow past the sudden dryness in her throat. “What he said must've upset you very badly.”

He turned from the window. The halogen security lights washed his hair to pale gold, highlighted each plane and angle of his face. She couldn't look away.

“Yes. And I will tell you about it, after I have your mouth. But it must be your choice, Savitri; I'll neither open the door, nor assist you inside. I'll not even ask that you lower your shields.” He smiled without humor. “Unless you need to call for help, as a scream will not reach through the soundproofing.”

“Will I need help?” Her skin tingled in anticipation; she ran her hands up and down the sleeves of her coat, trying to ease the gooseflesh that shivered over her arms.

He shook his head.

“Why?”

Without answering her, he walked around the front of the car. She stared at him over the top; he held her gaze before swinging the door open and settling behind the steering wheel.

Oh god. Why did he have to do it this way? Her choice. Undeniably her choice. No vampire tricks—she couldn't even see him, and blame it on his beautiful face.

It was just a kiss. Between friends.

She lowered her forehead to the metal roof, hoping to cool the fever that raged through her. He must see her standing there, her torso outlined against the window. The handle was smooth and cold beneath her fingers; she didn't remember taking hold of it.

Think, Savi
.

They weren't friends. His interest and pursuit would only last as long as she didn't give him what he wanted. Would it wane after that? Shouldn't she give in, so it would?

Didn't she want to give in?

And why not? Then she wouldn't be standing outside a run-down secret warehouse, her body trembling in anticipation of a simple
kiss
.

She lifted the handle. She didn't look at Colin as she slid into the soft leather seat and tossed her bag to the floorboard. The dome light closed with the door.

“You think too much,” he said.

“I can't help it.” Any of it. This was madness.

“I know.”

Why didn't he do it? She sucked in a deep breath, tried to control the beating of her heart.

Impossible. Even demons and Guardians couldn't control that.

Ah, hell
. She shifted, planted her knee in her seat. He'd turned toward her. The center console was in the way, but she leaned over it as his hands rose to cup her face, as his mouth lifted to hers.

His fingers were warm, and his lips firm and soft. How could they be both? God, she didn't know, but she wanted to explore them until she found a satisfactory explanation. It might take forever. She fisted her hands on his lapels and pulled him closer, then used his chest as support when his tongue slid past hers and her strength left her.

Gently, he traced the shape of her mouth, the curves of her lips, the edges of her teeth as if memorizing the texture and design.

No, no—he could have the kiss but not
her
. She tried to wrest back control, licked his fangs with delicate flicks of her tongue, but he only growled low in his throat and took over again.

Oh, god.
Think, Savi
. But she couldn't; he tasted like mint and he smelled so good, his skin and hair like heated satin and thick silk beneath her fingers. When had she moved them from his chest to his nape? She had no memory of it.

And now she straddled him, the steering wheel tight against her spine. He groaned into her mouth and fumbled with one hand and the pressure eased as the seat fell back.

“Colin,” she gasped as his lips left her, but he was pushing aside her coat and lifting her tank and then her breast was deep in his mouth, his fangs pressing into the softness surrounding her nipple. Her back arched. His tongue circled and stroked, and she panted and ground her hips against him—she couldn't get to his cock; there wasn't enough space to find the angle to rub against him, though she was tight and wet and aching.

In the next second he pulled her down, flat against him, her face buried in his neck. “Bloody hell.” He said it from between clenched teeth, but she heard the amusement lurking behind the frustration.

“What is it?” Lilith and Hugh coming for their motorcycles? She began laughing silently, uncontrollably. It had been years since she'd made out in a car—usually parked a block away from Nani's house and praying her grandmother wouldn't happen upon them.

He took a deep breath, and her entire body lifted with his chest. His shaft rose hard beneath her abdomen. She shivered, and her laughter died.

His hand came up between them and covered her bare breast, still wet from his mouth. “I almost bit you. Your nipple like a berry against my tongue, and I'd have bit and drank and—” He stopped, as if his words were a temptation in themselves.

She didn't move, tried to process what it meant. She couldn't—there were too many thoughts, too many emotions, too many sensations.

“I should get up,” she finally whispered.

His fingers briefly tightened on her waist before he nodded his agreement.

Earlier, she'd slid over the console as if need had oiled her way; now, she bumped and lurched awkwardly to her own seat. She tugged her tank into place. A glance confirmed that he was as elegantly composed as ever—if she disregarded the glittering heat in his eyes.