Demon Moon (25 page)

He averted his face, and his fingers played with the dagger at her hip before he said, “I've simply had a moment of clarity.” He turned his head to arch a brow at her, and his smile widened until his fangs glistened in the darkness. “Aside from my spectacular appearance—on both ends—I love nothing so much as a moment of clarity.”

“Please share it.” Her lips pursed against a laugh when he shook his head again. His humor had a dark edge to it, but it was infectious. And much preferable to dwelling in the past. “We have enough time. It's still five minutes until my taxi arrives.”

“Five minutes is never
enough
time.” He ran his thumb down the length of her jawline, and laughed softly when her breath caught.

Savi flushed, but didn't bother to deny her response. She had no reason to be ashamed of it, and he would've known a denial for a lie. And as she wouldn't pursue it after that night, it didn't matter what she gave away in the next few minutes.

Regret tightened her throat. What a disastrous end to a promising evening.

He'd been watching her silently, but now curiosity formed a ridge between his brows. “And so that is why you've forgiven me for Caelum? You've discovered I was suffering from flashbacks, and couldn't discern my memories of Chaos from reality. That I had been starved and terrified beyond reason for the better part of a week. That I resented being shuttled off for my protection, and manipulated by Castleford and Lilith into leaving them to fight the nosferatu by themselves. You've analyzed the events surrounding my arrival there, and made excuses for my behavior.”

She hadn't known most of that. He hadn't wanted to go to Caelum? And he'd had moments of hallucination? She tried to fit it into her memories of their time in Caelum, and couldn't.

But she finally recovered herself enough to say, “As I have done again this evening—made excuses for you. The blood, the wyrmwolves' attack.”

His lids lowered, only a pale arc showing beneath his lashes. “Yes. But tonight's offense against you was unintentional. Caelum was not. I knew exactly what I was doing when I sent you a part of Chaos.”

A tight band squeezed at her lungs, and she only managed a pathetic, “Oh.”

He added quietly, “But I didn't realize that you'd remember it as anything more than a vague—if rather unpleasant—dream.”

She stared up at him, her lips parting in surprise. No. She couldn't have forgotten. It couldn't have been a dream…or a nightmare.

Oh, god. Her eyes widened. And how close had she come to fooling herself that it might be a dream, and that she could experience it like every other woman did? That she could forget?

That
would have been disastrous.

He slid his fingers from her jaw, around the curve of her ear, as if tucking away a stray piece of hair. “I regret that assumption as well, and what it has left in you.” She shivered as his fingertips skimmed the length of her throat. “I would give you its opposite, when we again have the opportunity. Something better to add to your web of memories.”

She shook her head. “It's okay.”

His lips thinned. “Savi—” His teeth clenched, and he bit off the rest. His hand dropped away from her neck. “You cannot forgive
everything
so easily,” he said with a touch of exasperation.

She smiled weakly. “You'd be surprised. I don't like to obsess over the past, particularly offenses and misfortune.”

“No, and I am glad of it, for it does nothing but create the most tiresome sort of brooding maniac.” His eyes gleamed with sudden humor; behind him, twin headlights cut through the parking lot. The taxi. “Like Castleford.”

She pushed to her feet, laughing reluctantly. “Yes.”

Colin shot a quick glance over his shoulder, then strode past her to collect her bag from the front seat of the car. She didn't argue when he escorted her with his hand upon the small of her back, nor when he leaned down to give the driver her address.

And, she noted with a quick grin, a few twenty-dollar bills; it was far more than the fare would be. His courtesy—or his guilt—must have overwhelmed his budgetary scruples.

She lifted the handle of the back door, but his hand on the top of the door frame stopped it from opening.

“Kiss me good night, Savi.” His gaze rested on her lips. His eyes glittered with suppressed hunger. “I saved your life.”

Her heart pounded and she weighed and calculated, asked herself a million questions before deciding it was one regret she didn't want to own.

He sighed. “You think too—”

Her mouth covered his, and she swallowed the stupid words he'd been preparing to say. No one could think too much. But they could feel too much, and that frightened her more than he ever could.

But she didn't want to think now. Not when he no longer tasted like mint, but tea and tamarind—why tamarind? From her mouth, during their earlier kiss? God, and he wouldn't even know how she lingered on his tongue.

His hands settled at the sides of her waist. Somehow he managed to keep his fangs from cutting her lips—though with the greedy abandon with which she fed from his mouth, she wouldn't have been surprised had she paid in blood. And if she had, she'd no doubt he'd have given her back a taste of heaven.

But she'd had that before, and couldn't risk losing it again.

She turned her head away, pulled free of his arms. Her chest ached, and for a moment she thought she'd never breathe again. But she focused and forced the air into her lungs—and the urge to flee faded.

He'd only chase her; that's what a hunter did.

She opened the door, dared a final glance at him. He stood watching her, his hands tucked in his pockets and a broad smile on his lips that seemed out of proportion to a kiss.

And she should have known better, but she had to ask. “What is it?”

“You'll think me an ass, my sweet Savitri, but I wish Castleford
had
come to rescue you. I'd have triumphed, seeing his countenance when his little sister kissed me as if her life depended on it.” Her mouth dropped open, but before she could respond, his humor vanished and he said, “But not as much as I do, knowing that you're falling in love with me.”

Since when did a custom Bentley take a year to produce? It was ridiculous to wait so long; but as much as he hated to sacrifice style for speed, Colin found himself buying a new Jaguar straight off the lot. Then, too exhausted to haggle over the price—and too conscious of the early morning sun streaming through the dealership's floor-to-ceiling windows—he allowed the pretentious sales manager to ream his pocketbook.

But felt marginally better when, after receiving the keys, paperwork, and a pint of blood, he left the sod quivering on the floor behind his desk in the throes of a powerful orgasm. Nothing reminded a man of his price—or his place—as much as coming in his pants, be they thrift store cast-offs or the salesman's four-hundred-dollar Dolce & Gabbana trousers.

Savi had been right in that.

Colin paused to rip off the side and rearview mirrors; a body shop could clean up the mess later. He tore out of the car lot just as the assistant-to-the-sod's startled laughter pealed out, loud enough for Colin to hear her through those damnable huge windows and the steel-and-fiberglass shell of his nicely endowed XK.

Rage Against the Machine fit his mood and would keep him awake; he slipped in the CD from the pile he'd transferred from the wreck of the older car, and let it screech through him until he reached Hunter's Point.

Three blocks away from the warehouse, a motorcycle cut in front of him, the rider's long black hair streaming behind her. Leather jeans and jacket. Lilith. Colin's lips pulled back in a grin. She couldn't have known it was him in this car, but within a second she'd find out.

He shifted, and shot around her. The visor on her helmet was up, and he saw the brief widening of her eyes before she slapped it down and rocketed ahead.

God, he loved a good race. And the car cornered brilliantly; he didn't have to decelerate as much as she did around a turn. The engine roared as he downshifted and careened into the parking lot. He spun the wheel and slid boot-first into his parking space a second ahead of her.

Laughing and bracing himself against the sun, he got out, then reflexively caught the helmet she pitched at his head.

“You're a terrible sport, Agent Milton.” He tossed it back to her, then shaded his stinging eyes with his left hand.

She snarled something in a language he didn't know and glared at him. “You were supposed to be here before dawn. Get inside, you gorgeous fuckwit.”

“Your flattery is sweet music, my dear. I comply.” He walked with her toward the entrance, grateful when they passed into the shadow cast by the warehouse's bulk. “Where's Castleford? You've become disgustingly inseparable.”

“Savi's riding with him, and she's still sore. He had to go slower than normal.” Lilith swiped her card through the lock, then turned to look at him when he opened the door for her. “You really fucked her over,” she said darkly. “She was crying all night.”

For an instant, unbearable pain ripped through him, tore at his heart and lungs with venomous teeth. Then he recalled the easy smile Savi had given him before sinking into the taxi's backseat, her laughing reply.

Feel free to triumph all you want, Colin. It's just a phase
.

“You're lying,” he said with certainty. Yet the tightness in his chest didn't immediately subside, even when Lilith gave him a demure smile.

“Of course I am.” But she glanced pointedly at the door. Colin lifted his hand, saw the impression his fingers had left in the handle. “But isn't
that
interesting?”

She swept into the corridor; he trailed after her, waited until Jeeves had verified her identity before remarking, “You're a bitch, Agent Milton.”

“You love me.” She shrugged out of her jacket, revealing her black leather corset. He grimaced, and her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“The trousers are fine, but the top is horrid. I'll order you something less—” He searched for the right word. It wasn't
tacky
…exactly. She carried it better than any other woman possibly could, but it was still intolerable. “—hackneyed. Though just as striking.” Giving demons and vampires a particular image proved useful to her, but it didn't have to be so uninspired.

“Will you pay for it? Your tastes are more expensive than mine.”

“No. Don't be absurd.” He turned away from her to stare into the wall panel; after a moment, Jeeves nodded at them. “Castleford can afford it.”

“He likes this.”

“For the whole of the two hundred years I knew him as a Guardian, he wore the most revolting brown robe I've ever seen. His likes and dislikes are hardly worth consideration. He'd probably think it smashing if you wore a nun's habit.”

She grinned at him, as if pleased by the idea—or she was considering dressing as a nun for Castleford. Christ, how soft she'd become. A year ago, she'd have stabbed Colin for mentioning Castleford's name.

She'd still stab him, given the proper encouragement, but he supposed he was fortunate he didn't have to be quite as careful around her. “Why has Castleford not told Savitri he forced his Gift on James Anderson?”

Or perhaps he did. Lilith whirled and pressed her dagger against his throat. He stared at her, taken aback, but unconcerned. Though as quick and strong as a vampire, she posed no real physical threat; this was simply an expression of her displeasure—and her protective instincts. Not for Savi—only concern for Castleford could've produced this aggression against
him
.

“You don't tell her,” she hissed between her teeth. “If he hasn't, it's for a reason. But whatever the reason, it's between them.”

His eyes narrowed speculatively. Could Savi forgive Castleford's deliberate execution of a human? A human she'd convinced herself had been mentally incapacitated?

If Colin ever needed a wedge between Savi and Castleford, Lilith's response suggested this might be a useful one. She, too, must assume that Castleford feared Savi's reaction—and Lilith wouldn't allow him to be hurt by it. “It merely surprised me to discover he'd not told her the truth of it,” he lied.

“And why do you care?” Stepping away, Lilith slid her dagger back into its sheath.

“I don't.” He smiled lazily. “You give me too much credit; I've simply little else to do.”

But he couldn't completely deceive her. “So that's why you've been around so much the past week? You're bored?” Lilith asked as soon as they were through the security door. “Or is it the pheromone again?”

The suggestion was too insulting to be borne—too insulting to him and to Savitri. But he was also too tired to shrug it away. “Fuck off, Lilith.”

Her mouth thinned with anger, but she was silent the rest of the way to the Room.

This couldn't be right.

Savi placed the printout by her mousepad and stared at it, her mind racing. Around her, the comfortable clacking of keys and a low electronic hum sounded as Jake and Drifter spoke in low voices, Drifter watching and offering suggestions as Jake used the computer to investigate a demon's activity.

CPUs, servers, monitors, and reams of paper—altogether, the office wasn't much different from her previous one, just a bit brighter.

She leaned forward to check the looping signature at the bottom of the purchase order again, but she hadn't been mistaken: Colin Ames-Beaumont.

The PO had been signed and dated three weeks ago, in Los Angeles. Fifteen Lincoln Navigators, acquired through Norbridge Medical Supply—a subsidiary of Ramsdell Pharmaceuticals. A veritable fleet, but hardly suitable for transporting crutches and wheelchairs.

But Colin had been in the U.K. three weeks ago. And he didn't personally manage his assets; she couldn't imagine him concerning himself with something as mundane as a business's vehicle purchases.

Nor could she imagine him voluntarily traveling to Los Angeles.

Obviously there'd been some kind of identity theft; but the vampires' involvement and the sheer balls it would take to impersonate Colin and forge the purchase order indicated it wasn't a matter of someone stealing bills from Colin's mailbox to cash a few checks or run a credit card scam.

She bit her lip, debating. It'd be easiest to go get him; he was somewhere in the building. With his help, she could weed more quickly through legitimate accounts and purchases to find any false ones.

Except…

You're falling in love with me
.

She groaned a little, rubbed her hands over her face. How could he have so easily seen what she hadn't recognized in herself? Had she been stuck in an inert emotional position for so long that it took a force like Colin to push her out of it? Once it gathered momentum, could she stop it? She'd known her feelings for him ran deeper than she wanted them to, but she hadn't thought she'd reached such a critical point.

And how embarrassing to admit to herself that she probably hadn't recognized it because she'd never come to that point before. She didn't lack for sexual experience, but was she so emotionally naïve? She hadn't thought so. Certainly, her attachments never lasted, and usually never delved beyond the physical combined with a light friendship. But she wasn't ignorant that deeper feelings could exist; she'd hoped it would eventually happen.

But she'd never thought it would happen with a vampire. How unsuitable could one person be? Colin surely topped that list.

And as well as they got along, as certain as she was that he appreciated her company and had developed an affection for her—and undoubtedly wanted her—she knew that he'd use her feelings to his advantage. He'd been too pleased in the realization for her to reach any other conclusion. And her instinctive, defensive reply, laughing it off as a phase, would only be seen as a positive to him; he would think they could have a fling without her being seriously hurt.

She was certain he wouldn't deliberately hurt her—his reaction the previous night had been evidence enough of that. But deliberation and action were often completely different things.

Her gaze fell on the paper again. How tempting it was to hide here in this little room and deny herself contact with him in order to protect her heart. Any information she found could be forwarded through Lilith and Hugh.

How tempting. And how much like running.

Before she could change her mind, she swiveled in her chair and stood. Jake—a Guardian for forty years, but who looked no older than twenty with his military haircut and chiseled face—paused in his typing and glanced at her.

Drifter had had his hand braced against the computer desk as he'd read the computer screen; when he straightened up, she had to fight the instant sensation that, next to him, she was a little girl.

“Can you tell if the vampire Ames-Beaumont is still here?”

Jake scratched absently at his chest; he was wearing a Grateful Dead T-shirt. Had he made it himself, materializing it with his Guardian powers, or had he purchased it?

Why could they materialize clothes, but not weapons? And hadn't they ever heard of the Law of Conservation of Matter? And even if it transformed from energy, where and how did the transformation take place?

“He's here,” Jake said finally, and for the first time she noted the tension around his eyes and mouth.

“Where?” Her stomach sank as she recalled the conversation from the previous evening. But hadn't Colin told Michael he'd go in before dawn? “The mirrors?”

Jake and Drifter exchanged a glance; Drifter shook his head and said, “We know the location in the building, Miss Savi, but we don't know what's in there. And they've sealed and locked it with the spell, so they likely wouldn't hear even if you pounded on the door.”

“Can you unlock it?” she asked. He could open any lock with his Gift, whether mechanical or electronic.

“No, miss,” Drifter said. “My Gift doesn't work on the spell. I can let you know when they've removed it from around the room.”

She nodded numbly and turned back to her chair. “Thank you.”

Jake stopped her. “Savi…he isn't always himself when he comes out. We've all noticed it; we respect his privacy, but it's hard to miss a psychic backlash that dark. You might want to wait until later to see him.”

“Thanks, but I think I still need to know.”

Jake's reluctant assent hung in the air between them, and it was several moments before she heard him typing again. She sat, stared blankly at her monitor.

Then she roused herself, flexed her fingers. A quick, hard trip through her memory gave her an image of his account listings and assets, which had appeared on a similar computer screen eight months before. Hugh had only asked for Colin's address and telephone number; now Savi was glad she'd been nosy and poked a bit further.

It wouldn't be perfect—Colin had bought Polidori's and renovated his house, which would show as a huge spike in financial activity—but it would give her a place to start.

What other transactions had been taking place in his name? And how far back did they go?