Demon Moon (40 page)

Them
. Three teenaged boys under the influence of a demon. He'd told her they'd been caught, that they were in SI's custody, but not spoken of anything he'd done specifically.

What could be so terrible that he was concerned about her reaction? “What did you do?”

His gaze held hers, his features without expression, but she could almost feel the tension holding him still. “I punished them with Chaos. The same way I gave it to you.”

“Oh.” She blinked up at the portrait again, tried to imagine their terror. Tried to weigh it against hers, and what Nani must have gone through. “I think I'm glad of that, too. It's appropriate—though it must have felt like shit for you.”

“A bit. I'll not likely use it often.” His voice, his posture relaxed slightly. “With luck, we'll convince the vampire community not to test me…or my consort. You look edible, by the by. I chose well; you carry the image spectacularly.”

She blushed, glanced down at herself. She'd felt a little ridiculous when he'd given her the low-slung, white miniskirt, the boots that laced up to her knee, and a matching top that covered her arms and neck but left everything between her navel and hips bare. And doubly idiotic when he'd topped the pile of clothing with a pair of sai sheaths that strapped to her thighs, and a long white coat that fluttered behind her like a pair of wing tips as she walked.

But wearing it was oddly comfortable, not ridiculous. Like his clothing, this wasn't her typical style…but it wasn't
not
her, either.

“You realize I'm dressed almost exactly like Angelika from DemonSlayer?”

He nodded, and his eyes rose from the strip of skin at her waist. “Yes. We'll use it to our advantage. They will be able to sense that you are human, but once it's become known you created the game, and after you've demonstrated in some small way your strength, they won't know exactly what to make of you—and will likely fear challenging you. For all they know, the character and her powers are based on you. The game and Castleford's book have achieved something of a cult status amongst the community, their one source of information about their origins; knowing that you produced both will be an added protection.”

She bit her lip, somewhat uncomfortable with finding security in something that killed two of her friends—but forced that discomfort away. “Okay.”

Colin sighed, reached forward, and pulled her against him, dropping a quick kiss to her mouth. “If I could leave you here, Savitri, I would.”

He must have mistaken the reason for her hesitation. “I'd rather go with you. Aside from that small display, I just sit there?”

He rubbed his cheek against hers, his shadowed jaw rough against her skin. “No; I need you to look and talk, establish yourself as a source of knowledge. Tell them any truth they want to hear, answer any questions but for my connection to Chaos and the extent of your abilities. And keep your shields as high as possible.”

His mouth drifted toward her ear as he spoke, down. The neckline of her shirt rose almost to her jaw, the white silk clinging to her throat; his tongue moistened the skin along the edge. Her knees weakened. Her heart thudded against her chest.

“I will,” she whispered.

He pulled back abruptly, breathing hard. “Oh, Christ. Not yet. We'll not leave the house if I give in now.” His hands clenched on the banister behind him. He offered her a strained smile. “It would be easier if I didn't want you so desperately. Though not quite as pleasurable.”

She stepped away, raised her psychic blocks. They'd been partially down, her natural state that he seemed to enjoy for its presence, though not an overwhelming one. He made a low sound that could have been relief or disappointment. Perhaps both; if so, it echoed hers—the disappointment that they'd had to put the arousal between them aside, the relief that he could. It wouldn't have boded well for the evening if he was constantly tormented by her scent.

“Will I be too much of a distraction at Polidori's?”

“No. And I need your eyes; you've seen the two vampires who followed us, and your memory is an advantage I'd be a fool not to use. I need to catalogue the vampires there, and who talks with whom. I doubt the demon will show, but his lackeys might.” His mouth flattened as if he'd recalled something unpleasant. “Will it hurt terribly to re-create those memories later?”

“No. Not if I'm paying attention.” At his questioning look, she explained, “I only have to anchor to the emotion when it's something I didn't notice—like the license plates. I saw them, but I didn't really
see
them. If I'd read the plate, it would have been no effort to remember the number without narrowing it down by tripping through my brain. It's the same with connecting one bit of information to another; if I'm actively doing it, I'll notice similarities. Otherwise, it might never occur to me—it's just random trivia. Like your house. I never thought of the house in the picture I saw on a website five years ago as being the same one listed in your data, though I knew both addresses…but if I'd considered it even once, I'd have immediately known.”

She glanced up at the painting again. Two hundred years, and he still had a precise memory of his features. His long line of portraits couldn't account for the accuracy from the different angles, the expressions.

“I frequently observed myself in the mirror,” he said, obviously guessing the nature of her thoughts.

She smiled, but looked at the portrait with new eyes. “Perhaps that's the difference—what's wrong. You've only seen yourself as a human. They're all…flat, I guess. There's something missing. This is more like Dalkiel than you.” Unsure she could elaborate better, she shrugged and said, “No one dropped anything when he came into the café.”

“I've seen myself as a vampire. I know what you're speaking of—it's an effect of the sword after the transformation. What you saw last night is, I imagine, a focused version of it—Lilith said it was psychic in nature. So you are likely correct; a painting can't produce the same effect.” His brows drew together when she turned to him, her gaze searching his face, her lips parted in surprise. “I've always been splendidly handsome, Savitri, but I've not always been
this
.”

She shook her head, certain she'd misunderstood. “You've seen yourself in a mirror? After you were turned?”

“Yes.” Was that embarrassment in the casual lift of his shoulder, the tilt of his smile? “I'm no stranger to moments of idiocy.”

“When did you begin seeing Chaos?”

“The summer of 1816. June fourteenth, to be exact—after a house party in which the houseguests thought a séance and invoking a curse purchased from a Gypsy would be a brilliant diversion. We determined that as a vampire, and a member of the paranormal set, I was the most appropriate person to recite it. Idiot that I was, I agreed—and finished it up with the dramatic use of my blood to write the necessary symbol. In hindsight, it was an embellishment I should have refrained from making.”

Her eyes widened. “A Gypsy curse? What did it say? What language was it in? What was the symbol? Have you tried to find a way to reverse it?”

Colin briefly caught his tongue between his teeth and grinned at her, his gaze bright with humor. “No. I'll not answer these; such things ought not to be played with, Savi. I've learned that lesson well.”

“Have you asked Michael? Or Hugh? Do they know how it happened?”

“I imagine so, as Castleford was there directly after.” His face darkened slightly. “No matter. The anchor to Chaos is from the sword, and has been in me since the transformation; the mirrors are a minor inconvenience compared to being there.”

Minor? She could not believe that, not after experiencing the emotions of it, seeing his aversion to the Room, and hearing from Jake and Drifter about the effect it had on him. And it had forced him into seclusion for almost a century. Why should he carry the burden of it? “But maybe—”

“No, Savi.” He softened the denial with a kiss to her fingers, and led her across the foyer. “No. The consequences of that night were heavier than simply mirrors and reflections. I'll not risk you to them, even to satisfy your curiosity.”

“What other consequences were there?”

He wiped away the blood from the symbols, turned to look at her before opening the door. “Three men dead by my hand; not intentionally, but dead all the same.”

She held his gaze. “You can't protect me from that; I've already killed three people with my stupidity. I've just not paid for it.”

The younger son of an earl, with no ambition to take orders or serve in the Foreign Office—and after his transformation, unable to marry—Colin had had two options to maintain his lifestyle: to kill his older brother and his brother's heir to gain a title and fortune, or to be so handsome and his manners so engaging that, even if his family disowned him, even though he might become destitute, the rest of Society would welcome and support him out of simple appreciation for beauty. But though Colin had little affection for his brother Henry, his nephew had been too adorable to strangle; despite his status as one of the bloodsucking undead, his family had not cast him to the dogs—or the duns; and Society had never rejected him, though eventually he'd left it.

He determined he was either the luckiest sod alive, or he was simply that charming and beautiful. Perhaps both. Savi falling in love with him he ascribed to the first—but to win over the vampire population, he intended to utilize the latter.

Colin couldn't defeat the demon in combat; he hadn't the strength. He could, however, fortify himself with the vampires' loyalty, by playing on the very thing the demon would never recognize in them, would never
think
to recognize: modern vampires did not want to be led, particularly by a figure who would raise himself above them.

They wanted order; they wanted protection. They wanted knowledge. They didn't want a barbaric hierarchy based on physical power and age.

But they were too entrenched in vampiric tradition to know it yet.

Fia met them at the private entrance to Polidori's, carrying a tranquilizer pistol and accompanied by her partner, Paul. Two more vampires stood just inside the door, their guns trained on Colin's head and chest.

Savi apparently hadn't been expecting such a greeting, and he'd not thought to warn her of the preparations he'd made; her left hand found his, and her right rested near the weapon at her thigh. Colin reassured her with a squeeze of his fingers, but his amusement died when one vampire shifted his aim.

“Mr. Levitt,” he said softly, “if you cannot immediately determine a demon from a human, I am quite capable of sending you to Hell to better learn the difference.”

Levitt quickly retargeted Colin's forehead.

Paul slanted a glance back at the pair, then frowned at Colin. “Dalkiel could impersonate her, too.”

Sir Pup flopped down at Savi's feet, panting from his run. Obviously considering the hellhound proof of their identity, Fia holstered her gun. “Or take a partner and throw us off-guard by impersonating the both of you, when we only expect one.”

Savi's gaze was assessing as she studied the vampires. “I can make more of the handheld IR detectors to augment door security; they'll be useful inside, as well. Inside,” she repeated with a lift of her brow, “where a vampire sniper might not pick me off from a rooftop.”

Bloody hell. Colin had her through the entrance within moments.

“I can't believe I said ‘vampire sniper' with a straight face,” Savi said as he led her down the corridor to the private suite.

Colin couldn't believe he'd been so careless. The thick red carpeting muffled their steps, but the quick beat of her heart raged in his ears; if it ever stopped, he'd be completely lost.

“In the future, you'll wear a Kevlar vest and helmet in and out.” Sir Pup carried them for Lilith and Castleford; a simple protection that he'd overlooked.

“That'll be sexy,” she said dryly, but he didn't hear any objection beneath it. Surprised, he glanced at her, but she only shrugged. “I don't want to be shot. I remember it too well.”

His lips firmed as he nodded and escorted her into the suite. Sir Pup lay down in the hallway; if someone tried to take them by surprise whilst they were inside or planned to ambush them upon exit, they'd have to go through the hellhound first. Colin waited for Fia and Paul to follow them into the room, then activated the symbols.

Only drops from his fingertip, but the odor of his blood sent a dull, throbbing ache to his fangs, mirrored by a tightening of his groin. Christ. He released Savitri's hand, and she immediately moved across the main living area, toward the bank of monitors on the far wall.

These monitors showed the same images the guards in the security room would see. Redundant as they were, Colin had kept the cupboard closed and the doors hidden behind Savi's portraits when he'd stayed in these rooms—but those paintings had been moved to his gallery, and it served Fia and Paul to keep the security feed uncovered.

Just as well, he thought; she glanced back at him, and his talent seemed inadequate. Gold shadow glimmered across her lids; she'd lined her eyes with a smoky gray, emphasizing the exotic tilt at the corners. Her glistening, full lips were sultry, berry-stained perfection.

Paint, on a canvas far more enticing than any he'd ever worked—and the result much more beautiful. Good God, but he would give anything to take his brush to her skin.

With effort, he forced himself to look away from the picture she made. She'd been psychically and verbally distant since they'd left his house, holding herself rigid as if trying not to tempt him in the small confines of the car—and likely mulling over the revelation he'd made about the curse. But even with her shields up, she was an irresistible temptation.

He'd have preferred to tease himself with her nearness and his arousal, heightening their anticipation through simultaneous pursuit and self-denial, but they had too much at stake for him to lose his focus.

And so with a sigh, he focused. “Did Castleford learn anything useful from the boys?”

Shaking his head, Paul took a seat on the sofa and rested his elbows on his knees. “They talked, but had nothing that might help narrow down the demon's location, or even any names of other vampires.”

“Dalkiel only met with them at Denver's apartment. No motel rooms, no restaurants, nothing that might give us a place to start,” Fia added.

The demon had likely cultivated them for the single purpose they'd served, then. Too young and weak to be true assets, but desperate enough to be useful, even if their use was of short duration.

“You've got metal detectors at the front doors?” Savi said, peering at one of the monitors.

Fia nodded. “We'll be carrying, but no one else is allowed through with anything sharper than a nail file.” As if reminded by the mention of weapons, she unbuckled her holster, replaced it with a sheath that would carry her sword on her back—more for show than for use, and less dangerous than a gun to carry around in the crowded club. Even if a vampire got hold of the sword, he'd have to move close enough to Savi to use it.

Close enough to Colin.

“If I were one of Dalkiel's vampires, I'd snap off the stem of a martini glass and stab it through my target's throat. Or use my fangs; they've got to be good for something.” Savi glanced over her shoulder at Colin, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “But that's just me. Hopefully they'll be reliant on their guns and swords.” Her gaze shifted to Fia. “You've got your security guy walking a circuit of the cameras to make certain the video isn't compromised, but he's using the same ‘OK' thumbs-up each time. It's too easy to loop. The first thing I'd do is record about ten minutes of that, then hack into your feed and send it back. By the time your guys in the security room noticed something was off, you'd have a breach.”

She should have been a criminal. Smiling, Colin wiped his fingertip with his handkerchief; the puncture he'd made had already healed. “What do you suggest, sweet?”

“Song lyrics,” she said, turning to study the monitors again. “Have him sign a line at each camera, using a different song each round. Some firms use the time, but if Dalkiel has enough patience, he can just record one day and use it the next.”

Paul stood, gathered his sword from the low coffee table. “Do you know the Guardians' sign language? If we need to talk to you, can we?”

Though Colin couldn't see her face, couldn't sense her emotions through her psychic blocks, he could feel the blood rising to the surface of her skin as her cheeks flushed.

“No. I haven't been paying attention. It's visual, so it should be easier for me to pick up than something verbal.” She slanted a glance at Colin before looking away. “Can you teach me a basic vocabulary tomorrow?”

“Yes. We'll use Hindi or Latin until then.” Both languages were somewhat obscure; there'd be little chance more than a few—if any—vampires at the club knew them.

“Paul and I don't know Hindi,” Fia said.

“And I don't understand spoken Latin.” No embarrassment colored Savi's voice this time; her attention was fixed on the monitors. She pressed her finger to one of the screens. “We need to talk to this woman. Do any of you recognize her?”

Colin crossed the room, careful not to touch her, not to contemplate what lay beneath the white silk making a marble column of her slender throat. She pointed to a thin female with short, platinum hair, but it was impossible to determine through the small video if she was vampire or human. “No. Fia? Paul?”

“Yeah,” Fia said. “That's Raven. About twenty years plus seven as a vampire. That's her partner, Epona.” She indicated the bosomy brunette rubbing her pelvis against Raven's bottom. “I've chatted with them a couple of times. They stay pretty low-key. I think Epona bartends on the weekends at The Thirst, down on Folsom; Raven works the night desk at a hotel in the Tenderloin.”

“The last time I was here, Raven was dancing with the guy with the mullet—the driver in the Navigator that followed us from SI on Friday. She might know his name,” Savi said, then pointed to another monitor. “And this guy, too. The blond talking to the
Vampire Princess Miyu
wannabe. He was Mullet Boy's passenger, though he's traded in his suit for that fishnet shirt. Do you know him?”

“No,” Fia said, blinking rapidly in surprise before glancing at Colin. He gave a quick shake of his head, a hard knot forming in his stomach.

Savi's stiff silence in the car apparently had a different cause than he'd thought: she'd been searching through her memories of that night. Painfully, he imagined—she'd been drinking too much to have paid such close attention to those around her.

And he'd no doubt Caelum—and Chaos—had been her emotional anchor to access those memories.

“Do you want us to bring him to you?” Paul asked.

“No,” Colin said. “Watch him, see whom he speaks with. If he leaves, take Varney and follow him.”

“And if he meets up with Dalkiel?”

“Run.” Colin saw Paul's surprise. “If the demon senses you, he'll kill you. Once you're secure, contact my phone or SI immediately.”

Savi continued searching through the faces onscreen. Finally, she shook her head. “I don't see anyone else I recognize. Does the club keep the security tapes more than a month? Maybe we can track down Mullet Boy that way, get a name.”

Colin's teeth clenched. They might have, had he not ordered them erased after two weeks: only enough time to use them in case of an investigation or a crime committed at the club. He'd not been able to hide his absence from the club employees who worked security, but he hadn't wanted it archived and filed away interminably.

“No.”

“It'd be nice to have a name when I hit the computer tomorrow. I can do a lot with a name: find locations they've visited, movements, purchases.” She stepped back from the monitors and turned, her coat hem swirling around her ankles. “Do you know Raven's name?”

Fia's mouth quirked into a smile. “It's really Raven. Raven Thorne. Shall we ask her to join you at your table?”

Good God. Her parents had essentially birthed her with fangs in her mouth, giving her such a name. Colin glanced at the screen, and shook his head. “No. Invite Epona. I have a proposition for her.”

Colin was the most accomplished flirt Savi had ever seen. She watched in amazement as, with a few choice compliments, Epona's and Raven's expressions transformed from fear as they hesitantly approached the table, to stunned admiration as they took their seats on the low sofa adjacent to Colin and Savi's, then to easy, slightly girlish enjoyment.

And though she'd known he'd use this tactic—and why—she'd feared jealousy would unwittingly rise within her and ruin the evening, leave its insidious ache.

She needn't have worried.

He flirted outrageously, but never indicated his affections lay anywhere but with Savi. Though his eyes shone with interest as he looked at them, when he turned to her to gauge her reaction or seek her response, either they darkened with heated intensity, or his lips curved in a delighted smile he reserved solely for her.

And she'd guessed where the conversation would eventually lead, but she was surprised by the skill with which he guided them all from a discussion of the tattooed Gaelic knots decorating Raven's wrists, to their desire to visit Ireland, to pubs and San Francisco nightclubs. And, when a note of disillusionment entered Epona's voice when she spoke of The Thirst, Colin pounced.