Demon Moon (41 page)

“I must confess that when I invited you here, it was to discover any secrets my competition has; The Thirst is quite the success.” Colin raised Savi's hand from her lap, pressed a kiss to the back of it, and stared contemplatively at Epona. Sitting so close must have been torture for him, but he'd kept Savi against his side since they'd sat down. Likely weighing her need for protection against his bloodlust.

Protection—and appearance—won.

Epona laughed shortly and shrugged. “I'm only part-time. Barely that. Just Fridays and Saturdays.”

Raven patted the brunette's thigh, her black-tipped nails stark against Epona's white skin. Her own thin legs were tucked underneath her on the sofa cushions, her high heels lying tumbled on the floor.

It was a gesture that spoke of a long relationship, and with a familiarity to it—it wasn't the first time Raven had given her that encouraging caress.

Difficulty in finding a better position when she could only work evenings? Or did it arise from another complication?

“Forgive me for prying, but you don't sound as if you're satisfied with your employment. Surely you can do better.”

Epona's lips twisted into a hard smile. “Are you offering me a job?”

“Yes,” Savi said. “If you are looking for something fulltime. We could use more help at the bar, and we prefer to hire within the vampire community.”

“I applied when you reopened, but I didn't get a callback. You have pretty stringent background checks.”

“It's a necessary evil,” Colin said. “But an easily circumvented one. What name did you use? I'll ask my manager to pull up your file.”

She glanced uncertainly at Raven, who nodded. “Epona Smith.”

Smith?
It clicked into place. The weekend employment, the frustration, the unfulfilled dream vacation. Had Colin already realized? “You were passed over because of a lack of ID?” And probably without the necessary Social Security number for above-the-table employment.

Bad enough that vampires were limited by their daysleep and a need to hide their nature from humans, but legal requirements made finding a suitable job doubly difficult.

A grimace briefly pulled Epona's red-slicked mouth tight. “Yeah. I've hit the age where my birth certificate is useless. The DMV won't issue me ID, and trying to get a passport is impossible. I don't look seventy.”

Savi's brows drew together as she glanced up at Colin. He watched her, a smile lurking at the corners of his lips. “Who did yours?” she asked. His identification and backup documentation were perfect. “Was it someone here in San Francisco?”

He nodded slowly. “Stephan. An elder.”

Raven heaved a long sigh. “Yeah. Who isn't much help now.”

“The nosferatu killed him last year? Here, at Polidori's?” Savi guessed. Apparently Colin was rebuilding more than just a structure. Too many of the community's sources for help and businesses had been disrupted by the nosferatu's slaughter of its elders, then the subsequent flight of the younger vampires from San Francisco.

Savi suddenly grinned up at him. “This feels like a big ‘fuck you' to Dalkiel. This is what got me in trouble in the first place, you know.” Before he could respond, she leaned forward and said to Epona, “E-mail a picture to me—preferably a passport photo—and I'll set you up.”

Colin slipped a business card onto the table in front of her, and Savi scrawled her address across the back. It disappeared into Epona's generous cleavage.

His fingers played with the hair at her nape as he added, “And should anyone else require the same service, we'll provide it for them.” He pulled Savi back against his side again, his arm wrapped around her waist, his hand at her hip.

There'd likely be no need for Epona and Raven to tell others; Savi could feel the change in the attention they'd been receiving from the vampires who'd listened nearby.

Suddenly, Colin wasn't just a beautiful vampire oddity—he and his human consort were useful.

With luck, now Raven would prove to be, as well.

“That didn't work,” Savi muttered in Hindi, and took a sip of her water. The faint citrus of the lemon slice combined with the fragrance of her soap and her natural feminine scent, making an intoxicating perfume.

Doing his best to ignore his own thirst, Colin smiled into her hair, the short, gelled strands stiff against his cheek. “We accomplished something almost as important,” he said softly. Even if someone could understand the language, they'd likely not hear him over the music.

His gaze skimmed the lounge on the second level; Fia stood near the railing, looking down at the dance floor, Sir Pup at her heels. He raised his voice and said her name. She glanced at him, shook her head.

She quickly signed,
Fishnet Shirt slipped out about ten minutes ago with the woman he was with—probably his partner; Paul and Varney are following them. Raven didn't know the name? And do we need to have someone watch the women to make sure they aren't targeted for your questioning?

No
, Colin signed.
Raven remembers him, but he was just a random bloke. Send the pup down, and order the DJ to lower the volume a bit
.

He turned to Savi. “Are you up for a tour?”

With a nod, she downed her drink and set the glass on the table. For just a moment her brow quirked, as if she wanted to make an observation. Then she hesitated, her lips pressed together, and she rose to her feet.

He allowed her to pull him up, kept his hand clasped in hers. “You're correct,” he said, leaning forward to speak against her ear. “You can say it.”

“It just occurred to me that you were holding court.” Her voice was amused…and somewhat apologetic.

“Yes,” he agreed easily. “It came naturally.” He drew back to search her expression, found humor and relief. “I've since realized it isn't the right tactic.”

“More like something Dalkiel would do.”

“Yes.”

Her gaze moved past him, surveyed the dance floor. “Perhaps half and half. I think some appreciate it; others would be swayed by your coming to them.” Looking back at him, she rose up on her toes, pressed a kiss to his jaw.

Oh, sweet heaven. The soft touch of her lips. The warmth of her skin. And all too quickly gone as she lowered back to her heels.

“I'm still feeling my way around. I never expected you to care what I thought or said.”

To respond as he'd like would be to take her there on the sofa. He fought the flare of resentment that they couldn't leave, that he still had too much to do before taking her home, where they wouldn't have to speak in whispers and guard every word against the ears of those he meant to win over.

He only nodded, his mouth tightly closed, refusing to draw breath. Bless her perspicacity. She stepped away from him, stooping to pat Sir Pup's head.

“Pup,” he said quietly. “Grow up a bit.”

The hellhound sat down and licked his front paw. When he stood up, Savi didn't have to bend to reach him. Subtly done, though someone watching carefully would have noticed.

“Stay at her feet, and kill anyone who tries to touch her.” Colin hesitated before taking her hand. At times, the hellhound followed commands too well. “But for me.”

Sir Pup grinned at him, then fell into step beside her as they began a round of the tables. They stopped to chat with the humans, playing the club owner ascertaining his clients' satisfaction.

With the vampires, he dropped the pretense, though not the charm—and had to fight his frustration again when he didn't find the resistance he'd hoped for from the first few groups. Worse, they asked few questions, despite the myriad leading statements Savi and he made.

Any brainless sod could herd sheep; he needed to find the wolves, and bloodlessly tame them.

While Savi told four vampires how to access a hidden level in the DemonSlayer video game, Colin searched out Fia again, caught her eye.
Who likely resents my presence here more than any other? Someone with influence
.

Darkwolf and his consorts, Arwen and Gina. You've seen them before. He was the one who questioned your feeding from humans that night Paul and I met you
.

Christ.
Darkwolf?
His exasperation must have shown on his face; across the club, Fia began laughing at him. He couldn't hear it, but he could easily sense her psychic amusement.

Fia's not my real name, either
, she told him, grinning, and then signed Darkwolf's location on the second level.

On the stairwell, Colin pushed Savi against the wall and buried his face in her neck. Her surprise and arousal broke through her carefully constructed shields; he stiffened against her, but his gaze was approving when he pulled back to look at her.

“Just like this, sweet,” he murmured. “Keep them down but slightly, so they feel your need for me. They don't have the ability to look deeply, but they'll sense this.”

“What about the wyrmwolves?”

“They've only appeared when you've been completely open.” His lids lowered, and he stared at her throat for a moment before shaking himself. “And if one does make its appearance, it will only help our cause when I demonstrate my magnificent fencing technique, defeating the slavering monster, saving all and sundry.”

She bit her lip to halt her automatic protest. It would also make it torturous for him. He hadn't yet fed.

As if reading the cause of her distress, he said, “We'll leave directly after this; for now, my hunger is an asset, but I'll not have control much longer with your shields down. Keep the pup by your hand. And we've still to expose your strength; if you find an opportunity for a display, take it.”

She tried to think of a subtle demonstration as they climbed the stairs, but the new tension in Colin's form distracted her from all but the most melodramatic scenarios. Sir Pup licked her palm reassuringly as they approached a table in the corner of the lounge; somewhere between the first and second floors, he'd grown another couple of inches and his appearance took on a wolfish cast.

Three vampires sat around the table; two of them, Savi deduced, must be Darkwolf and Arwen: the tall male with dark skin, a clean-shaven head, and a howling-wolf tattoo on his left forearm, wearing a leather vest and spiked wristbands; and the fragile, ethereal brunette, who wouldn't have been out of place in Rivendell. Beside them, a female who didn't hide the suspicious anger tightening her full lips.

Like everyone else Colin had spoken with, they had a brief moment of disconcertment as he moved close enough for them to really see him. Anger quickly replaced it on Darkwolf's and Arwen's faces, coupled with slight unease.

The suspicious female was more outspoken in her reaction. “What the fuck did you just do to us?”

“Gina,” Arwen admonished softly, but her gaze remained hard as amethyst as she stared at Colin, then at Savi. “We're his guests. If he chooses to exercise his power over us for his pleasure, we've only ourselves to blame for accepting the invitation.”

“There's no need to blame anyone. He can't help it,” Savi said. She turned and dragged an empty chair from the next table. Breaking the metal frame in half would have made a fantastic show of strength, but would have likely been misinterpreted as an attack. Not to mention, beating up a chair would look ridiculous. “It goes away the better you know him.”

Colin nodded. “Please accept my apologies for your discomfort. It is unwittingly done, and my consort speaks the truth: the longer the acquaintance, the less effect it has.”

She allowed him to pull her down onto his lap, straddling his right thigh. His hand rested on her hip; the weapon strapped above her knee would be immediately available to him.

She doubted they knew Sir Pup had countless others in his hammerspace.

Darkwolf's mouth was closed, but she saw the movement of his tongue beneath his lips, as if he was running it over his fangs. Telling Colin that he was not without his own weapons, Savi realized.

A vampire who wouldn't rely on blades and bullets. It was oddly reassuring.

“You speak as if you expect our acquaintance to be of a long enough duration that it would matter to us,” Darkwolf said. “It doesn't. We've no use for a vampire who flaunts the very tradition and law that has kept us safe for centuries.”

Colin smiled lazily; his manner still easy, but no longer flirtatious. “You're mistaken,” he said. “Nosferatu and demonkind would have eradicated or enslaved us centuries ago had not Guardians held them in check; your safety has come neither from tradition nor law, but from Caelum.”

The word elicited neither surprise nor puzzlement in their expressions—but then, they could have read Hugh's book or played DemonSlayer. Probably had done both.

And the dubious glance Arwen and Darkwolf exchanged indicated they knew very well it wasn't a fictitious place.