Demon Moon (36 page)

With an embarrassed laugh, Savi said, “You see, he's already protecting me from my impulsive nature. I either think too much or not at all, and often do both at the same time.”

Nani gave an amused headshake of agreement, but her gaze remained on Colin. “What do you suggest?”

“Beaumont Court. Selah or Michael could teleport you, and there would be no record of travel; we could make it appear you took a flight to Bombay, as Savi suggested. I will send someone along to act as guard—a Guardian, if one can be spared, or a partnership of vampires from those Castleford has been training.”

“It is your family home? Would I inconvenience them?”

Colin smiled. “Of course not.”

Savi's stomach knotted. It was the perfect solution, but it meant Nani would be staying with the Earl of Norbridge. An aristocratic family. “They would welcome her?”

For an instant, his eyes darkened to stormy gray, his jaw clenched as if in anger. “Yes, Savitri.” His words were almost as clipped as when he'd spoken to the demon. “We no longer require untitled foreign guests to sleep in the stables.”

Her throat tightened in dismay. “I didn't mean it that way.”

“There are few other meanings to be taken.” His voice softened when he looked at Nani. “I promise you would be treated the same as they would me. Probably better; they'll feed you.”

Nani's lips pursed for just a moment. “Savitri? Will this alternative suit?”

Her grandmother had solicited her opinion. Savi knew she should have been feeling triumphant, but when she met Colin's flat stare, she only wished it would warm. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Very well,
beta
.”

He gave a short nod. “I'll make the arrangements. You can go tonight; already it is early morning there. Continue to speak of it as if you are leaving for Bombay. I'll return in a few minutes to drive you home so you may collect your things.” With a swipe of his hand, he erased the blood from the symbols and left.

Savi released a shaky breath, sat on the edge of the desk. “Goddammit.”

“Savitri, do not use such language,” her grandmother admonished. “Why would you insult him so, question his hospitality? You can't think he is the same as Jonathan Murray.”

“No. God, no.” Her grandfather; she could not think of two men more dissimilar. She glanced at the older woman, remembered her lack of surprise when Colin had bloodied his thumb. “You knew he was a vampire.”

“I am old,
naatin
, not blind. Are you in love with him?”

Her chest hurt too much to answer. Savi simply nodded. “There is no future in it,” she managed after a moment.

“Oh, Savitri.” Nani leaned forward, patted her hand. “That is what I told your mother when she said she wanted to marry your father. And you know the conclusion to that.”

Nani's smile was somewhat watery, but Savi's was, too. “Yes. I know.” They'd had fifteen blissfully happy years.

And Savi was going to do everything she could to squeeze the same into a month.

Colin's quiet tension didn't ease; not on the journey to Nani's and during the flurried activity of packing, not after Savi's teary-eyed good-byes before Selah whisked Nani away. They'd returned to his car in silence, and in the first few minutes it stretched awkwardly between them until Savi was certain she'd scream from it.

Instead she fell asleep.

A change in the car's speed woke her as he turned into his neighborhood. Tall, elegant Victorian houses lined the avenue bordering the western side of Buena Vista Park, decorated ladies standing shoulder to shoulder. A wrought-iron gate guarded the drive; it slowly squeaked open when he pushed a code into a remote.

She bent forward to look up through the windshield, and her mouth dropped open. “Oh my god, it's the fairy-tale house. I've seen it in photos, like on ‘the best of San Francisco' sites and whatever. I had no idea it was yours.” She'd known his address, but she'd never made the connection between the two—and she was certain the name of the owner had never been listed with the pictures. “How did the fire not make the news?”

“The exterior was not badly damaged. There was little to film, and I immediately began to rebuild. Lilith did the rest.”

Lilith must have concealed any connection to the fire and to Colin during the investigation into the ritual murders the previous year. Savi grinned, too enchanted by the house to feel slighted by his brusque tone—and the realization that he'd probably been the reason for her unexpected nap.

A high fence and leafy trees hid most of the house from view of the street: an enormous Queen Anne, with rounded towers at each corner, gables, a steeply pitched roof, bay windows, and a second-floor balcony. The moonless, rainy night prevented her from determining the color, but she knew from the pictures it was a deep claret, with contrasting trim in the myriad ornamental details. Her eyes widened as she took in the narrow lawns at the sides of the house, the long sweep of landscaping in the front. “How did you get a lot this size?”

“I purchased it not long after the earthquake.”

Of 1906. “I'll keep that in mind if I ever decide to acquire property: the best time to buy is after a major natural disaster.”

He seemed to soften a little. “Yes.”

She bit her lip, studying the line of his profile. A little wasn't enough. How much damage had she done with her thoughtless question at the restaurant? Her heart climbed into her throat as he braked in front of the main entrance and killed the engine. “Will you invite me in?”

Oh, god. She'd meant to sound sexy, sultry—to get through this moment on pure bravado. Instead a breathless vulnerability had crept into her voice, made it no more than a whisper.

His eyes closed. “I had good intentions, Savitri.”

Her hands clenched on her lap. Her legs trembled, her lungs seized up. That sounded like the beginning of every I'm-ready-to-let-you-go speech she'd ever received.
I really like you, Savi. We get along so well, Savi. I thought it would turn out differently, Savi
.

It had never hurt before; but then, it had never really mattered before. “It's okay,” she managed.

She'd known better than to wish for anything, even something as short as a month.

“I'm not bloody apologizing.”

She glanced up in surprise at the anger in his voice, but he was already out of the car, around to her side. He hauled her out, dragged her up the front steps.

“I intended to let you sleep. You're fucking exhausted,” he said as he unlocked the heavy wooden door and slammed it shut behind them. He dotted his hand three times on the symbols. Would they work on the entirety of the house? They must. “How many hours did you rest last night?”

She'd barely a moment to take in the marble floor, the vases and paintings decorating the dimly lit foyer before he was pulling her toward a large, curving stair.

“One or two,” she said, running up each riser. Portraits flashed by on her right. “Oh, god, they're all you.”

“Yes, of course,” he said carelessly, then swept her up when she tried to stop and examine one, cradling her against his chest. “And I intended to make you swoon first—to give you the tour after you'd had several hours of sleep, sing to you in the music room, read poetry in the library. You've had a hell of a day, even by vampiric standards. A bit of relaxation seemed in order.”

He was pissed with himself for his eagerness to get into her bed? “I'm swooning,” she said against his shoulder, linking her arms around his neck.

“And then, then after that, only after that, did I intend to carry you into your room and…” He paused on the landing.

“Drink from me?”

“I drank,” he said quietly. He lowered her feet to the floor, brought his hands up to cup her face. She didn't relinquish her hold on him; his chest was warm and solid against hers, his heart beating as fast. “From the vampires we caught. I don't need more blood tonight.”

“Oh.”

His thumbs smoothed over her quivering lips. “But I need
more
, Savitri.”

Her fingers threaded into the hair at his nape. Even in the darkness, she could see the need burning in his eyes, but she didn't know…“More than I can give you?”

“Everything you can give me. I'm a selfish creature. Yet I intended to be a gentleman tonight.” His left hand slid down her side, curved around her back, and found the zipper at her waist. Her skirt slithered down to pool at her feet.

“What will you be instead?”

He wouldn't let her pull his lips down to hers, so she rose up on tiptoe, pressing openmouthed kisses to his chin, his jaw.

“A beggar.”

He tugged her sweater over her head, forcing her to release her hold on him as he stripped the sleeves over her hands. Already taut with arousal, her nipples puckered further in the cold air. She wrapped her bare arms around her naked chest, stared up at him. Shadows hid his features, but she knew she must be exposed to his preternatural sight—exposed in her freezing gooseflesh and white lacy boyshorts and the boots he'd admired.

She was standing almost nude in his house, and she didn't care that she was still wearing her shoes. “You don't have to beg.”

“Apparently I do. You won't tell me what I most need to hear.”

Disappointment speared through her. “You may as well tell me it's gravity that keeps my feet to the floor. Why do you need to hear from me what you know?” What every other woman told him.

“I don't know. I didn't hear your answer.” His throat worked. His gaze searched hers, almost desperately. “Only that there was no future. Has your phase ended so quickly?”

Her knees weakened, but somehow she remained upright. “Aren't we speaking of your beauty?”

He stilled. “No.”

“Oh.” She moistened her lips. “You've never asked me.”

The predatory smile that spread across his mouth was softened by an edge of humor. “I did. Have you already forgot?”

“No.”

He took a step forward, lowered his head to skim his lips over hers. “‘Has your phase ended so quickly?'”

She laughed despite herself. “No. I'm still falling.”

“Thank God.” He rested his forehead against her brow. “Oh, sweet Savitri, how I need that. I can't remember the last time someone made love to me.”

Neither can I
.

But she clenched her teeth to prevent the question she wanted to ask, too afraid of the answer. And he must not have expected her to respond; his mouth covered hers, took a gentle sip from her lips before he lifted her into his arms again and began striding across a wide, dark room. It opened up to another through a wide archway, and she caught the gleam of a piano, the outline of artwork against the walls.

“The music room?” How strange to be carried through it—and how grateful she was, that she didn't have to run after him, avoiding unfamiliar furniture, and that the heat of his arms warmed her thighs and back.

She thought she'd resent it, feel like a little girl caged in by him, but somewhere between the stairs and the piano she was let out instead.

Falling, but she didn't have to hit bottom. Surely she couldn't with him holding her like this.

“The music room,” he confirmed with a press of his lips against her temple. “Your rooms are just past it; my studio lies at the opposite end of this floor.”

“
My
rooms?” She lowered her shields, felt the rumble of his approving groan against her cheek.

He stopped in front of a pair of floor-to-ceiling doors, adjusting his grip on her legs to reach down and depress the handle. His breath came more quickly now, and she smiled and tipped her head back to see him better.

“Yours. There is a practical reason for it.”

“Because you rarely sleep?”

“No, I have a suite upstairs. This used to be mine, before I tore out the third floor and attic to make the new one.” Shouldering through the entry, he glanced down at her. “But the open design makes it difficult to use the shields in that room, and the bed is directly above my studio. I fear I am very loud when I paint. There are likely vibrations.”

She bit her lower lip before she ventured, “Opera?”

“If it strikes my mood. Lights on?”

“Yes. Isn't that a bit of a cliché?”

“Only if I pretended to be something I'm not.” He moved to the wall, and she used the toe of her boot to tap the switch up. “It's not a cliché if you live it, Savitri.”

The glow from the recessed lighting was soft, but still she had to blink her eyes, wait for them to adjust. He strode quickly through a sitting room: silk-papered walls in rich burgundy, graceful sofas, and upholstered, deep-cushioned chairs. She tilted her head back; an array of blues and golds in geometrical shapes decorated the tray ceiling.

“This is amazing. Gorgeous.” Had it been the same before the fire had destroyed all of it? Had he tried to re-create the original décor, or started over?

“You can change anything you like; make it your own. In any room,” he said, and his arm slid from beneath her thighs, his hand catching her left knee and turning her, hooking it over his hip. She wrapped her right around his waist, moaned softly as the new position stroked his erection against her sex with each step.

A huge canopied bed with royal blue satin draped on the corners filled the circular room—the tower room. The matching bedspread was cool beneath her bottom, then her back, as he bore her down into the mattress. Surrounded by him.

He kissed her neck, her jaw. Quick, chaste kisses, if not for the insistent presence of his rigid shaft between her legs. A shiver tightened her skin, left her taut with need. She couldn't see him, only the broad line of his back; she wanted to see him. To feel his skin against hers.

She pushed at his shoulders, tried to pull up his sweater to run her palms over his flesh; he drew her hands over her head and held them there.

“Let me touch you.” Her back arched, and she dug her heels into the mattress, tried to dislodge him.

And only succeeded in driving herself mad when the movement of her hips ground her clit against his thick length. She did it again, whimpering in sudden, desperate frustration.

Colin began laughing softly against her neck. “Another of my intentions, gone to hell.”

“What did you intend?” Her breath caught as he nipped the skin above her pulse and his tongue ran a wet trail from her throat to the point of her shoulder. Finally, she could see him. His eyes, glittering with amusement and need; his blond hair, darkened by the rain; his tanned skin against her golden brown; the angular line of his jaw, and his soft, incredible lips.

“To do it your way first: directly to the fucking, if that gives you the most pleasure.”

Her only answer was an incoherent groan as he rocked against her in demonstration. Releasing her left hand, he brought his down to cup her bottom, to prevent her from thrusting against him in turn.

“Then slower, later. Tasting you all over.”

Fire slipped through her as he changed his rhythm, each languid roll of his hips taking her close to the edge. The delicious rub of fabric. Heat. His fingers slid beneath the seam of her panties, the lace soaked with her arousal. She gasped his name, a plea for mercy.

Much longer, and she would be the beggar.

“But I'd be a fool to waste this opportunity.” He withdrew his hand from between them, brought it to his mouth, licked the glistening moisture from his skin with a long swipe of his tongue. His eyes closed, his face reflecting sheer erotic pleasure.

Oh god. She'd made him look like that; she'd be a fool to waste it, too. Her fingers clenched on his arm, his sleeve bunching in her grip. “What opportunity?”

His lids were heavy when he raised his gaze to hers. “No bloodlust. I'm completely sated. But for this need, this lust.”

“How is that different?” His fingertips traced her lips. Both their scents lingered on his hand, and she opened her mouth, flicked her tongue across his skin. Her feminine flavor. The roughness of the pads of his fingers. Salt. She closed her lips around the tip of his middle finger, softly bit it.