Demon Moon (39 page)

Better to worry about surviving the demon, first. The rest would hardly matter if they didn't.

She broke the kiss, tucked her face against his chest. “I almost contacted you once, after you gave Lilith the painting of Caelum; I was going to commission one.”

His hands smoothed the length of her back, sending shivers of awareness down her spine. “Had I but thought you'd accept anything from me, I would have showered you in them. Any you wish are yours to keep; you've only to tell me which are your favorites.”

“I'll pick one out later.” She stepped away, checked the robe's belt to make certain it was still in place and her neckline closed. It wouldn't do to tease him—or herself. “Will you show me what you're working on now?”

“Of course. Are you well? You're walking like a sailor just landed.”

This time she couldn't halt her blush. “A little sore.”

Colin turned and led her toward a giant canvas, at least eight feet tall, ten feet wide. No wonder he'd needed the ladder. “I intended to stop after the second time.”

“I'm glad I disrupted every one of your intentions, then.” She studied the canvas. He must have recently begun this one; sepia tones and dark shadows created shapes, but not any detail. Four prominent vertical lines, with the bottom half blocked out. “I'm not impressed.”

Laughing softly, he collected a sketch pad from the shelf beside the ladder, flipped it open. “I'm working from this. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I'll not finish it. Not where you can see it and protest, that is.”

She smiled, but it faded as he showed her the sketch. Not even a sketch—though in pencil, it was as detailed as a black-and-white photograph. He must have drawn it that morning as she slept lying on her stomach, her fingers curling into the pillow just beneath her chin, the pale sheet draped over her hips. Her limbs were sleek and toned, the material surrounding her luxurious; textured by his pencil, even the scars on her back appeared lovely, as if they'd been designed for her skin.

Her lips parted on a sigh, and she glanced up at his face, saw the hopeful glint in his eyes, the uncertain half-smile.

“I suddenly understand why you have so many self-portraits.” To be seen in such a way; it stole her breath. “Can I have this sketch when you're done?”

“Yes. Or I can paint two.”

“Will you put yourself in mine?”

He stared at her. “You've no idea the effect you have on me. If I trusted the bloodlust not to make its appearance, I'd kiss you senseless.”

But he did not, taking back the sketch pad and flipping to the next page. His pencil flew across it before he turned the page toward her. The same scene, though more crudely rendered—and this time Colin was in the bed, dressed in a cape and tuxedo, leaning over her sleeping form with a rapacious grin and his fangs glistening.

She bit her lips to hold back her giggles. “Naked.” And couldn't contain them when his hand moved in a blur, drew a penis extending from the tuxedo's now-open fly.

Grinning a bit like his double in the sketch, he slapped the pad closed and tossed it aside, then took her hand. “I shall paint us reenacting the whole of the
Kama Sutra
.”

“Or we can just reenact it.”

“Both. Come along. We've much to do, and I have much to show you before night falls.”

After the attack from Beelzebub and the nosferatu the previous year, Colin had apparently rebuilt with defense in mind. Every room and closet on the first and second floors had the symbols ready for activation and weapons hidden behind wall panels and in cupboards—even in the furniture.

In the basement, once Savi had finished panting over the theater and shelves of DVDs, he led her to a small room that could have doubled as a bomb shelter, and that served as the heart of his security system.

She took in the bank of video monitors, the computers, and fell in love all over again. “Does this work with the spell?”

“The monitors and the security controls, but no outside communication. However, the spell shouldn't be necessary; no demon could break through the steel walls or the door. Perhaps you might need it if you don't have time to engage the locks, but even if the power's cut, a generator will provide the backup.” Colin pointed to a metal cabinet. “Enough blood for three weeks, food for six. Oxygen tanks, if air runs low and the intake has been compromised.”

“You've prepared for humans?”

“Lilith, Castleford, and you. Anyone else I'd shove out the door.” He paused. “But for Auntie.”

She chewed on her lip, thought it over. “So at night, when we are home, we have the symbols active over the entire house so that Sir Pup is free to protect Lilith and Hugh. And we'll keep my bedroom spelled if I'm sleeping during the day, and Sir Pup available to you as a backup if Dalkiel decides to attack you.” That thought made her uneasy; she didn't like that the demon would ever have access to Colin. As a human, she only had to fear the vampires; Colin had to protect himself from demon and vampires, night and day. “Can't we leave the spell active at all times when we're home?”

He shook his head. “For portions of the day, perhaps, but the cleaning service needs access, and we should have a window of availability for Auntie or SI to reach us.”

“I can clean. What if the demon shifted into one of their human forms to trick you?” She couldn't imagine a demon doing something like that—it would consider a cleaning woman too low-caste—but then she hadn't thought one would concern himself with the likes of her, either.

With an arch of his brow, Colin said, “No.”

“Snob.”

“Yes.” His lips twitched, and he leaned back against the smooth steel wall. “And you'd be too exhausted after cleaning a house of this size for me to take advantage of you as I intend.”

“Well, I wouldn't do a very thorough job. You saw my apartment. Do you drink from your cleaning ladies?”

“No. It's bad form to eat the help. Would you prefer that I engage a cook for the duration of your stay?”

“I can do it; I like to, actually.” She returned her attention to the monitors, saw Sir Pup strolling through one of the parlors. “So, if something happens, my first response should be to run down here and lock myself in?” The demon could set fire to the house and she'd still be safe; she wouldn't have the same protection if she was locked in one of the rooms, or a closet. When Colin nodded, she said, “How will I know if I can come out? Or if you need to be let in? You won't appear on the video.”

“If I do, don't let me in.” But he frowned thoughtfully as he strode forward to stand next to her. He tapped a few keys, brought up the feed from the theater. “The portrait of Mary Shelley, here—” He pointed to a painting beside the large plasma screen. “—I'll remove it, place it behind the sectional sofa.”

“Okay. I'll also get us panic buttons, and link them via satellite to SI. Maybe a personal alert for Michael to wear when he's not in Caelum. If the shields are down, they should receive a signal, and he or Selah could teleport in. I might be able to incorporate them into our watches, or maybe a pendant, so that they're always on us.”

She rubbed her forehead, mentally running through the security, looking for any holes she could plug. There were holes, a lot of them, but short of imprisoning themselves in the room and waiting, there was little else they could do to prepare. Fleeing—to England or elsewhere—was tempting, but would make it more difficult to protect themselves.

And it would allow Dalkiel to return underground. If they remained in San Francisco, it gave the Guardians a better chance of locating him.

“Is it too much?” Colin said quietly.

“No. I'm just frustrated, because no matter what we do, there's going to be something we've missed. And I'm a little scared.”

“Scared? Bloody hell, Savi, I have tried for months, and it is my gangster demon double who manages it?” He shook his head in mock exasperation, but his smile faded as soon as her laughter tapered off. “Don't lose that fear, sweet. It'll keep you sharp and aware. We know where we are vulnerable, and where we are secure—but to take either for granted is to court disaster. Our moment of greatest vulnerability will be leaving the house and traveling to Polidori's every evening. We'll vary our schedule, but they'll eventually know to look for us.”

“Does Polidori's have a similar security system?” This one resembled the setup at SI; Colin had probably contracted with the same firm who had installed the security at the warehouse.

“No. You'll use the symbols in the suite and watch through the monitors. We'll have Sir Pup with us; I'll instruct him to remain with you.”

She nodded, looked around the small shelter, and released a long breath. Half of her life spent avoiding the urge to run in order to protect herself, and now it would be her best defense.

“So what exactly will we be doing at the club?”

He heaved a great sigh and tilted his face toward the ceiling, with an expression close to pain tightening his features. “Conforming.”

But for his hair, Colin's life-sized portraits could have been a study in men's high fashion from the early nineteenth century to the turn of the twentieth—and a study in his moods. Savi trailed slowly down the stairs, memorizing each one and trying to ascertain the cause of the niggling sensation that each one was not quite right.

The third: Colin in fawn breeches and emerald waistcoat, smiling close-lipped; the proportions of his face and body were exact. Perfect. The eighth: The line of his jaw as he seemed to laugh at himself—or the observer—his fangs a startling counterpoint to the conservative black suit. The tenth: His angry glower tightening the skin around his mouth, his brows heavy and dark over his eyes.

And the very last: Situated at the base of the stairs, and the only one in which he wore modern clothing—though his hair still overlong and curling at his nape and around his ears—cruelty in the icy gray stare, the mocking tilt to his lips.

“Is my nose too long in this one?”

Startled, Savi turned her head. Colin stood on the riser above her, leaning casually against the banister, looking up at the painting. Her mouth dried, and she took a few moments to let her gaze travel the length of him before she managed, “No. It's exactly right.”

A black shirt clung to his torso, the long sleeves loose at the cuffs; black leather jeans and boots finished the ensemble. Conforming, but not outside the boundaries of his personal taste. The metal rings studding his belt might have been a concession to Goth sensibilities, but she thought it fit his own; he looked lean, strong, dangerous—and ridiculously chic.

She clasped her hands together to prevent herself from touching him. Though they'd spent the past few hours together, first in the kitchen as she prepared her meal, then in the studio as he painted and she set up her computer equipment in the adjoining tower room, he'd not approached her.

She didn't mind waiting until after they'd returned from Polidori's; the anticipation would be almost unbearable by then, its own sweet pain.

He slanted an amused glance at her. “Lilith lied to me, then. Are any of them wrong? But for the hairstyle.”

She eyed his hair in silent envy; it looked as if he'd pushed his fingers into the thick strands, tugged them forward, and left it sticking up in a haphazard, golden tangle. Why wouldn't she be surprised if that was all he'd done? And it had taken her nearly twenty minutes to gel and mess her hair to her satisfaction in front of the single mirror in the house: in her bathroom, hidden behind a wall panel.

He'd retreated to his upstairs suite—the one set of rooms he hadn't yet shown her.

With a sigh, she turned back to the paintings. Again, that feeling of
not quite right
hit her, and she hesitated before she shook her head. “Not really. Not wrong, exactly.”

“It's important to me,” he said quietly. “You'll not damage my artist's ego by telling me I've done it incorrectly.”

“No, it's not that.” She stepped forward, studying the pitiless curve of his mouth. “Everything's technically right. You've even captured your expressions, like in this one.”

“You've seen me like this?” Dismay colored his voice.

“In Auntie's, the night we first met. A couple of times in Caelum. At Polidori's. In the parking lot two nights ago.” Had it only been two days since he'd told her she was falling in love with him? How far she'd gone in that short time.

He was silent, and she turned, lifting her brow in question. His lips quirked, but no humor touched his eyes. “I'm not always a kind man, Savitri, and I cannot apologize for it. But I'm sorry I directed it at you.”

“I know. I'm not fishing for an apology.” She ran her hands over her arms. “It was there last night, too. When you saw what had happened to Nani and told me who'd done it. And I didn't mind—was glad of it even—because I felt the same way.”

He hauled in a deep breath. “Perhaps you won't be once I've told you what I did to them.”