Demon Moon (46 page)

She sighed and dug her spoon into her yogurt. “Nothing depressing.”

“My exquisite fingering and magnificent voice will lift your spirits,” he said, and launched into a jaunty rendition of The Beatles' “When I'm Sixty-Four.” When she protested she couldn't eat for laughing, he segued into a lively minuet.

She was scraping the bottom of her bowl when he abandoned the piano. He opened a violin case and lowered himself onto the opposite end of the window seat, his posture mirroring hers. The moonlight played over his features; he closed his eyes, tucked his chin against the instrument, and tore open her heart with a simple, poignant melody.

Colin looked up as the last note faded; she stared at him, not bothering to wipe away the moisture shimmering on her lashes.

“Is there anything you don't do beautifully?”

He slowly shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “No.”

It was so easy to believe him; how much evidence had she seen? Silk damask whispered beneath her as she slid forward across the seat. The violin thudded against the thick rug, the bow scraping discordantly over the strings. His hands circled her waist as she scooted between his legs, lowered her head against his chest. She met his mouth in a soft kiss; and yes, he did this beautifully, as well. He didn't demand more, but allowed her to melt into him.

With a sigh, she lay her cheek against his shoulder, watching the half moon set over the houses across the street, absorbing the warmth of his solid length.

Until she could bear it no longer.

“Colin,” she said. “It's
killing
me.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head; though his body shook and amusement deepened his tone, he did not give voice to his laughter. “I'll not believe it; you've been too distracted this evening to think of it overmuch. Let it alone, Savi.”

“I won't ask about the curse,” she said, looking up at him. “Even I know better than to mess with the symbols; I just want to know why you're so certain you can't transform anyone. Are you sure your blood would kill me?”

“It's a moot point, as
your
blood makes a transformation uncertain.”

“I'd risk it; if I thought there was a chance that I could transform and drink your blood and stay with you, I would. Are you sure?”

His head fell back against the cushions, and he stared up at the ceiling. “Yes.”

The strong line of his throat called to her; she traced it with shaking fingers. “They all died?”

“Yes.” His eyes closed. “One would have regardless, but the other two were young. Men in their prime.”

“Three humans?” Her voice was rising; anger coursed through her. Not at him. Why did this have to be so fucking impossible? “The nosferatu drank your blood and are surviving just fine in Chaos. Has another vampire ever taken blood from you?”

“Yes.” His fingers tightened on her waist, and he shook his head and continued before she could give voice to her surprise and question him. “Compared to the nosferatu, vampires are weak; they may as well be human. And the minuscule amount the nosferatu had does not signify next to what a partner would need.” His gaze was like iron when he looked at her, his frustration apparent in each clipped word. “Do you think to have another vampire attempt to transform you despite the taint in your blood, then return to me to drink my blood? Risking your life doubly?”

“I don't know.” She couldn't catch her breath. “No. That's not what I'm thinking—I'm just trying to figure out if there's any way I can keep from dying when I leave you.”

His lips softened and parted; his eyes darkened before he clutched her to him, his mouth against her ear. “Don't leave me,” he said roughly.

“I don't want to,” she whispered. “But I can't think of a way—I can't see how—” She buried her face in his neck; her hands grasped wildly at his shoulders. “Please don't let me cry. I promised myself I wouldn't.”

He gently tilted her chin back; she shivered as his tongue ran the length of her jaw. “Don't think, Savi,” he said against her throat.

And for the first time, she didn't.

When Savi awoke, the silk beneath her cheek was caramel, not blue. Heavy velvet curtains shadowed the bed. She'd fallen asleep in her room, but Colin had apparently brought her to his.

A packet of yellowing letters lay on her pillow.

The acrid odor of smoke clung to them; the string tying them was new. The aging paper felt fragile under her fingers, and despite her curiosity, she hesitated to open them.

A shaft of light fell across the bed; Colin pulled back a curtain and threw himself onto the mattress beside her. He propped his elbow on his pillow, his indolent smile a match for his posture.

“I have Lilith to thank for their existence; they'd have burned if not for her scheme to forge Polidori's letter and deliver it to the detectives. Though some of the credit belongs to me: I was too lazy to carry them back upstairs after copying his handwriting. Which, I'm pained to note, is nearly as illegible as yours. It shall be easier for you if I simply describe the events related therein.”

Her brows drew together; his manner had not been so insultingly careless since the night she'd attacked him in the parking lot.

“Are you
nervous
?”

“Don't be absurd,” he said. “I'm terrified. You will think very ill of me when I've finished.”

“I began falling in love with you when you were a complete ass; I doubt something that happened two hundred years ago will change that.”

His eyes widened with pleasure, his smile became genuine, and he plucked the letters from her hand. “If you will love me regardless, then I'll not bother—”

“You ass!” She tackled him, laughing when he caught her and rolled her beneath him. She was naked, he was clothed; she was becoming wonderfully accustomed to this. “I'm dying to know; you can't tease me this way.”

“Oh, but I can—and that is why I shall. Hold still. The sight of you in my bed is enticing on its own; I'll drain you dry if you squirm. I'll
not tell you
if you squirm,” he said, resorting to the greater threat. “Do wrap your legs around me, however, for I like that exceedingly well.”

As she did, too, she complied. “Why are you telling me? You don't have to.”

“You want both my recitation and my reason for giving it?”

“Yes.”

“Choose.”

“Your reason.”

For a moment she thought he'd refuse. He stared down at her, his amusement fading. He swept his thumb over her right eyebrow, caressing the delicate arch. “So that you know I don't deny you without cause, or based on flimsy conjecture, and that I truly would transform you if I could. This is the only evidence I have to give you; I cannot provide an explanation, but I can offer a—somewhat—documented history. I doubt your conclusions will differ from mine.”

She shook her head, her gaze locked with his. “You don't have to; I trust you.”

“
And
because if anyone on Earth can see something I've not, and draw a conclusion different than I have—you are she.”

She took a slow, painful breath. “I love you.”

His boyish grin soothed and swelled the ache within her chest, and his mouth pressed against hers in a brief kiss more teeth than lips.

“Savi, you will soon have me spouting romantic poetry as tortuously wrought as…” A wry expression tightened his smile.

“Shelley's?” she guessed.

He dropped his forehead to hers. “John Polidori's. You've already deduced most of this, haven't you?”

“Only that the three men who were at Lake Geneva when you were cursed died not many years afterward. All very young, and the first of whom was your friend. Were the others?”

“No,” he said flatly.

“When did you meet him—Polidori?”

“In Edinburgh, 1813, whilst the good Dr. Ramsdell and I attended a series of lectures on the medicinal use of leeches.” He lifted his head and arched a brow. “I had something of an obsession for it at the time.”

She was immediately diverted. “You went to medical school? Did you drop out?”

“My obsession burnt itself out,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “A peer's son does not ‘drop out'; the lectures failed to hold my attention. The medical properties of my blood no longer fascinated me, and we learned no more about the reasons behind it than when Ramsdell returned from Caelum—except that it sped the healing of whomever I bled over.”

Ramsdell had utilized the healing knowledge he'd gained in Caelum in his practice as a physician? “Didn't you risk exposure?”

“Even if the accuser would not be named mad, who would dare level such an accusation at me? Certainly no one from the lower classes. And if someone of higher rank had attempted such, they'd likely have been ousted from Society. Beauty has always garnered far more invitations than virtue. I cut a dashing figure through many a ballroom; so long as I did not smile too boldly, no one was uneasy.”

Was he being facetious? “Not everyone could have been so blind; some must have known.”

“Yes. We were not quite as shallow as that, but the moral implications so important to the underclass hardly mattered to many of those in my set. And at that time, vampires were the ragged undead—a papist's myth, most popular amongst the peasantry on the Continent, therefore easily dismissed. I could not be lumped with them.” He paused. “You are revolted.”

She forced herself to admit, “Perhaps it is best two hundred years have passed; I wouldn't have liked who you were then. I'm sorry.”

“I'd not have cared for the opinion of a foreign female, so we are equal in our hypothetical disdain.” The warmth in his gaze softened the words. “I'd have charmed you into my bed.”

“That's probably true. So I would've slept with you because you're gorgeous, and then discarded you for your condescension,” she said lightly, and rocked her hips beneath his when he laughed. “What of Polidori?”

“Ah, poor Polidori,” he said. His smile failed, and he shook his head. “No, he does not deserve that epithet. He was brilliant, Savi, and exceptionally young for a man in his final year before his physicians' exams. Engaging, humorous—if not dripping with wit—and more than willing to bestow his admiration on those he deemed worthy. And though he was given to tedious bouts of melancholia and brooding, I liked him very much. Of course he soon deduced that I was not all I seemed.”

“What was his reaction? Why melancholia?”

“Much like yours: curiosity. He wanted to know all, and Ramsdell and I could see no danger in telling him how I was transformed—though we left out details such as the Doyen's sword. He knew I was different from the usual sort of vampire, but we explained the difference by my status as one of the nosferatu-born. There were—are—few other nosferatu-born vampires to which he could compare me to determine the truth of it.”

And even if Polidori had, he would have found them much like Colin: stronger, faster, with greater psychic capabilities, though unable to wake or walk in daylight. Savi knew of one—Lucas, Selah's partner. Though her body quivered with the need to ask about the others, she bit her tongue to prevent it.

“Hold still. As for the melancholia, he admired and loved nothing more than poetry, but unfortunately had little talent for it. Equally unfortunate was that though he was aware of his lack, he could not accept that he would always be mediocre. His employment with Byron—and his acquaintance with Shelley—allowed him close to everything he wished to be, gave him a glimpse of it, but also prevented him from forgetting his own lack. Byron, particularly, took care to mock his efforts.”

“Should they have been mocked?”

“Yes.” Colin flicked her nose in reproof. “But he could have told Polidori the truth without resorting to cruelty, simply to exercise his wit.”

She bit her lip, but couldn't help herself. “So why didn't you like Byron? Because he was so handsome? So talented and brilliant?”

“It is true that I despise handsome men more clever than I—whereas I adore beautiful, intelligent women—but primarily I disliked him because he was a self-absorbed ass. His only redeeming quality was his eccentricity. One could never be bored near him. Don't laugh; this is not about
me
. And hold still.”

“So you were all together in Lake Geneva, where you read the curse.” At his nod, she squelched her need to ask about the details of it. For now, anyway. “When did you see Hugh? You mentioned he was in Switzerland shortly after that.”

His face hardened. “I did not
see
him; I heard him. Deciding whether to slay me, and then bargaining with Lilith for my life when she threatened to rid the world of one more bloodsucker.”

Savi's mouth dropped open; her stomach knotted. “You're joking.”

“No.”

“Why? He made a vow to protect you.”

“Yes, but there had been deaths in the region, seemingly vampiric in origin. If I'd have been the cause, he'd have executed me. His specific words were to the effect that he'd allow me to live, and to take blood from humans as I needed, so long as I was not cruel, and so long as I did not kill.”

She stared up at him. No wonder he'd harbored such resentment; though she couldn't argue with the conditions Hugh had set, Colin must feel that he'd essentially lived for two hundred years by Hugh's leave.

Colin sighed. “It was not all as bad as that, Savi, and I am grateful, in some respects. Without that warning, I don't know what I might have become—especially once the curse took effect. Without Ramsdell and Emily, without Castleford, I could have easily been not much different from Dalkiel. If I am not the more corrupt for the increase in power my transformation gave to me—particularly in those initial years—it is only due to the people surrounding me.”

She squeezed her legs more tightly around his waist; there was nothing to say, no response but to hold on to him. “Did you leave Switzerland after that?”

“I thought the curse would fade, but after several weeks it did not, and I returned to Derbyshire. Eventually, I moved on to London, where the hunting was better. And I was not as likely to upset my family; my adjustment to the curse was…difficult.”

“How did you get through it?”

“I developed an obsession for oil and canvas. A long-lived one, as it turned out.” He smiled slightly. “I am too eager to talk of myself, Savitri. You must not encourage me. By God, hold still.”

“Don't blame me; it's not my fault you're fascinating.” Her quick grin held no apology, but she stopped moving. With more seriousness, she asked, “When did you try to transform him?”

“Five years later. I'd met with him in Brighton for a holiday, and shortly after we returned to London, he asked it of me. He'd been practicing law, under a different—” He grimaced tightly. “—less
foreign
name. He'd had a succession of failures, professionally, artistically, personally…”

Pressing his lips together, he stared at the headboard for a moment. His gaze flattened, cold and bleak; gently, he disentangled Savi's legs and sat up.

She scrambled to her knees and pulled the sheet over her breasts; there was no rejection in him—only, she sensed, a refusal to take enjoyment or pleasure of any kind while he related the last.

“He'd also accumulated a mountain of gambling debts—but one did not talk of such, Savi. It was vulgar. And I don't know that I could have helped him—if I
would
have helped him—if he'd asked me. His depression and embarrassment were severe, but he was certain that the transformation would allow him to renew his fortune—mentally, financially. And so I drank his blood, and slit my wrist for him to take mine. Before he'd taken half of what he'd need for the transformation, he began screaming. It didn't stop until he fell into the daysleep.”

“Was it Chaos? Did he see it?” Savi whispered.

“No. He said his blood burned like hellfire within him. I could detect no fever, however, and the next evening, he was no longer in pain. Only morose and weak, and he determined that we would continue the process. He'd not taken more than a couple of sips before he simply…flared out. I could not revive him.”

“What did you do?”

“There was nothing to do; I wrote to Ramsdell—and we both thought the failure had been an indication of some hidden reluctance on Polidori's part. Creating a vampire is very easy for most. Foolproof. Despite the taint, there was no reason to think the fault lay with my blood instead of Polidori—after all, I transformed without incident, though I suffered from weakness caused by a month-long starvation. And so when Shelley wrote to me, I did not hesitate.”

Her brow creased. “Why? He wasn't a friend to you.”

“No, but he was not all that terrible—indeed, in some respects he reminded me of Emily. Very romantic, sometimes overly sentimental. There were other reasons. Appreciation for beauty and talent. And I thought Polidori would have wished it, his admiration for Shelley was so great, so perhaps it was guilt as well. This time, I made certain the blood was taken all at once, very quickly.” He swallowed, his jaw clenching as he stared down at the mattress. “His screams did not last until daytime; within minutes, his skin had blackened as if he'd roasted from inside, and he was dead.”