Demon Angel

his guilt at using Savi to gain any of those advantages. But he couldn't do this alone—not completely alone.
    Auntie cleared her throat, and he looked up to find her glaring at him, a platter in her hand. "Come, beta . Eat."
    Colin waited in the alley beside the restaurant, the smell of food threatening to overwhelm him. His mouth watered, but it was a craving that had more to do with memory than actual hunger. "I may as well be one of Pavlov's dogs," he said with a touch of bitterness, and ignored the look Sir Pup gave him. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses. "Very well, then. Harness?"
    The hellhound obliged by calling in a guide dog's apparatus, and allowed Colin to fasten it over his shoulders.
    Across the street, a male and a female—one tall and fat, the other tiny—stopped next to the police cruiser parked at the curb. The man made a gesture with his hand, and Colin heard the passenger window slide down.
    "Anything?"
    "No, sir. He went home, ran in the park, then came here."
    "And you say that Agent Milton left his office after you returned to your surveillance?"
    "Yes, sir."
    The female sighed, and tilted her head back to look at the sky as if exasperated. The pale skin of her neck seemed to glow under the streetlights, and Colin's fangs throbbed in response. If he hadn't glutted himself on the Guardian still lying unconscious and chained to his bed, he probably would have taken the opportunity and protection of the hellhound to hunt. As delicious as Selah's blood had been, he preferred them awake.
    It was difficult for a woman to admire him when she was unconscious.
    "This isn't good, Joe," she said as they crossed the street. "Something's way off."
    "Yeah," her partner agreed. "We'll get Jorgenson to talk to… what's his name? Bradshaw?"
    "Yeah." Resignation in her voice.
    He moved deeper into the shadows, waited for them to go inside. A few minutes later, he followed them.
    The hostess was older than she appeared; and though her eyes widened at the sight of the dog, she gave no indication of the displeasure he felt emanating from her. As Colin disliked the hair and other… things… the dog had trailed into his house, he couldn't blame this woman for a similar reaction.
    "You'll be having the buffet? Or you would like a menu?"
    He bit back a sigh as his gaze skimmed over the table surrounded by young males—hot, thick blood. The full-bodied taste of the matrons in the corner. The delicate, ripe flavor of the lady detective filling her plate at the buffet. And the wild, tangy essence of the woman—little more than a girl—who came through a swinging door at the back to greet the group of boys at the first table.
    "A menu, please," he said with regret.
    "Of course. If you'll allow me… ?" She held out her arm, her bangles sliding up her forearm, almost to her elbow.
    Colin stared at the pulse beating beneath the golden brown skin of her wrist before he remembered that he was supposed to be blind. "You're very kind," he murmured finally, inwardly cursing Lilith for talking him into this, and himself for going along with it. In my long life. I've never seen beauty such as yours, Colin ! He mimicked her voice internally, then glanced down at the dog, who seemed to be laughing up at him as if it could read his thoughts. "She's a liar."
    The hostess turned. "I'm sorry? This table isn't to your liking?"
    "It's fine, thank you." Perfect, actually. From the bench, he had a view of everyone in the restaurant and could clearly hear each conversation. "I was simply instructing my dog to lie down."
    "Ah, very good." Again, that flicker of distaste as she looked at the dog. Sir Pup's tongue lolled, dripping saliva on the wooden floors. Colin was certain the hellhound did it deliberately. "You are familiar with our menu? My granddaughter will read the items, if you wish."
    As if she'd heard 'granddaughter,' the wild-tangy girl-woman looked over at them. Her breath caught as her gaze ran over his face. Sweet torture, to have that delicious morsel so close.
    He smiled, savoring the anticipation that shivered up his spine. "Yes, please."
    Hugh scraped up the last bit of dal with a piece of ghee-soaked naan, slipped it into his mouth, then pushed away from the counter before Auntie could return to the kitchen and ladle more onto his plate. He opened the swinging door with his shoulder, still wiping the ghee from his fingers onto a napkin, his stomach pleasantly full but happily not bursting. Auntie was as