Demon Moon

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    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

    DEMON MOON

    A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

    Copyright © 2007 by Melissa Khan.
Cover illustration by Franco Accornero.
Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

    All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

    ISBN: 1-4295-3819-8

    BERKLEY SENSATION ® Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
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To all of the Missys out there—
may you never grow up .

    Special thanks to Megan Frampton,
slayer of semicolons and guru of music;
and to Jennfer-with-an-i, for everything .



CHAPTER 1

    Pray do not press your Guardian dictum upon me again. “Appearances are almost always deceiving”—how preposterous! I am beautiful and charming, and that is all my appearance promises. Any in Society who are disappointed when they do not find more cannot fault my countenance. The deception is not mine; they have deceived themselves. But let them continue to look, whether they are fools or no; I rather enjoy it .
    —Colin Ames-Beaumont, in a letter to Dr. Anthony Ramsdell, 1813

    No club should be so crowded at nine o’clock in the evening; drinking and dancing should never reach such animated heights until one o’clock. Two, if it were summer. Any earlier, and it gave the appearance that one came to drink and dance, as if such things were to be pursued for themselves rather than as a means to more pleasurable activities.
    It was almost vulgar, and Colin Ames-Beaumont watched with no small measure of dismay as the early crush of people became a smash. Perhaps buying Polidori’s had been a terrible mistake. Restoring the nightclub had been an obsession that had quickly burned out, and whatever lingering interest he’d had was quickly snuffed when a human woman with waist-length ebony hair and a horror of a black leather dress slithered up to his private table.
    A techno beat pounded through the club, reverberated through his chest. Sumptuous golds and reds enfolded the lounges; the dance floors vibrated with energetic blues and greens. The music was good, the décor excellent; becoming a cliché was not.
    Colin resisted the urge to glance down and confirm that his charcoal-gray trousers and ivory cashmere sweater had not been transformed into a tuxedo, complete with satin-lined cape.
    And to think he’d been charmed the first time he’d seen Bela Lugosi sweep onto the stage.
    A smile curved the woman’s blood-red lips, but it failed when her gaze ran over his face. He heard the startled catch of her breath, the