Demon Moon

new strength, you’ll not need them.”
    She shook her head and turned her palm over. He glanced down at the jagged cut, just beginning to scab over; then back up, his brow lifted in query.
    “It’s not healing at an accelerated rate. I doubt my blood production has increased. In vampires and Guardians, the two seem to go together.”
    His lashes lowered as he examined the wound again. “I could heal it for you with my blood—as I did before.”
    She curled her fingers, covered her palm. “No. Some scars are better to carry. This one will remind me to be careful of my shields, so that I don’t endanger those around me by attracting wyrmwolves.”
    “You cannot forget.”
    “No, but I don’t always think.” She tried not to laugh at his affronted stare. “You were being an ass then—but you were right.”
    “If I was right, then I suppose it is acceptable to mention it.” His hand lifted from the back of the love seat, and he tweaked a short strand of hair near her temple. “We shall have a matching pair, Savitri.”
    She glanced down as he spread his fingers, turned his palm up. The overhead lights shone on the ridge of the clean, straight scar. His hand, so strong and elegant.
    She clenched her thighs together, remembering how easily he had brought her pleasure that afternoon. Thinking of how desperately she wanted it again. She had to swallow before she said, “It’s comforting to know that you have one flaw.”
    He gave a short, deep laugh, exposing his fangs before he dipped his chin and hid them. He slanted her an upward glance, his eyes bright with amusement. “I hate to cause you discomfort, my sweet Savitri, but this is not a flaw.”
    She arched an eyebrow. “No? It’s brought you much discomfort. Don’t you resent the sword’s effects? You don’t enjoy the…the—” Unwilling to say “Chaos” aloud, she settled for, “—what you see in the mirror.”
    “No.” He leaned back, his elbow propped against the back of the sofa, and he rested his chin on his loosely curled fist as he studied her. “But it is a price worth paying.”
    “For not immediately burning in the sun? Extra strength? Giving an orgasm with a sip?”
    His lips quirked. “You make my argument for me.” Then he sobered, and said, “Ramsdell and Emily were also tainted; it is not for myself I am grateful, but for them. What it gave them.”
    She quickly reviewed everything she knew of the couple. “But I thought there hadn’t been any lingering—” Her lips rounded as she realized, “Oh, my god. I hadn’t really calculated the date before, their age. He’d been a Guardian, so it didn’t strike me as unusual, but she…and on the same night?”
    “Yes.” His throat worked, and a sheen rose in his eyes before he turned his head in profile. “I didn’t expect it for several more years. Perhaps another quarter century. They never appeared much older than fifty, though they were over twice that and ridiculously healthy.” He expelled a long breath, smiled slightly as if in memory. “I heard them in their room. She said she was a bit tired, and he said that perhaps it was time to see what came next.”
    Oh, god. She could hardly speak past the lump in her throat. “Colin—” Her hands shook as she touched his shoulders, his jaw.
    “I found them in their bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, as if that was exactly what they’d done—turned to each other, and left to see what came next. If their faces were any indication, whatever they found together was perfect. Beautiful.” His eyes locked with hers, and the moisture pooled there seemed to flood hers. “It gave them that, Savitri. A bit of Hell is nothing.”
    She couldn’t respond; only look at him, touch him. Her fingers traced his brow, the angular beauty of his cheekbones.
    He sighed, caught her wrists. “Oh, sweet, don’t cry. I can’t bear it.”
    “Then don’t tell me stories like that. I’m such a sucker for happy endings. It’s my mother’s fault,” she whispered, and leaned forward to bury her face in his neck. She’d have given anything for her family to have had something like that, instead of violence and fear. “Do you miss them?”
    “Every bloody day.” His arms tightened around her, and his voice was rough in her ear. “No more crying. I shall have to punish you if you stain my sweater with your tears. It has quickly become my favorite.”
    She choked on her laughter. When she pulled back, he had a handkerchief