Demon Moon

up the front steps.
    “I intended to let you sleep. You’re fucking exhausted,” he said as he unlocked the heavy wooden door and slammed it shut behind them. He dotted his hand three times on the symbols. Would they work on the entirety of the house? They must. “How many hours did you rest last night?”
    She’d barely a moment to take in the marble floor, the vases and paintings decorating the dimly lit foyer before he was pulling her toward a large, curving stair.
    “One or two,” she said, running up each riser. Portraits flashed by on her right. “Oh, god, they’re all you.”
    “Yes, of course,” he said carelessly, then swept her up when she tried to stop and examine one, cradling her against his chest. “And I intended to make you swoon first—to give you the tour after you’d had several hours of sleep, sing to you in the music room, read poetry in the library. You’ve had a hell of a day, even by vampiric standards. A bit of relaxation seemed in order.”
    He was pissed with himself for his eagerness to get into her bed? “I’m swooning,” she said against his shoulder, linking her arms around his neck.
    “And then, then after that, only after that, did I intend to carry you into your room and…” He paused on the landing.
    “Drink from me?”
    “I drank,” he said quietly. He lowered her feet to the floor, brought his hands up to cup her face. She didn’t relinquish her hold on him; his chest was warm and solid against hers, his heart beating as fast. “From the vampires we caught. I don’t need more blood tonight.”
    “Oh.”
    His thumbs smoothed over her quivering lips. “But I need more , Savitri.”
    Her fingers threaded into the hair at his nape. Even in the darkness, she could see the need burning in his eyes, but she didn’t know…“More than I can give you?”
    “Everything you can give me. I’m a selfish creature. Yet I intended to be a gentleman tonight.” His left hand slid down her side, curved around her back, and found the zipper at her waist. Her skirt slithered down to pool at her feet.
    “What will you be instead?”
    He wouldn’t let her pull his lips down to hers, so she rose up on tiptoe, pressing openmouthed kisses to his chin, his jaw.
    “A beggar.”
    He tugged her sweater over her head, forcing her to release her hold on him as he stripped the sleeves over her hands. Already taut with arousal, her nipples puckered further in the cold air. She wrapped her bare arms around her naked chest, stared up at him. Shadows hid his features, but she knew she must be exposed to his preternatural sight—exposed in her freezing gooseflesh and white lacy boyshorts and the boots he’d admired.
    She was standing almost nude in his house, and she didn’t care that she was still wearing her shoes. “You don’t have to beg.”
    “Apparently I do. You won’t tell me what I most need to hear.”
    Disappointment speared through her. “You may as well tell me it’s gravity that keeps my feet to the floor. Why do you need to hear from me what you know?” What every other woman told him.
    “I don’t know. I didn’t hear your answer.” His throat worked. His gaze searched hers, almost desperately. “Only that there was no future. Has your phase ended so quickly?”
    Her knees weakened, but somehow she remained upright. “Aren’t we speaking of your beauty?”
    He stilled. “No.”
    “Oh.” She moistened her lips. “You’ve never asked me.”
    The predatory smile that spread across his mouth was softened by an edge of humor. “I did. Have you already forgot?”
    “No.”
    He took a step forward, lowered his head to skim his lips over hers. “‘Has your phase ended so quickly?’”
    She laughed despite herself. “No. I’m still falling.”
    “Thank God.” He rested his forehead against her brow. “Oh, sweet Savitri, how I need that. I can’t remember the last time someone made love to me.”
    Neither can I .
    But she clenched her teeth to prevent the question she wanted to ask, too afraid of the answer. And he must not have expected her to respond; his mouth covered hers, took a gentle sip from her lips before he lifted her into his arms again and began striding across a wide, dark room. It opened up to another through a wide archway, and she caught the gleam of a piano, the outline of artwork against the walls.
    “The music room?” How strange to be carried through it—and how grateful she was, that she didn’t have to run after him,