Demon Moon

selfish, but it is not a reflection of my family or my class. I would have been the same had I been born in a poorhouse.”
    “How do you know that?”
    His brows drew together. “Look at me.”
    She grinned, but still felt the need to explain, “The one time we ever visited my grandparents, it was only because my grandfather laid a guilt trip on my dad because of all the money spent on his med school, the nice living he’d received. And the visit was a disaster—they had this huge place, but we got stuck in the guest house, and only my dad was invited up to the main house. My dad was infuriated by the insult to my mom; it was one of the few times I’d seen him really pissed.”
    “So you assumed my family would only accept Auntie into their home out of obligation for my financial support, resent it, and then—unwittingly or deliberately—insult her? Savitri,” he said, “for all of your intelligence, you can be incredibly blind where your nani is concerned.”
    “I know. I should have remembered what you’d said: That you’re their beloved Uncle Colin. That it wasn’t obligation, but a willingness to assist a member of the family when he asked them for help.”
    “Just as you would for Auntie.”
    “Yeah.” With a sigh, she pushed the canvases forward. “I need to call her, let her know we’re okay, and make sure she’s settled.”
    “I did this morning; it’s after midnight in Derbyshire now. She’s well.” A triumphant smile played around his mouth. “You recognized the house; you’ve searched the Internet for information related to me?”
    She refused to blush. “Yes. If you can eavesdrop, then I can use Google.”
    “It seems a fair trade. Though I would answer anything you ask; you need not turn to a computer.”
    “I wasn’t exactly happy with you at the time; a computer was safer.”
    “Yet you still looked.”
    “Yes.” She met his gaze. “I couldn’t help myself.”
    His eyes closed. The hand towel dropped to the floor, and his palm cupped her chin, tilted her mouth up. His left arm wrapped around her waist. “Neither could I, Savi.” A soft kiss to her forehead. “Each visit to Castleford’s was a new torment. How you ran the moment I arrived.” Her cheek. “I could hear you in your flat when you didn’t leave, and how I listened for your return when you did.” Her lips. “Your scent everywhere. Torture, but I couldn’t stay away.”
    Her chest aching, she caught his mouth before he could say more; it would be worse after a month of this. Much worse. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, too.
    Think, Savi . But she didn’t see a way out of it. Nor did she want to waste this opportunity, live with the regret. What was she going to do when the month was up, if they survived the demon?
    Better to worry about surviving the demon, first. The rest would hardly matter if they didn’t.
    She broke the kiss, tucked her face against his chest. “I almost contacted you once, after you gave Lilith the painting of Caelum; I was going to commission one.”
    His hands smoothed the length of her back, sending shivers of awareness down her spine. “Had I but thought you’d accept anything from me, I would have showered you in them. Any you wish are yours to keep; you’ve only to tell me which are your favorites.”
    “I’ll pick one out later.” She stepped away, checked the robe’s belt to make certain it was still in place and her neckline closed. It wouldn’t do to tease him—or herself. “Will you show me what you’re working on now?”
    “Of course. Are you well? You’re walking like a sailor just landed.”
    This time she couldn’t halt her blush. “A little sore.”
    Colin turned and led her toward a giant canvas, at least eight feet tall, ten feet wide. No wonder he’d needed the ladder. “I intended to stop after the second time.”
    “I’m glad I disrupted every one of your intentions, then.” She studied the canvas. He must have recently begun this one; sepia tones and dark shadows created shapes, but not any detail. Four prominent vertical lines, with the bottom half blocked out. “I’m not impressed.”
    Laughing softly, he collected a sketch pad from the shelf beside the ladder, flipped it open. “I’m working from this. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll not finish it. Not where you can see it and protest, that is.”
    She smiled, but it faded as he showed her the sketch. Not even a sketch—though in pencil, it was as detailed as a