Demon Moon

have held her shields, never given indication of his manipulation—or his lies, if he used them—through psychic scent or expression.
    Then Darkwolf drew a deep breath, shifted in his seat, and Savi saw the purpose behind the tactic: they’d be distracted by her need. By Colin’s escalating bloodlust.
    “We’d watched you for months. Your habits. Nothing matched up.” The tattoo on Darkwolf’s forearm undulated as he drummed his fingers on the table, and he leaned back to sling his left arm over Arwen’s shoulders. “And suddenly you’re interested in leading us? Willing to share blood, and to stop feeding from humans? It didn’t make sense.” He flicked a glance at Savi before returning his attention to Colin. “It still doesn’t, but at least there’s no doubt you’re a vampire.”
    No, not just a distraction, she realized. The bloodlust was a tie, a commonality which the demon could never share.
    “I’ve no intention of giving up human blood or sharing mine,” Colin said. “And I’ll admit my first impulse was to let him drag you all to Hell with him.”
    Oh, god. Apparently, he wasn’t going to lie or attempt to charm them. A breathless tension hovered over the table for a moment as the vampires seemed to decide whether to take offense—or to take his blunt declaration as an indication of his readiness to have honesty between them, even if that honesty didn’t endear him to them.
    Finally, Darkwolf’s eyes narrowed. “What changed your mind?”
    “I find the demon’s use of my face and my name most disagreeable. Offensive, even.”
    “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Gina muttered.
    “I’ve no idea.” Colin’s tone held a hint of amusement. “But my vanity is nothing to my willingness to accede to Miss Murray’s determination not to let you fall slave to the demon’s yoke.”
    A smile touched Arwen’s lips as she cast a speculative glance at Savi; the sharp little points of her teeth made an appearance. Savi repressed her shiver. With Colin, with Darkwolf, the fangs fit. In Arwen’s pretty mouth, they were unexpected, and all the more sinister for the surprise.
    “Do you intend to become like us, little human?”
    Colin’s thigh tensed beneath her, but she rested her hand on his knee, squeezed lightly. Biting back her anger was difficult, but anger wouldn’t serve any purpose. Nor would asking Sir Pup to eat Arwen’s face.
    “I hope not,” Savi said. “I’ve got enough issues and my own prejudices to work through without adding ‘condescending vampire bigot’ to the list. What’s the point of that, really?” Remembering Gina’s outburst, she said, “Vampire Power? Let me guess: you want what Dalkiel had to offer you, but without Dalkiel attached?”
    Arwen waved a slim white hand toward the dance floor. “We’re stronger than them. Will outlive them. Yet we’re forced into the underbelly of the human world—and the Guardians’ and demons’ worlds. Why should it be that way? We should not have to beg for scraps from human society and mercy from the Guardians’ swords.”
    Savi shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be that way. But putting yourself above humans is the last thing you should do.”
    “So we should put ourselves below your Guardians?” Darkwolf’s gaze slid over to Colin. “Live by their whims and command? Serving the government, acting as informants against our own kind?”
    “Do you imagine we’re suggesting a trade? The demon’s yoke for the Guardians’? You mistake us.” Colin slid one of the sai blades from the sheath at Savi’s thigh, placed it on the table. As one, the three vampires stared down at the weapon. “If you want to follow tradition—and if your partner insists on insulting Miss Murray—you’re welcome to test your strength against mine. I’ll have no compunction smashing each of you beneath my heel; nor, by tradition, should you resent it when I do. As the most powerful of us, it is apparently my right to have those weaker than I bowing before me. So, please, prostrate yourselves. I prefer you do it smiling.”
    His voice took on a hard edge; his expression had the same cruel cast she’d seen before. Frustration lurked there, too; she didn’t need psychic abilities to read the tension in his body—a tension likely fed by the bloodlust.
    Would his patience have worn as thin if he hadn’t needed his hunger to establish that tie between them? His attempt to exploit their prejudice toward their own kind