Demon Moon

expression tightened his smile.
    “Shelley’s?” she guessed.
    He dropped his forehead to hers. “John Polidori’s. You’ve already deduced most of this, haven’t you?”
    “Only that the three men who were at Lake Geneva when you were cursed died not many years afterward. All very young, and the first of whom was your friend. Were the others?”
    “No,” he said flatly.
    “When did you meet him—Polidori?”
    “In Edinburgh, 1813, whilst the good Dr. Ramsdell and I attended a series of lectures on the medicinal use of leeches.” He lifted his head and arched a brow. “I had something of an obsession for it at the time.”
    She was immediately diverted. “You went to medical school? Did you drop out?”
    “My obsession burnt itself out,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “A peer’s son does not ‘drop out’; the lectures failed to hold my attention. The medical properties of my blood no longer fascinated me, and we learned no more about the reasons behind it than when Ramsdell returned from Caelum—except that it sped the healing of whomever I bled over.”
    Ramsdell had utilized the healing knowledge he’d gained in Caelum in his practice as a physician? “Didn’t you risk exposure?”
    “Even if the accuser would not be named mad, who would dare level such an accusation at me? Certainly no one from the lower classes. And if someone of higher rank had attempted such, they’d likely have been ousted from Society. Beauty has always garnered far more invitations than virtue. I cut a dashing figure through many a ballroom; so long as I did not smile too boldly, no one was uneasy.”
    Was he being facetious? “Not everyone could have been so blind; some must have known.”
    “Yes. We were not quite as shallow as that, but the moral implications so important to the underclass hardly mattered to many of those in my set. And at that time, vampires were the ragged undead—a papist’s myth, most popular amongst the peasantry on the Continent, therefore easily dismissed. I could not be lumped with them.” He paused. “You are revolted.”
    She forced herself to admit, “Perhaps it is best two hundred years have passed; I wouldn’t have liked who you were then. I’m sorry.”
    “I’d not have cared for the opinion of a foreign female, so we are equal in our hypothetical disdain.” The warmth in his gaze softened the words. “I’d have charmed you into my bed.”
    “That’s probably true. So I would’ve slept with you because you’re gorgeous, and then discarded you for your condescension,” she said lightly, and rocked her hips beneath his when he laughed. “What of Polidori?”
    “Ah, poor Polidori,” he said. His smile failed, and he shook his head. “No, he does not deserve that epithet. He was brilliant, Savi, and exceptionally young for a man in his final year before his physicians’ exams. Engaging, humorous—if not dripping with wit—and more than willing to bestow his admiration on those he deemed worthy. And though he was given to tedious bouts of melancholia and brooding, I liked him very much. Of course he soon deduced that I was not all I seemed.”
    “What was his reaction? Why melancholia?”
    “Much like yours: curiosity. He wanted to know all, and Ramsdell and I could see no danger in telling him how I was transformed—though we left out details such as the Doyen’s sword. He knew I was different from the usual sort of vampire, but we explained the difference by my status as one of the nosferatu-born. There were—are—few other nosferatu-born vampires to which he could compare me to determine the truth of it.”
    And even if Polidori had, he would have found them much like Colin: stronger, faster, with greater psychic capabilities, though unable to wake or walk in daylight. Savi knew of one—Lucas, Selah’s partner. Though her body quivered with the need to ask about the others, she bit her tongue to prevent it.
    “Hold still. As for the melancholia, he admired and loved nothing more than poetry, but unfortunately had little talent for it. Equally unfortunate was that though he was aware of his lack, he could not accept that he would always be mediocre. His employment with Byron—and his acquaintance with Shelley—allowed him close to everything he wished to be, gave him a glimpse of it, but also prevented him from forgetting his own lack. Byron, particularly, took care to mock his efforts.”
    “Should they have been mocked?”
    “Yes.” Colin