Demon Moon

process. He’d not taken more than a couple of sips before he simply…flared out. I could not revive him.”
    “What did you do?”
    “There was nothing to do; I wrote to Ramsdell—and we both thought the failure had been an indication of some hidden reluctance on Polidori’s part. Creating a vampire is very easy for most. Foolproof. Despite the taint, there was no reason to think the fault lay with my blood instead of Polidori—after all, I transformed without incident, though I suffered from weakness caused by a month-long starvation. And so when Shelley wrote to me, I did not hesitate.”
    Her brow creased. “Why? He wasn’t a friend to you.”
    “No, but he was not all that terrible—indeed, in some respects he reminded me of Emily. Very romantic, sometimes overly sentimental. There were other reasons. Appreciation for beauty and talent. And I thought Polidori would have wished it, his admiration for Shelley was so great, so perhaps it was guilt as well. This time, I made certain the blood was taken all at once, very quickly.” He swallowed, his jaw clenching as he stared down at the mattress. “His screams did not last until daytime; within minutes, his skin had blackened as if he’d roasted from inside, and he was dead.”
    Savi scooted forward, wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “You don’t have to tell me any more,” she said, her throat aching.
    He slid his hand into her hair, dropped a kiss to her forehead before sitting back to look at her. It seemed with effort, he smiled; ice lingered about the edge of it. “It’s no hardship, sweet. I’ll finish—and I rather like the last one.”

    Yet another reason not to obsess over the past, Colin thought; not only did it transform one into a brooding maniac, it made one forget the present. He hadn’t guarded his tongue—how could Savitri not be offended at such a statement?—but she neither recoiled nor appeared startled by his admission. A contemplative frown touched the corners of her lovely mouth, her eyes darkening to the same rich velvet brown surrounding them.
    “Byron had already been turned, hadn’t he?”
    Colin blinked, his hesitancy to continue—and the bitterness the recollection had revived—dropping away in his surprise. “Do not try to convince me you’ve deduced that from what I’ve told you today.”
    “No.” She shrugged. “I read a biography once, and you said last night that a vampire had fed from you. Byron had strange eating habits, uncertain health toward the end of his life, and a beautiful face. And he was considered a hero, a celebrity. Why wouldn’t he have sought true immortality if he knew he could? But not from you.”
    “He did not seek it at all; it was forced upon him by a vampire who admired him and wished to give him eternal life and beauty. It did not take well.”
    “Because he didn’t choose it?”
    “Yes. And the doctors around him mistook his affliction, kept him bled out, weakened and starving. He wrote to me in desperation, deciding that even vampirism was preferable to death.” Colin grimaced. “Good God, but he’d have been an intolerable sort of immortal, constantly lamenting his existence. An eternity’s worth of brilliant poetry wouldn’t have compensated for such dreariness.”
    “It’s fortunate, then, that most choose it.”
    “Yes.” He watched her carefully as he admitted, “I’d have refused his entreaty; I’d have left him to rot. Only at Ramsdell’s insistence did we travel to Greece.”
    “You didn’t leave Varney and Paul to rot last night. I’ll weigh the two events, and decide whether to hate you.” She tilted her head, as if considering. “No, I still love you.”
    There was but one response: to kiss her senseless. Her lips were smiling beneath his, ripening with hunger and need as he continued.
    Only the onset of the bloodlust made him stop—he’d had more than he should’ve the night before, and dared not take more—but he found his pleasure in the knowledge that she was, indeed, senseless, her gaze soft and unfocused, her skin flushed.
    Irresistible.
    Best to finish quickly. “His end was the same as the others: he took the blood—which should have strengthened him immediately—and his life was snuffed. We felt the heat emanate from him, though his skin did not burn; a difference caused, most likely, by his transformation and the manner in which the blood is processed.”
    Her expression sharpened. “A normal vampire transformed