Demon Moon

quietly. He turned his arm; the bronze skin had healed flawlessly. “And the symbol—how was it written?”
    “In blood, on a mirror,” Colin said. “Neither was required by the curse; I thought it more appropriate to the mood that night.”
    Michael nodded. “I will note it, but not record the symbol. Particularly not in my blood.” Even as he spoke, it slid like red mercury across the surface of the Scroll, leaving glistening sentences in its wake. “Was there anything unique about the mirror or its frame?”
    Colin shook his head. “I believe it was gilded wood, Louis XIV perhaps.”
    “So writing the symbol on the mirror made it both bridge and reflect at once? And that’s probably why he sees Chaos in the mirror?” Savi guessed, and after a brief hesitation, Michael nodded. “But why does it work as a bridge for the wyrmwolves? It’s written on rock in Chaos, and he didn’t write it in blood.”
    Hugh looked up from the Scroll. “What did you use to carve it?”
    “Selah left weapons for me; perhaps it was a dagger.” Colin lifted his hands. “I was bleeding. Some might have dropped onto the symbol.”
    “But you aren’t certain?”
    Colin shrugged, a tight smile around the corners of his lips, his eyes. “No. I’d delayed my daysleep for days, and hadn’t fed in almost a sennight. I wasn’t supposed to be awake after Selah left, let alone fleeing the caves for the top of a mountain.”
    Oh, god. “You knew the wyrmwolves were coming when you sent her away?”
    “Yes, sweet.”
    “But you woke up.”
    “Yes.”
    He wouldn’t have wanted to; he’d have wanted to go easy…like his sister and Ramsdell had. And he’d been starving—weak. The instinct to survive might have driven him to fight the wyrmwolves, but how had he managed the strength to do it, and to run? Where had he gotten the—?
    Her eyes widened. “You drank from them? That’s why you were certain the wyrmwolves were connected to you when they first appeared. And why you can sense them. Not just because you are an anchor to Chaos; you ingested their blood.”
    “Yes, but the buggers took most of it back,” he said and looked at Michael. “She’s likely correct; yet they respond to her psychic scent, not mine.”
    Michael’s dark gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “I’d be surprised if venom and nosferatu blood had such an effect alone. Did you take her blood the night the first wyrmwolf appeared?” When Colin shook his head, the Doyen met Savi’s eyes. “Have you taken in his blood?”
    “No. I bit him, but I was careful; I’m positive I didn’t swallow any.” Her cheeks heated slightly.
    Colin glanced down at her, his fangs exposed in a brief, teasing grin before he said, “It arrived directly after—too soon for it to have been the bite.”
    “And the fever began long before that.”
    “In the plane?” Lilith said.
    “I first noticed it in the car. Not long after…” Her voice broke, and she stared up at Colin. “Not long after you healed me with your blood.”
    The last traces of his smile faded. “That is also when I first noticed the scent. But I’ve used my blood to heal thousands of people—everyone I’ve fed from, even after I returned from Chaos.”
    “But none of them had hellhound and nosferatu tainting their veins.” Her mind raced. “Or it was the henna—all over my hands. What if there was a symbol in the design somewhere?”
    “It could be any of those things,” Michael agreed. “Or a combination of them all, or something we’ve not considered.”
    “In the hospital, was my room protected by the spell?”
    “No,” Hugh said.
    “My shields were down from the fever, but no wyrmwolves came. For two weeks.”
    “Because I was not near enough to sense you,” Colin said slowly. “It’s not you or me, but us .”
    “Yes.” She saw the despair in his gaze, the tightness around his lips. “It doesn’t matter,” she added quickly, though her stomach knotted. “I can keep my shields up. And I’ll only be here for a few more weeks anyway.”
    Hugh said quietly, “Michael, are there any alternative food sources for a vampire? Blood—but not from humans, or that isn’t accompanied by a sexual urge?”
    “No.” He ran his hand over the parchment and the liquid stilled, sank into the paper. “If there were, I’d have given vampires that choice long ago.”
    The tight clasp of Colin’s fingers on hers grew painful; she held on, uncaring.
    The Doyen’s crimson blood