Demon Moon

chances.”
    “He doesn’t look as if he cares all that much.”
    “No.”
    Darkwolf slid his hand over Sir Pup’s ears. “Dalkiel is using threats against their partners to keep them in line. For some, it’s not effective—some partners are together because there’s no one else, and they just have to feed.” He glanced at Savi, then back to Colin. “I am not one of them. I won’t bargain with a demon to save myself, but I will Arwen and Gina. I have refused him once; the three of us have. Gina witnessed his humiliation. We were already in line of Dalkiel’s anger, but we may be more so now.”
    “So we are perfectly clear: I will destroy you if you try. And if I ever need make a choice between Savi and the lot of you, I’ll choose her.” He smiled slightly, took her hand to ease her sudden tension. “But there are alternatives.”
    “I don’t want to flee.” Darkwolf’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Not again.”
    “It may be what saves you,” Colin said. “But you’ll not have to run far. The nearest room typically suffices.”
    Savi blinked. “You’re going to show him the symbols?”
    “We’ve told the employees; it’ll hardly stay secret for long. It’s a temporary measure,” Colin told Darkwolf as he took out his card, a pencil. “Though the three of you could stay within its protection indefinitely, you’ll only need the extra time for help to arrive.”
    “It’s fleeing,” Darkwolf said, though he leaned forward with interest. “I’m not a coward.”
    Amused, Colin lifted a brow. Did he think it made him seem weak? “It’s survival,” he said. “We’re prey to a demon. And a warren is a more attractive choice than an eternity frozen motionless in the putrid bowels of Hell.”
    “Well, god, when you put it that way…” Savi rolled her eyes and burst into laughter.
    Colin grinned and began to sketch the symbols on the card. The line of the first wobbled. The pencil shook in his hand.
    He swallowed, concentrated. Forced it to steady.
    Perhaps he was a bit tired, too.

    It was eerie, how still he was.
    For a few moments, Savi’s own breath seemed to stop as Colin slipped into his daysleep. The rise and fall of his chest ceased; his features took on the waxy, bloodless cast of the newly dead.
    The subtle radiance that differentiated him from Dalkiel died, like a film of grease over a lens. He was still beautiful, but she decided that bouncing on him in this state wasn’t the least bit appealing.
    It’d be hours before he awoke. There was nothing she had to do that she could. The symbols protected the house, but prevented her from working online. She wasn’t hungry, and there wasn’t anything to clean.
    Days like this were why video games had been created. DemonSlayer it was.
    She planned her strategy in the Seventh Level of Hell as she arranged the curtains around the bed. It was Savi’s favorite level, full of violent sinners and harpies that had to be killed before moving up to the Sixth Level. Her gaze skimmed the room. Why didn’t he put drapes on the windows? He painted in the dark; surely he didn’t need natural light for his gallery. Perhaps he just preferred it—
    She stifled the scream that threatened to tear with jagged fingernails at her throat.
    Outside the turret, Dalkiel hung upside down, grinning though the glass. His scales gleamed dully in the sunlight, his eyes glowed scarlet. In his talons, he held a twelve-inch cardboard box.
    Her hands fisted in the heavy velvet, her gut clenching. She was safe. Colin was safe. Dalkiel couldn’t break through the spell.
    Despite that reassurance, clammy perspiration snaked the length of her spine. Naked. She grabbed for her robe, pulled it on.
    As if in response to her sudden fright, her discomfort, Dalkiel shape-shifted into her form. The box disappeared, and he twisted and clutched at his breasts and crotch in a disgusting parody of masturbation.
    Anger rose to take the place of fear. Yanking the belt tight around her waist, she stalked into Colin’s dressing room. A pistol lay on a pile of neatly folded undershirts.
    She could shoot through the glass; the symbols only prevented things from coming in.
    When she returned to the bedroom, the gun in hand, Dalkiel was gone. Her breathing rapid, unsteady, she cocked her head and waited. And immediately berated herself.
    Stupid. She was listening for him; she couldn’t hear him any more than he could her.
    A red blur had her spinning around, aiming the