Demon Moon

teeth clenched; she shook under the easy glide of his body into hers, his gentle thrusts.
    “You’re open, love. Your shields are down.” He whispered it against her ear; in the pool, the tips of her hair fluttered as the strands caught his breath. “You’re already there.”
    She was…she was but she couldn’t go over. “Please.”
    “No pain. Not this time.” His lips touched the back of her neck, but only to kiss, to lick. His hand pushed between the marble and her sex, worked at the slick, taut bud. At delicate flesh, stretched around him.
    A sob lodged in her throat, but she rocked back against him, took more and more. “Help me.”
    He cupped her chin; his thumb pressed against her panting mouth. “Hold on, love.” And he eased the side of his palm between her lips, her teeth. “Take what you need.”
    Not her pain, but his; she bit down, heard and felt his groan against her skin. She did that to him. She was the reason for his breathless chant, the swaying of her breasts, the excitement and heat and wet. The fullness deep within her. And there was only him inside her, pushing and pushing…pushing her painlessly over. His hand captured her cry, her wonder.
    And then finally pain, though she didn’t need it—the delicious sting accompanied the two punctures in her neck. Her blood rolled across the shape of his tongue, then disappeared from the reflection when he took it in, made it his.
    And her last coherent thought was that if anything in Caelum abided by sensible rules, she’d have vanished, too.

    If Michael thought it strange that Savi wore a mahogany painting of Caelum over her arms and shoulders—and guessed that, beneath her strappy backless top and long skirt, it covered the rest of her skin—he gave no indication.
    It had taken most of twenty-four hours for the color to fully develop, with Savi wrapped up like a mummy for a good portion of it. The color would fade—first from the long stretches of fragile skin on her back, torso and legs, last from her hands and feet—but now, Colin thought it perfect.
    And he couldn’t tear his eyes from it. The beauty of Caelum surrounded him, and yet it was the spires rising over her forearms that held him captive, the tower braced by her spine, the curve of a domed temple on her shoulder. The fountain’s wall ribboned around the base of her throat; he’d painted no higher, and it served as an ideal frame for her slim neck, the delicate structure of her face.
    It was, he thought as he took her hand and readied for teleportation, well worth the price.
    She smiled up at him as Caelum dropped out from beneath their feet…and then he clutched frantically at her wrist, trying to keep her from falling. The iron band of Michael’s arm around his chest held him dangling above a nightmare. Screams split the putrid air like an overripe corpse.
    Chaos.
    The bodies hanging above them, rotting—their faces frozen into the ceiling.
    A loud snap cracked through the shrieks as the Doyen’s wings unfurled from nothing. The rush of freefall jarred to a stop. From the corner of his vision, Colin saw pale skin, membranous wings. Heard a shout of surprise in the Old Language as the nosferatu recognized Michael. The dull shine of their weapons.
    “Don’t look,” Colin begged, and grabbed for Savi’s left hand, hauled her up against him. But she was looking—her gaze had focused over his head, her eyes widening. Then vacant and staring, as horror settled in. Her body shuddered, and she kicked wildly at him, tried to yank her hands from his. “Savi, don’t run, don’t—”
    “Dragon,” Michael said quietly in warning, but the tone made it a near shout. “Prepare yourself; hold her.”
    A flash of scales, the stink of sulphur—the impact ripped Colin and Savi from the Doyen’s grip.
    Falling. Rivers of molten rock below; it would be quick and painless and Savi was somewhere else, not running now, and she would never know they burned and burning was better than being eaten, thank God—
    “Colin,” she said against his ear, and her arms tightened around him. “He’s coming.”
    The dragon? God, no, please no.
    He scented Michael’s blood before the Doyen collided with them, a rush of black feathers and bronze skin.
    Glass splintered around them into slicing, biting shards. Savi grunted as he landed on her, as they crashed through the Room and skidded into the observation area, the friction of the carpet like fire against his hands.
    Savi’s