Demon Moon

gaze fell to her throat—the chain of her pendant snagged on the torn skin. Her gadget; she wouldn’t have forgotten it was there. But had she time to call for help? Had the Doyen been in any condition to teleport?
    The signaler button had fallen behind her neck; her eyes opened when he reached for it.
    Her brows arched infinitesimally, an unmistakable question. What took you so long?
    Good God. He couldn’t live without her.
    “You can save her if you transform her.” The glee in Dalkiel’s voice made it a hiss. “Are you so certain your blood will destroy her?”
    So this was the demon’s game—not enough that she died, but that Colin had to have hope enough he could save her, only to see his blood kill her anyway.
    But he’d nothing to lose; and what other choices had he? He brought his wrist to his mouth, severed the vein.
    Michael appeared beside them, his sword in hand. A blood-stained bandage wrapped his bare torso. He glanced down at Savi; healing power knocked Colin forward.
    Dalkiel turned and fled.
    Savi shuddered, heaved. Her heart stopped for an endless moment before beating a rapid, impossible pace. He clenched his teeth and held on to her; tears itched over his cheeks. Michael had repaired flesh and skin, but he couldn’t give her blood. And too much had been taken. There was no hope—no hope except—
    “A Guardian,” he realized. She’d have to serve, but she’d live . “You must make her a Guardian.”
    Michael lowered to his heels beside them. “I cannot.”
    Her breath rattled to an end. A thin moan rose from Colin’s chest. “The taint—”
    “The Rules. She did not sacrifice herself for another,” Michael said softly. “You must try to transform her. With their blood, if not yours.” He gestured to the vampires lying dead around them, but his face was set with concentration as he stared down at Savi.
    Colin stilled. Not these vampires. They weren’t good enough.
    “Colin—you must hurry .” The Doyen’s voice was strained. “I can keep her brain cells oxygenated but a short time; if they die before she is transformed, they cannot be repaired.”
    “No,” he said, resolution lending him strength, and he lifted her. “I’ll not do it here. Can you teleport us together?”
    Michael rose; his gaze never left Savi’s face. “Yes.”
    It didn’t matter if he was wrong—Chaos couldn’t be worse than failure. “I need a weapon,” Colin said.

    The nosferatu had no chance. Colin fired the venom-filled dart into Ariphale’s neck before it had time to react to their appearance in the detention cell.
    The second dart hit its chest as it fell to the floor, paralyzed except for its mind. Its psychic scent burned with rage.
    Nosferatu hated nothing so much as vampires; Ariphale would have likely rather died than be used to create one—particularly the human woman who’d humiliated him. A fitting punishment, if not preferable to execution.
    And now Colin could only thank the stubborn Washington bureaucrats for delaying it. He shoved his knee into the nosferatu’s throat to hold it down—he’d no idea how powerful the venom was, and Michael needed to attend to Savi—and glanced up.
    She lay in the Doyen’s arms. Colin couldn’t hear her heartbeat.
    His voice was hoarse. “Give her to me.”
    Her slender frame felt heavy without life flowing through it. Awkwardly, he reached for the nosferatu’s wrist; Michael lifted it to his questing fingers.
    “Colin, you must prepare yourself if it does not work; the changes in her blood may interfere with the transformation.”
    His only reply was to tear open the cold skin, to take in a mouthful of exquisite, dark liquid. An electric storm swept across his tongue—so incredibly strong.
    Nosferatu blood had overcome his taint; it would overcome hers.
    It quite simply had to.
    Her lips were slack. He massaged her throat, forced her to swallow.
    No . Not force—she’d want this. She’d want immortality.
    He didn’t let himself consider that it couldn’t include him. Surely contemplation of it now—when she still didn’t move and her open eyes were devoid of curiosity—would push him beyond a threshold of agony, and there was only so much he could bear.
    Another draw from the nosferatu’s vein, given like a kiss past her lips.
    Why didn’t she respond? Less blood than this had allowed Colin to survive for a month, though his transformation had been incomplete.
    Panic settled over him; he sealed her mouth with his