Demon Moon

gift.”
    Of course Hugh wouldn’t have missed the henna, the matching rings. Was he trying to offer them more time before they were forced to make a decision?
    “He’s rather dry, but edible,” Colin said when she hesitated.
    “No. It’d be creepy if I became—” Aroused…with her brother. She let her shudder speak for her. “I’m not really hungry yet, anyway.”
    Hugh sighed, but gave no other indication that she’d lied. “There’s blood in the refrigerator; only use it if you must, Savi.”
    “You’ll not use it at all,” Colin said in a near growl. “Shaky, stupid , tired. You’ll risk your brain? For what?”
    She blinked. She hadn’t intended to drink any, but—“One day. It’ll give me time to think.”
    “To think—? Oh, bloody fucking hell, you’ll have me dreaming of the impossible.” Colin turned, stalked into the living room. She watched him, his head tilting back as he stared at the painting of Caelum, as he scraped his hand over the surface. When he returned to the kitchen, he looked at her—and relented with a short laugh. “One day. Think hard , love; without you, I’ll surely become everything I despise. A melancholy maniac, lurking around Castleford in hopes I’ll learn the most effective brooding techniques, donning a hideous friar’s robe in effigy.”
    “You know, Colin,” Lilith said, “Hugh saved her life last night. The least you could do is—”
    Before she could finish, Colin was kissing him.

    He could render in oil a flawless depiction of a face he hadn’t seen in two hundred years; it shouldn’t have been so difficult to garnish a glass of blood. The foam had dissipated minutes before, yet Colin still wavered between a sprig of mint, a slice of orange, or a twist of lemon.
    How did Savi so effortlessly create a beautiful plate from a few lumps of food and leaves? He’d have appreciated her guidance now, but she’d shut herself away with her computer in the hours since their return to the house. Hunger must be gnawing at her, yet she hadn’t sought him out—hadn’t joined him when he’d abandoned his studio and ate in the kitchen.
    He doubted it was the blood; she’d fed readily from the nosferatu, and had never been squeamish when he’d taken his in front of her. Perhaps it was too unfamiliar—a tasteless, unattractive meal after an existence filled with rich flavors and textures.
    Hardly an auspicious beginning to a life of blood-drinking, but he’d do what he could to ease her transition.
    The mint, he finally decided, looked too festive; the lemon clashed terribly with the red. With the fragrance of orange in his mouth, he carried the glass upstairs and found Savi curled on the bed in her suite. Her laptop was open, the screen dark.
    And it struck him that if he’d wanted to offer comfort and familiarity, he’d have done better to stay with her than decorate a glass. Would have done better than leave her alone.
    Would have done better than pretend they didn’t have so little time remaining.
    Her pajamas rustled as she turned. Her eyes tilted up at the corners with her smile of welcome, but their depths were solemn and dark.
    He strode across the room to cover the sudden weakness in his knees, the ache in his chest. She scooted the computer aside and levered herself upright; she remained still as he sat beside her and carefully examined her face, her fangs.
    “Did you look in the mirror? Do you like them?” Good God, but she was breathtaking.
    “Very much, though I’ll need to practice my public face.” She pulled an awkward grin that puffed her cheeks like a squirrel’s. “Am I disgustingly cold?”
    He smoothed his fingertips the length of her jaw. Cool satin. “No. You’re perfect.” Why hadn’t he told her already? Explored the novelty with her, answered her questions…eased her fears?
    It hadn’t occurred to him that she had any—particularly not concerning how he might see her now.
    “Am I disgustingly warm?” He brought her hand to his chin, and closed his eyes when her palm curved, her thumb brushing over his lips in a delicate caress.
    “No. You feel wonderful.” Her fingers shook, her voice thickened. “You feel so good and I can’t think of anything.”
    “Don’t cry.” He couldn’t drink from her—couldn’t help her as he had before. Desperately, he pushed the glass into her grip. “Eat.”
    Savi drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, god. Just like Nani.” Her head bowed, and the bed began to tremble