Demon Moon

blood.
    Unfortunately, at that moment neither he nor Epona did.
    Colin smiled when he looked at Epona again, and she cringed back into the cushions. “Did you empty this room of its weapons, as well?”
    “Yes. I’m sorry, I—”
    “Don’t apologize to me . I only refrain from killing you to avoid upsetting Miss Murray; she’s much more reasonable and forgiving of such things. You made a bargain to save Raven’s life?”
    She nodded, her breath shallow. “I’m not sorry for that.”
    “I’d have done the same for Miss Murray.” He adjusted his collar, tested the wounds on his neck. Raw, but closed. “It must have been quite the demonstration the demon gave you, when the nosferatu tore apart those vampires. They were your friends?”
    “Yes.” If possible, she appeared smaller than before, older. She darted a glance from his throat to Ariphale. “Do you need blood?”
    “Yes.” He strolled to the sofa, tipped her chin up and coldly studied her neck. She paled; her lips quivered. “But not yours. I will, however, take this.” With deft fingers, he unbuckled her spiked leather choker and slid it into his pocket. “Once it realizes there is no exit the Guardians will not cover, that it is trapped, it will slaughter us; you’d do well to escape.”
    “How?” she whispered.
    “It’ll not leave the symbols unprotected to pursue you, for fear I’ll destroy the spell. Leap through.”
    Colin pointed to the ragged hole in the upper half of the wall. Selah hovered outside, looking down at them. Her hands were moving as if she signed instructions, but he could not understand them.
    The spell, taking its own interpretation of “silence” to prevent all communication.
    “What about you?”
    “If we both tried to escape, it would come after us. And even if I made it out, it could remain here indefinitely—until Polidori’s fell down around it, or I set it on fire to flush it out. I’ve no intention to pay for the club’s restoration again.” He frowned as Ariphale fidgeted uneasily at the door, angling its head to look at Selah. “Go now, or I’ll reconsider and take your place.”
    He should, regardless. Though Selah probably reported their location and safety within, Savi would be frantic with worry.
    But he wearied of these intrusions into his homes; and if she had to leave him, he could at least give her a safe location to return to whenever she needed one.
    Provided he survived, of course.
    Ariphale’s growl rumbled through the suite when Epona sprinted for the wall; its white naked body tensed as if to give chase, then stilled as it glanced back at Colin.
    “I may have been weak enough that you could have caught her and returned to intercept me before I reached the door,” Colin said, smiling. He approached the nosferatu at a slow, insolently careless stroll. “But it’s difficult to be certain, is it not?”
    “It is not.”
    The nosferatu could not be given accolades for wit and diction, but Colin was surprised that it had answered at all. He’d anticipated the creature would dismiss him as a nonentity.
    “Ah, yes. You must know the limits of my strength. You’ve taken my blood; you know that many things which should be impossible for a vampire, I can do. You felt one of them—Chaos—whilst you fed.”
    But Ariphale had either withstood it disturbingly well, or Colin hadn’t the ability to channel that realm as he could when taking blood. Savi had reacted with horror, and three young vampires had screamed in fear; Ariphale hadn’t shown the slightest discomfort.
    Not until Savi had destroyed his demon partner.
    Colin touched the tip of his tongue to his left fang, let the scent of his blood tinge his breath.
    Ariphale’s nostrils flared.
    The nosferatu had its own curse: bloodlust. A vampire would have been satisfied after taking so much from Colin earlier, but the nosferatu couldn’t experience physical hunger, and so the bloodlust was not eased by feeding. And Colin couldn’t mistake its effect on the creature’s body.
    Nor could he mistake the creature’s self-disgust at its reaction.
    Colin leaned his shoulder against the wall, crossed his feet at the ankles. “It is a terrible burden, a curse such as this,” he said, his voice overripe with melancholy. “The endless need; the lack of control; the loss of one’s will. The revolting urge to rut like an animal.”
    “Your lament would please a demon, who might assist you in ending your own existence and