Demon Moon

sudden increase in her heartbeat.
    Colin loved it when they did that.
    The male vampire who’d been observing her from one of the second-level lounges did not; Colin heard his growl between the pulses of electronic music. More black leather, a studded collar—he blended with half of Polidori’s human clientele, and most of the undead.
    Though she didn’t move, the woman in front of Colin seemed to flail about, trying to reclaim some of the seductive posture with which she’d started. He’d disrupted her without effort, without expression, but now Colin’s smile came easily.
    As he intended, she regained her confidence, if not her sense. Bracing her palms on the tabletop, she leaned forward and gave him a view of her ample cleavage. “May I buy you a drink?”
    Oh, good God. Could they not have come up with something more original? How did they expect him to respond? I never drink…wine .
    “No,” Colin said, “but if it’s free, I will take a sip.” He slid his fingers across the back of her hand. She shivered, and his smile widened.
    There was lust in her involuntary response, but also fear. Very good. It was foolish of them to approach him this way. Grasping her wrist, he pulled her around the table. After a brief hesitation, she sat on the cushion next to him. Her gaze never left his face, and her tongue flicked out to touch her lips. Her breathing deepened and slowed as she lifted her hair away from her neck.
    Colin brushed his thumb over the pulse beating at her throat. “I can make it very good for you,” he said softly, and rasped his teeth against her skin. Her lips parted on a gasp. How long would it take?
    Not long. The vampire abandoned his post in the lounge.
    Only a short lesson, then. Colin’s fangs sank deep. He controlled his descent, contained the pleasure of it—and sent the bubbling ecstasy back to her, let it course through her bloodstream. She stiffened and shuddered as the orgasm hit her, tiny cries breaking from her throat.
    Ah, humans. Unable to experience the rapture in any way but sexual. He drew back before the bloodlust could rise, not bothering to close the punctures. Let her partner do that; he’d scent Colin on her skin—and hopefully, wouldn’t forget.
    She would.
    Colin affected a bored expression as the vampire swept the still-quaking woman to her feet. After a furious glance at the streaming wounds, the vampire’s head dipped, his mouth closing over the punctures. His dark head against her pale skin made a fascinating study in contrasts.
    Colin sighed. It fascinated others as well, though for different reasons; the odor of blood was generating quite a bit of attention from the other vampires in the club. Perhaps it was for the best; he’d only have to explain this once.
    “I could have ripped out her throat,” Colin said pleasantly. The male lifted his head to stare at him, shaking with rage; the woman’s hands clenched on his shoulders as if to hold him back. Good girl. The flush of orgasm had left her cheeks, replaced by pale apprehension. “You don’t know me, yet you sent her to me.”
    The male’s shame apparently left him speechless—or he’d finally taken a good look at Colin. If it was the latter, Colin might have pity on him.
    Her eyes luminous, the woman replied, “It was my idea. We’d heard you don’t kill.” She swallowed. “Don’t kill humans.”
    Colin lifted his brows; his smile mocked them. “And from whom did you gather this intelligence?”
    “Everyone knows,” she said, but some of her bravado deserted her. She glanced up at her companion, as if for assistance.
    The vampire had been young when he’d been turned—twenty-five, perhaps. Judging by his late-1980’s hairstyle, Colin estimated his transformation had been fifteen or twenty years previous. How unfortunate that so many of the undead clung to the fashions of their youth.
    But then, so did humans.
    “You are Beaumont, aren’t you?” the vampire asked.
    “ Ames -Beaumont,” Colin corrected. “My grandmother bought the hyphen, and paid dearly for it delivering an earl; I should hate to see her sacrifice wasted.”
    After a brief moment of disconcertment, as if he did not know what to make of Colin’s reply, the male pulled out the chair tucked beneath the opposite side of the table. “May I?”
    Amused, Colin inclined his head. The Goth façade had dropped from the vampire in all but appearance; out came the Midwestern farm boy. The woman settled into his