Demon Moon

out of the car,” he said, and turned onto Eddy Street. Near Polidori’s. “Your scent is…like a peach. Or a mango. And I’m starving.” A muscle in his cheek flexed. “I don’t always have control.”
    A shiver ran up her spine, but she couldn’t name its cause. Not simply fear or lust; what was in between? “You said you’d eaten.” Vampires—even Colin—didn’t need more than one feeding a night.
    “I did.” Frustration tightened his voice. “Is it your soap?”
    “No. It’s probably in my skin. I must’ve eaten a hundred mangoes when I was in India, and two more just before I left. I have no control over myself, either, but I stopped short of taking a mango bath,” she said, and waited for his smile. It came slowly. In the dim light, his teeth shone brilliantly white. “The mango wallahs sell them right on the street. Have you ever had one?”
    “No.” Another deep inhalation. “Tell me.”
    Tell me . Memory of the last time he’d issued that command flashed through her. She shifted in the seat, pressed her thighs together to ease the pulsing ache. “They’re more intense, brighter in flavor than a peach, and the flesh is firm and smooth and slippery. And the juice…cold, sunwarm—it doesn’t matter.” She looked down at her hands, remembering how sticky they’d been. “There aren’t any like them imported into the U.S.; you’ve got to be there to know what a really, really good mango is like.” Caelum on her tongue.
    “Did you return with any?” His question was so low, she almost didn’t hear it. He parked in a reserved space, killed the engine.
    “No; it’s too difficult to get through Customs. It’s easier to kill a nosferatu on a plane than take a piece of fruit on one.” She smiled wryly and glanced up. Her breath caught. He’d turned toward her; his face was expressionless but for the heat in his gaze. His eyes glittered with pale fire.
    Her mouth was parched; she seemed to be burning from the inside. She tried to moisten her tongue, to swallow. His hungry gaze followed the movement of her jaw and throat. “I need a drink,” she said hoarsely.
    His laugh was short, hard. He opened the door and cold air flooded in. “So do I.”



CHAPTER 4

    The nosferatu suffer from bloodlust, but they don’t have to eat. That’s how they hide undetected in caves for so long—there isn’t a trail of corpses for the Guardians to follow. Vampires have to feed every day, though; and the bloodlust can make the urge to feed and the urge to have sex nearly indistinguishable. And the feeding feels incredible for whomever is being sucked on—that’s what they tell me, anyway .
    —Savi to Taylor, 2007

    Colin rested his hand against the small of her back as he guided her past a long line of clubbers. As an act of courtesy, it proved a masochistic one; beneath his palm, the gentle curve of her spine moved in rhythm with her steps, the beat of the music from inside. Matched the need throbbing within him.
    He ground his teeth together, urged her forward a little more quickly. How could he be so desperate to feed? He’d taken enough for two days from the last blonde alone.
    “It was popular before, but not like this,” Savitri murmured.
    Colin glanced at the queue; mostly human, but a few vampires waited, as well. A growl rose unbidden in his throat. He didn’t want her here, he didn’t want to be here—yet he’d been unable to refuse her request.
    And she hadn’t even flattered him.
    His gaze dropped to her neck; her short hair left it deliciously exposed. He should mark her as his. Protect her from the vampires here and the others inside. Inhale her, drink her, sink into her—
    He swallowed thickly and forced the territorial hunger aside. What he wanted to do to her could not be considered protection.
    “It’s morbid fascination,” he finally replied.
    She sighed, and her lashes swept down against her cheeks. The investigators—and the press—had linked Polidori’s to last year’s ritual murders; burning it had been determined a cult’s symbolic way of beginning its quest for immortality.
    All lies, of course; Colin had helped fabricate them. But the story had entertained the public for months, and many of the people standing outside had only come because of the club’s connection with death. Her friends’ deaths.
    “And I spent a sordid amount of money on it,” he added. “I can’t fault them for recognizing my unparalleled taste and flocking here to