Demon Moon

didn’t mistake the excited flutter in her stomach. Stupid, shallow lunatic. She should run. Friendship with him was madness. Dangerous.
    But would it be dangerous? In Caelum, he had been under the influence of the realm’s surreal beauty and the extraordinary emotions it had created. They both had been. Whatever his motives now, he seemed determined not to alienate Lilith and Hugh. And whatever he thought he might get from her, nothing would come of it. She had her promise to keep.
    “No,” she finally said. “I’m not engaged yet.”
    He smiled lazily. “Then may I kiss you until you are? Just to taste now and again.”
    She shook her head; not in denial, but to clear it.
    “Do not fear, Savi; I’ll wait until you trust me a bit more. I’ll not take advantage of your confusion.”
    She was not confused. This was very simple: He was a vampire, intent on drinking her blood for his pleasure. Who would use her with little concern for the damage he could inflict. Her indecision wasn’t because her head couldn’t figure that out, but because the rest of her was brainless. And because her arousal and curiosity were far too strong.
    She could ignore the first and make certain that she was rarely alone with him—and perhaps friendship was a safe way to appease her curiosity. But was it worth the risk?
    He offered his hand, accompanied it with a reassuring smile. “Shall I walk you home?”
    Hesitantly, she placed her palm against his.

    From the outside, the warehouse in Hunter’s Point appeared as decrepit as the rest of the neighborhood. Rust stained the metal siding and the roof boasted a haphazard mix of materials, as if it had been hastily and cheaply repaired too many times.
    Colin winced as one of his tires jarred into a pothole, and prayed the buckling asphalt in the parking lot wouldn’t damage the Bentley’s undercarriage. Such an expensive nuisance, mechanics and maintenance. If Colin didn’t enjoy driving so much, he’d have hired a chauffeur years ago to take care of such things.
    Castleford’s and Lilith’s motorcycles stood propped near the back entrance. Colin parked in the next space and deactivated the car alarm. It would not deter skilled thieves, and the warehouse had been soundproofed; the alarm could blare incessantly without anyone inside hearing it.
    The entrance gave the first indication the warehouse was not all it appeared; Colin swiped his card and waited for the sound of the locks disengaging. The door had been constructed of reinforced steel, four inches thick.
    Inside, a long undecorated corridor led him to the security desk. The white walls hid a myriad of sensors that read temperature and scanned for weapons. A defense system, too—venom-laced darts and gas canisters.
    Jeeves sat behind a bulletproof glass shield and watched him approach.
    A joke that Lilith aimed at him, Colin was certain. The Guardians undergoing training at the facility alternated shifts at the desk, but always took the same form: an elderly man, with the stiffest upper lip Colin had seen outside Windsor Castle. Castleford had claimed it was simply practice for the fledglings, disappearing into a role and maintaining a physical transformation—but Colin hadn’t missed the humor in the other man’s gaze when he’d given the explanation.
    “Good afternoon, Jeeves. Do I pass?” Or not, as was better proof of his identity.
    “I have been unable to attain a satisfactory reading, sir. Please enter a voice sample.”
    Colin rolled his eyes and moved to a panel on the wall. A demon could easily mimic his voice, but it was one of the few methods of identification they could use with him. “Colin Ames-Beaumont, vampire and master of the sartorial arts. Do you adore my waistcoat, Jeeves?”
    “It is positively smashing, sir. Please submit to a retinal and handprint scan.”
    Colin’s brows rose. “I never have before. Why now?”
    “Agent Milton has instituted a new policy, sir.”
    He smiled, allowing the tips of his fangs to show. “What is the point, Jeeves?”
    “Please submit, sir.”
    His jaw clenched, but he stepped forward, slapped his hand against the panel, and stared ahead.
    “Thank you, sir.”
    A door to Colin’s left slid open. He glanced back at the old man. “Did anything register, Rebecca?”
    “No, sir. But if a demon had been impersonating you, he would have shown up on the sensors. We are no longer to rely upon your not appearing in the initial scans in the corridor. How