Demon Moon

forearm.
    “Primarily, I beat my valet for tying my cravats in an unsatisfactory manner,” he said, and her bubbling laughter evaporated against the heat in his gaze. “You should not ask about my hardness, Savitri.”
    “I don’t mean to be a tease,” she said softly.
    “I know. It is your prejudice against the upper classes speaking, not your desire to bed me. Alas.”
    She opened her mouth and closed it again. He’d said it lightly, as a statement rather than an accusation; she wasn’t certain how to respond. He stopped beside the Bentley, and she withdrew her hand and crossed her arms over her chest.
    “The truth is, my valet was worth a thousand men. I’d have beaten my father before I spoke harshly to Winters, for fear that he’d abandon me for a more amiable employer,” he said as he unlocked the passenger door. “The answer you seek is: riding and driving my horses. Fencing. Pursuing other pleasures, usually of the female variety.”
    Savi nodded absently, arrested by his lack of reflection in the car’s tinted windows. She had one; her cream coat mirrored in the darkened glass—why didn’t his clothes? And though half of him was between her and the window, none of her seemed to be blocked or missing. How could light pass through him?
    The key in his hand didn’t show up, either—nothing he held or wore did, apparently. “Can you see my reflection in the window? Does it look like I’m alone?”
    His voice hardened. “Yes.”
    She peered intently at the image. Her coat ended mid-thigh; it belted at the waist, though she hadn’t bothered to button or tie it closed. It should have fallen straight past her hips, but it slanted in toward her left leg. “You aren’t completely absent; I can see you in the way your thigh against the bottom of my coat keeps it from hanging vertically.”
    He drew in a sharp breath, and stepped aside. In the window, the fabric swayed as if from a breeze. She was watching the reflection, and couldn’t see his expression when he reached out and lifted the end of her dangling belt.
    “Oh my god,” she laughed, enchanted. Instead of vanishing as the keys had, the belt floated upward; it dropped back to her side when he released it. If he lifted her, it’d probably look as if she were floating, too. “And apparently, only things that are yours are affected. Like placing items in a hammerspace—the disappearance is contingent upon possession.”
    She turned her head to glance at his profile; he stared at the window, his gaze tracing whatever he saw reflected from that angle.
    “Hang Michael and his bloody mirrors,” he said quietly. “I’m going to kiss you senseless once we are in the car.”
    Liquid heat slid down her spine, and she had to swallow past the sudden dryness in her throat. “What he said must’ve upset you very badly.”
    He turned from the window. The halogen security lights washed his hair to pale gold, highlighted each plane and angle of his face. She couldn’t look away.
    “Yes. And I will tell you about it, after I have your mouth. But it must be your choice, Savitri; I’ll neither open the door, nor assist you inside. I’ll not even ask that you lower your shields.” He smiled without humor. “Unless you need to call for help, as a scream will not reach through the soundproofing.”
    “Will I need help?” Her skin tingled in anticipation; she ran her hands up and down the sleeves of her coat, trying to ease the gooseflesh that shivered over her arms.
    He shook his head.
    “Why?”
    Without answering her, he walked around the front of the car. She stared at him over the top; he held her gaze before swinging the door open and settling behind the steering wheel.
    Oh god. Why did he have to do it this way? Her choice. Undeniably her choice. No vampire tricks—she couldn’t even see him, and blame it on his beautiful face.
    It was just a kiss. Between friends.
    She lowered her forehead to the metal roof, hoping to cool the fever that raged through her. He must see her standing there, her torso outlined against the window. The handle was smooth and cold beneath her fingers; she didn’t remember taking hold of it.
    Think, Savi .
    They weren’t friends. His interest and pursuit would only last as long as she didn’t give him what he wanted. Would it wane after that? Shouldn’t she give in, so it would?
    Didn’t she want to give in?
    And why not? Then she wouldn’t be standing outside a run-down secret warehouse, her body