Demon Moon

leave part of herself bleeding behind her. If this continued, she would.
    Unless she gave Colin what he needed tonight; the object attained, the hunt would be over. And she would gain pleasure from it, as well—her curiosity fulfilled.
    A perfectly simple solution.

    Savi automatically looked for Colin at the table where she’d first seen him eight months ago. He’d been wearing sunglasses, pretending to be blind so he could bring Sir Pup into the restaurant.
    But she didn’t see him there—didn’t see him anywhere.
    Very few diners sat at the tables. Colin would have stood out even if the restaurant had been crowded. Savi frowned, then noticed the table near the front window with a single teacup steaming on its surface—though no Colin. Geetha stood at the front counter, giving a woman in a pink dress and a gorgeous black shawl a take-out order.
    Savi smiled and said a quick hello; Roberta was a regular, though she appeared rather dazed at the moment. When she left, Savi pointed toward the window.
    “Is that Colin’s table? British, white?”
    Geetha grinned. “Handsome? Yes.”
    Nani brought another take-out bag to the counter and clicked her tongue. “Did you call Mrs. Karlen? Did she come for her order?”
    “Yes. She said she fell asleep.”
    “She makes too long a day, that one. And her divorce! So much stress. Is that all you are eating, naatin ?” Nani shook her head at Savi’s soup bowl and disappeared into the kitchen again.
    Savi met Geetha’s laughing gaze, and sighed. “I’ll be by the window if the phones get too crazy.”
    It didn’t surprise her that Colin was at his table when she turned around. His fingers curled around the teacup, his thumbs absently tracing the rim.
    Her bowl clinked against the sheet of glass protecting the crimson silk tablecloth. She kept her tone light. “You drank from one of our customers?”
    “Hiding beneath the table was its own reprimand,” he said easily. He looked at her soup and drew in a long breath. “What is that?”
    “Mulligatawny.” She pushed her spoon into the thick soup. “Lentils, vegetables. Tamarind and coconut milk. Lots of spice. Not true Indian cuisine, but popular, so we make a meatless version of it.” She lifted her gaze to his. “The British are responsible for its creation, actually.”
    “Our colonies did produce many a spectacular concoction.” His teeth flashed briefly. Though he laughed and smiled openly in private company, he was careful not to expose his fangs in public. It was a shame, she decided; his mouth was incredible. Remembering how the sharp edges of his teeth had skimmed over her neck, she repressed a delicious shiver.
    She studied it for a bit longer, until the headlights of a passing car illuminated him with bright light. Her gaze dropped to the table, and she slid her napkin across the glass.
    “You have lipstick. Here.” She pressed her finger against the corner of her bottom lip, and watched her spoon swirl in the bowl.
    She glanced up to find him staring down at the streak of color against the white linen. “Pink is not a flattering shade on me.”
    She couldn’t help but smile at such a rueful observation. “No.” And she prevented any further conversation by taking a bite of the soup, letting its heat fill her mouth.
    She had to force herself to swallow past the ache in her throat.
    He kissed them. She’d known, but the implications of it hadn’t truly occurred to her before—of course he would kiss them. Hadn’t he told her that physical lust rode behind the bloodlust?
    I do not realize I’m hard until I’m inside her .
    No wonder Roberta had seemed so dazed.
    The napkin crumpled in his hand, and he threw it to the table. “I didn’t fuck her.”
    Startled by the anger beneath the statement, she met his gaze again. “I didn’t say that.”
    “You assumed it.”
    Her brow furrowed. “You have to take blood; you’re a vampire. Sex goes along with it.” She waved her hand at his cup. “Like tea and sugar. You can have one without the other, but it isn’t as good. Is it?”
    “I don’t know,” he said tightly. “I can’t bloody taste it.”
    She pressed her lips between her teeth and played with her soup.
    “Don’t laugh.” But his voice shook, and he passed his hand over his face as if to hold back his own laughter.
    When she looked back up, she found him staring at her with an expression that could have been amazement—or pain. “I want you, Savi. Your blood, your