Demon Moon

But now I think you must’ve simply been feeling sorry for yourself. Perhaps concerned I’d change my mind about tonight; no wonder you danced with Nani when you found out otherwise.”
    Something flickered in his eyes. It looked a bit like guilty comprehension, but the first thing she’d learned about him was that appearances were deceiving.
    “And I can just imagine what went through your mind a couple of minutes ago: I’m doing this for her own good; this is hurting me , not her. I won’t get to fuck her now because she’ll hate me for this. I’m sacrificing tasting her to save her from me. I’m risking my friendship with Hugh and Lilith, and my pretty head.”
    Her voice broke, and she dragged in a ragged breath. She swiped at her cheeks, pressed her forefinger and thumb against her eyelids to stop the burning.
    “Do you understand?” she said hoarsely. “You’re not frightening me when you say these things— you’re hurting me .”
    Colin flinched beneath her, and a rough sound of denial came from deep in his throat, vibrated against her palm.
    She couldn’t stop. “And there are many things for which I deserve to pay, but your selfishness is not one of them. What Michael’s sword did to you is not one of them. What happened to you in Chaos is not one of them.”
    She lowered her hand from her face, but she couldn’t see him through her remaining tears. Her shoulders hunched, and her palm slipped away from his mouth. A blurry red streak remained. “You could’ve just asked me to get back into the car, but you chose to exercise your frustration and to hurt me instead. And you didn’t even know you were doing it—or you didn’t care. I’m not sure which is worse.”
    Her gaze fell to her lap, his chest. She stared at them blindly, waiting for his response before recalling herself. She’d effectively gagged and bound him. He wouldn’t risk speaking or moving, not with her blood covering his lips, not with her shields down.
    A folded silk handkerchief poked up from his breast pocket. Of course he had one. She wadded it and brought it to his mouth, then paused; the green hue of the material protruding between her fingers matched perfectly the pinstripe in his shirt collar.
    It was so Colin —and it shouldn’t have made her feel like smiling. Not now. She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent it.
    Colin watched her, his expression tormented as she gently wiped his skin, as she traced the seam of his lips to collect the blood pooled there. Stretching a clean section of the handkerchief over her forefinger, she dipped the silk between them, skimmed it along his inner bottom lip.
    He had such a beautiful mouth. Wide and masculine, the curves strong and firm, yet his lips possessed the most intriguing softness…
    She averted her gaze, stuffed the bloodied silk back into his pocket. Her knees protested when she stood. She crossed her arms over her middle as she walked back to the Bentley and sat down on the edge of the hood. Her neck was stiff, her stomach sore.
    It would all feel worse in the morning.
    Colin rose slowly to his feet, as if he didn’t want to frighten her. Didn’t he realize yet that he couldn’t? But he approached her with the same care, pausing once to reach down for the dagger and then carrying it by the blade. A nonthreatening gesture.
    He stopped in front of her, an arm’s length away. A smile hovered over his mouth, though not wide enough to show his fangs. “It was a bloody brilliant defensive maneuver.”
    Admiration filled his voice, and it sounded genuine. Flustered, Savi lowered her head and rubbed at the back of her neck. She’d not known what to expect from him, but that response hadn’t been it.
    Her brows drew together. That was odd—he held the tip of the blade between his forefinger and thumb, and was lightly drumming the broadside of the dagger’s hilt against his thigh. She’d never seen him given to nervous, fidgety displays; perhaps he was as uncertain of her response as she had been of his.
    “I thought it an offensive one, actually. I hate violence,” she said finally, and looked up at him. The quirk of his lips told her he was likely remembering her penchant for James Bond and horror movies—or DemonSlayer—and she amended with a reluctant smile, “ Real violence. Though I’m also practical, and admit it has its uses against nosferatu.”
    “And vampires,” he said softly, but not without amusement.
    “Yes. Now I have only to attack a