Demon Moon

tongue. Her shirt clung to her shoulder blades; each vertebra in her spine was clearly outlined by the thin linen. Bloody hell, but she was so slender, frail. Defenseless .
    The sickly odor of rot filling him, overwhelming her sweet psychic scent.
    But he didn’t dare remain with her, not when he couldn’t protect her from himself. Better she feared him, would stay away from him .
    He couldn’t trust himself to do the same .
    Slowly, he backed away. He could watch from a distance, make certain she left the frigid pool. He’d not hit her vein; she’d bleed a little, but it wouldn’t be life-threatening. And when she fell asleep that evening, she’d wake up with only the vaguest remembrance…
    Running. The frantic whines of the wyrmwolf. Too bloody tired to fight it.
    Colin shook his head, trying to rid himself of the dangerous memory. The putrid scent faded, moving off to the southwest. The sun began to burn, and he glanced up at the crimson sky .
    The grass was warm beneath his bare feet .
    Wake up.

    Colin opened his eyes and immediately squinted against the sun. He stood outside, on a lawn—the UCSF campus. A mile from his home.
    His heart was pounding; perspiration poured from his brow. Dazzling, intense sunlight danced like fire across his exposed skin. Bewildered, he looked down. Sir Pup tugged at his trouser leg, a questioning edge to his high-pitched whines.
    Odd…he’d dreamt the sound had been coming from a—
    Oh, Christ. He broke into a sprint before it fully registered. Sir Pup cantered along beside him.
    A wyrmwolf…heading southwest.
    “Savi,” he said hoarsely. “It’s after Savi. Run .”
    Sir Pup streaked ahead. There was no contest between a vampire and a hellhound.
    Even a vampire like Colin. Already at Sunset, he leapt across the wide avenue, soared over the speeding cars. Not fast enough. He was going to be the loser in a futile race; the wyrmwolf was too far ahead.
    His feet hit pavement again as terror flared through her psychic scent. No. God please no. He stumbled; it took everything in him to stay upright.
    Then her fragrance vanished, and it didn’t matter anymore.
    He fell.



CHAPTER 14

    Demons can simulate sex, but they don’t experience arousal or orgasm. Halflings—the Guardians, vampires—were originally human, and have a human’s physical responses. Nosferatu…I don’t know about nosferatu. And the idea of nosferatu sex is kind of disgusting, isn’t it?
    —Savi to Taylor, 2007

    After witnessing her family’s murders, Savi had thought it would be on par with a feat of Hercules for her to shoot a living thing—but unloading ten rounds into the wyrmwolf’s head and chest took no more effort than calculating a tip.
    Enhanced speed had certainly helped; Savi wouldn’t have been able to track the wyrmwolf’s movements without it. Nor would she have had time to retrieve the gun and silencer from her towel drawer after spotting it through her kitchen window. The few extra moments she’d gained had allowed her to get as far from her front door as possible, crouch down behind her sofa, and wait for it to break through.
    Then, remembering how confused the wyrmwolf in the alley had been when she’d raised her shields, she’d done it again.
    Because hard upon the realization that a wyrmwolf was outside the window had been the knowledge that none of them had been after Colin. The first had come when she’d been out of her mind with fever; the second attack when she’d been out of her mind with lust; and this one when she’d been in her mind—but with it completely open.
    They were apparently attracted to her psychic scent, so she’d hidden it. The semiautomatic pistol and ten lead bullets had done the rest. Thank god Lilith had placed her weapons all over the house. Savi planned to kiss her senseless—as soon as she could stand. Her knees were no more solid than water.
    She had to get up soon, though. The thing lay in the middle of her living room…but it wasn’t dead. Rarely did bullets fatally damage a halfling, demon, or nosferatu—only cutting off the head, bisecting the heart, or draining the body of blood killed them.
    It seemed the same was true of wyrmwolves. No wonder Colin had used his swords to fight them.
    Her legs shook as she rose to her feet. How fast would it heal? She could see the holes in its fur and skull slowly closing. It whimpered and twitched.
    At most, only minutes before it could attack her again—and it was suffering