Demon Night

knows I do that, too.”
    He hooked his left thumb in his suspender, his coat falling behind his hip. “Well, Miss Charlie, if you insist on something personal—even though it makes me blush so powerfully to say it—I’ll admit I still ain’t wearing skivvies.”
    She closed her eyes against the surge of emotion that rose beneath her laughter, pushing it up though it didn’t come out with it. Love. And it felt bright and clean and so wonderfully deep—though it was on the surface, too, as if it clung to her skin.
    Then Ethan was taking the gun from her, sliding it into her pocket to lay heavy against her belly before cupping her face in his hands, driving her back to the wall. His body came up hard against hers.
    His gaze skipped from her mouth to her hair to her eyes. “You all right?”
    She nodded, too overwhelmed by the feel of him to speak. The thirst roared through her. Her nipples hardened; she fought the urge to rub herself against him, loosen the constricting need that coiled in her womb, on her tongue, her fangs.
    His thumbs drew half circles beneath her eyes. “Bad dreams?”
    Swallowing, she forced herself not to remember, to focus on the weight against her, the intensity of his stare. “Yes.”
    “Hungry?” His voice deepened.
    He didn’t let her turn her face away. “Yes,” she said breathlessly.
    His gaze dropped to her lips again. “Open your mouth.”
    “Ethan—”
    “I aim to kiss you, Miss Charlie, but I’m not practiced at kissing vampires. I don’t want your fangs cutting you, or me, and getting the bloodlust out of control before we can do something about it. So just open up a little, and then keep real still.”
    Still? She was trembling, on the verge of sliding to the balcony floor—or climbing up the length of him and sinking her fangs into his neck.
    Her lips parted, and he guided her teeth farther open with gentle pressure of his thumb against her chin. Then he braced his hands on the wall, either side of her head. He stepped slightly away and angled down until his eyes were level with hers.
    No part of him would touch her, she realized, but his mouth.
    “I ought not to be taking this risk at all,” he said. “But seeing you here has made me lose my sense.”
    She’d been wrong; his breath was touching her—heated, moist. “Me, too,” she rasped.
    “That’s just fine,” he murmured against her lips.
    Carefully, slowly, he eased in, sliding his tongue between her fangs to curl lazily around hers. Longing shivered through her, tightening, tugging, shaking little bits of her free. Her nails dug into her palms, and she closed her teeth on him—oh, so softly—before letting him go.
    He drew back an inch, his breathing harsh. “Yes. I reckon this was a damn fool idea.”
    A door opened farther down the balcony; Charlie’s eyes widened with surprise and laughter. Ethan held her gaze as the other guests approached them, paused, and retreated in the opposite direction, leaving a psychic trail of discomfort in their wake.
    When they got to the stairs, a slow smile curved Ethan’s mouth. “We’d best get inside, Miss Charlie. You used your blood to put the spell up in there?”
    She nodded, sliding out under his arm. Her knees were still weak. “I set it up last night. I should go in first, anyway, because Jane might be undressed.”
    The door didn’t open. Charlie frowned, tried her keycard again. The handle turned, but she couldn’t push it. She glanced over her shoulder. “Is it not unlocking?”
    Ethan shook his head. “Let me feel it out.”
    A light percussion wave rolled through her; Charlie placed her hand against the door to steady herself. Though the keycard was in her hand, the indicator switched to green. “What was that?”
    “My Gift. I pushed pretty hard, and you’ll feel it more now that you’re sensitive.” It struck again, and he lifted his gaze to hers. “The lock is releasing, Charlie. The spell is what’s keeping the door closed.”
    “But—” That meant that Jane had keyed it with her blood. “Why would she…?”
    Ethan’s face was grim. “Did she leave during the day, and needed to be able to get back in?”
    “I don’t know. I was…Oh, Lord.” Charlie yanked the phone out of her pouch, flipped it open. Looked at the recently dialed numbers. Her stomach cramped. “She called Sammael.”
    And talked to the demon without Ethan or Charlie there to counteract his arguments, to provide a balance. Could Charlie fix