Demon Night

and Charlie looked down in dismay, then at her bleeding lip in the mirror. The need swept through her, but the thirst receded as soon as she rinsed out her mouth and the wound healed.
    That wasn’t so bad either, then. Her fangs were sharp, but only extended to her lower gum line when she held her teeth closed. Long, but not unmanageable. When she’d been singing, she’d always been aware of the placement of her lips, teeth, and tongue; she just had to be more conscious of her mouth until it became second nature again.
    And the need the blood had created was like the flare of a match head: bright and hot, but dying quickly. The odor might briefly render her almost senseless, but the blood had had no effect when she licked it from her fingers. It hadn’t even had a taste…and it had been nothing like the revolting sensation of drinking from Henderson’s cold arm.
    She couldn’t taste anything—not the toothpaste, not the salt of her skin, not the water from the tap.
    She didn’t like that as much, but it wasn’t so bad.
    And at least I’m still alive.
    The moment the thought squirmed into her mind, Charlie wanted to scrub it away. She’d told herself that same thing for six years after losing her voice; it hadn’t helped any, and she certainly hadn’t been living —just getting by.
    She wouldn’t do that now.
    When Charlie left the bathroom, Ethan was standing beside the bed, nodding gravely at whatever the woman was saying to him.
    He finished the call and slid the phone into the pocket of his jacket. His gaze traveled the length of her as she pulled on the lightweight hoodie she’d laid out on the mattress.
    He met her eyes. “You all right, then?”
    She nodded, attempted a smile—but had to look away from that searching gaze. On the wall, Caelum’s towers and spires gleamed beneath a painted sun.
    The sun. She wouldn’t see it again, except in pictures and on television. “Tell me one really, really good thing.”
    And hopefully nothing trite about living forever. She’d already figured that out…but it wasn’t so reassuring when she didn’t know what life was going to be like from now on.
    Ethan was silent for a moment, then said, “You’ll be able to land a hit on Jake now and then.”
    Her smile felt real when she glanced up at him again. Good Lord, he was tall. And this close, his shoulders seemed as wide as a mountain. “He’s really okay?”
    His expression lightened, and some of the stiffness eased from his posture. “Yes. We can heal from just about anything.”
    “I guess that’s pretty good, too, if you happen to be shot in the head.”
    He echoed her blithe tone. “I reckon it is.”
    She almost bit her lip to hold in her laugh, then remembered she’d probably cut herself with her fangs and let it out.
    His gaze fell to her mouth, lingered there. “Unless you’re laughing, I imagine you’ll be able to conceal them in public. Your upper lip is nicely…” He trailed off. “Well, it starts with a ‘P.’”
    “Pouty,” she offered, and touched it with the tip of her tongue.
    Ethan cleared his throat, looked over her head. “I’m much obliged, Miss Charlie. ‘Pouty’ sounds just fine. I sure as hell wasn’t going to call any part of a woman ‘plump’ out loud, no matter how pretty I think that part is.”
    She grinned. Once, “plump” might have described her in quite a few places—but she doubted it would ever describe any part of Ethan.
    While she’d been in the shower he’d cleaned and dried his clothes—using some Guardian ability, because he’d never left the bedroom. His thumbs were tucked in his suspenders again, and his jacket opened to reveal his holsters, the gun belt slung at an angle across his hips.
    It was an absolutely masculine pose, and strong, and made her want to step into that warm space against his chest and hold him to her…or grab that belt and tug him down to the bed. But Henderson’s hands had been cold, and she’d been disgusted when he’d touched her, and she didn’t know if she could survive the same reaction from Ethan.
    “Are we going to see Jane?” she asked instead.
    He nodded, but a troubled look crossed his features. “We need to talk some first, Charlie. Sammael will attempt to drive a wedge between us, try to turn you against me. And not everything he says will be a lie—but whether true or false, he’ll twist it so it frightens you more, or serves him better. And he’ll hit you with it fast, keeping you