Return to the sensual netherworld of Demon Angel for a startling romance of eternal love threatened by the consuming darkness of a Demon Moon…

No one would call vampire Colin Ames-Beaumont kind, but they would call him unnaturally beautiful. For two centuries his tainted blood has kept him isolated from other vampires, sustained only by his beauty and vanity—bitter comforts, since a curse has erased his mirror reflection, replacing it with a terrifying glimpse of Chaos.

Savi Murray's insatiable curiosity had gotten her into trouble before, but she'd always escaped unscathed. Then came Colin. In the midst of Heaven, he gave her a taste of ecstasy—and of Chaos. Deadly creatures from that realm herald the return of an imprisoned nosferatu horde, and Colin and Savi’s bond is their only protection—and their only passion…

DEMON MOON
Berkley, May 2007
Read an excerpt

Excerpt (unedited) from DEMON MOON © 2006 by Meljean Brook

WARNING! Contains spoilers for DEMON ANGEL!

After a dangerous encounter with a nosferatu, Savi must rely upon the one vampire she knows she cannot trust...

Her apartment was as messy as she'd left it, and Savi was surprised Selah managed to avoid the piles of hardware and wiring materials. Despite the successful landing, Savi had to help steady her grandmother--though she wasn't too steady herself; teleportation was disorienting.

Their luggage appeared on the wooden floor next to them, along with her laptop, and Savi sighed in silent envy. Guardians, demons, nosferatu and hellhounds had the ability to hold items in an invisible pocket of space...or something. No matter how many questions she'd asked, Savi had never been able to determine exactly what it was, but it resembled the hammerspace in a video game: it didn't matter the size or shape of the item, the Guardians could shove it into their cache, carry it around without effort, then make it reappear with a thought.

Selah gave a quick smile before shifting her form; for a moment, Savi stared at a mirror image of herself, down to the clothes and jewelry. Then Selah altered it slightly, darkening her skin, widening her face, narrowing her eyes, thinning her lips.

"Colin will be here in a few minutes," the Guardian said, and her voice was also like Savi's--perhaps a bit lower in tone. "Do what he says. I need your clothes; I can't return them. Tomorrow, take the files you need off the computer. I'll come back for it then."

Lilith must already be at work, changing the story, creating lies and destroying evidence. Savi nodded her permission for Selah to take them; her skirt, sandals and shirt vanished into Selah's hammerspace, and Savi stood barefoot on the cold floor in her underwear.

Nani shook her head. "You won't leave me nude," she said in her accented English.

"We'll worry about yours later. With luck, they won't get past Savi to look at you. I've got to get back before they charge the bathroom. I hope they don't shoot me."

Savi winced. "Sorry." Bullets wouldn't kill a Guardian, but they'd still cause considerable pain.

"No worries; I'm tough." Selah smiled and disappeared.

Nani sank onto the sofa with a sigh, kicked off her sandals. "Dress yourself, naatin. You'll become ill."

Savi crossed her arms beneath her breasts, shivered. The thermostat clicked as she turned up the heat. Not just clothes--a shower was a necessity; she didn't want to stink of fear and blood and nosferatu when Colin arrived.

A quick search of her luggage yielded her bathrobe. She shrugged it on, wincing as the rough terry slid over her shoulder. She had to tie the belt one-handed.

A scratch sounded at the door connecting her apartment to Hugh's house. Sir Pup. And the vampire, if the knock accompanying it was any indication.

Dammit. She glanced around the apartment--the silk paintings, the DemonSlayer posters, the jumble of mismatched furniture--and sighed. No time to straighten anything. Nani would likely spend the entire meeting apologizing for Savi's clutter.

She opened the door, and the hellhound streaked through and almost toppled her over in his eagerness to welcome her home. Then he stopped and growled, each of his three heads swinging around, as if to search out the source of the nosferatu-scent.

"It's okay, Sir Pup," Savi told him. "It's just Nani and me. I had an adventure." Smiling wryly, she lifted her gaze to Colin's face.

Oh, god. It wasn't fair. She'd prepared herself for it, yet still her breath caught and her heart began to hammer in her chest. And he knew it. Her psychic shields blocked her emotions, but not hide her physical reaction.

Yet there was no mockery in his eyes as he looked over her. His perusal was quick, intense. "Invite me in, Savitri," he said quietly.

The request startled a laugh from her. "Vampires don't need an invitation." She pitched her voice low as well; Nani knew Colin wasn't human, but probably assumed he was like Michael and Selah. Perhaps even Lilith. No one had disabused her of the notion--her fear of the nosferatu was too great. She had accepted Hugh's friends and background, but she wouldn't like knowing Colin was basically half-nosferatu. Demons, Guardians...they were tolerable. Nosferatu were not.

"No," he said, and the tips of his fangs showed when he smiled. "But I am a gentleman, and a gentleman doesn't enter a woman's house uninvited."

She willed her heartbeat to return to its normal pace. She needed to step away from the door, put some distance between them, but it was difficult not to stare. That golden hair, artistically messy. His sculpted cheekbones and angular jaw. The lean, elegant length of him in his tailored trousers and soft, clinging sweater. How did he manage it when he couldn't even see himself in a--

There, a reason for escape. She swallowed and nodded. "Alright, but give me a second?"

His smile widened. "Of course, sweet Savitri."

She felt his gaze follow her as she walked across the living room to the cheval mirror that stood in the corner. Nani rose to her feet, and narrowed her eyes disapprovingly. "You can not leave him at the door, naatin," she said in Hindi. Then added in English, "Mr. Ames-Beaumont, please come in."

"It's okay, Nani." Savi turned the mirror to face the wall, and looked around for any that she'd missed. "I'm just making sure he'll be good company, instead of ignoring us in favor of admiring himself."

"Savitri!"

"Don't scold her, Auntie," Colin said, laughing. "She has the right of it. There is another by the kitchen, Savi. Sailor Moon?"

She shot him a surprised glance as she flipped over the small frame depicting anime characters in schoolgirl uniforms.

"A short obsession...with their equally short skirts," he added as if in explanation, then turned his attention to her grandmother. "Mrs. Jayakar, you are as beautiful as ever."

She blushed and patted her hair. "And you are too kind to an old woman."

His brows rose. "Hardly old." He bent and kissed her cheek. "If it weren't akin to cradle-robbing, I'd steal you away and ravish you so completely you'd never leave my arms."

Savi couldn't stop her grin as her grandmother swatted his arm and protested his audacity, laughing. Even Nani was not immune to his looks and charm. After the tension and fear of their flight, this was exactly what she needed.

But unfortunately, they couldn't stay here. "I'm going to get ready," Savi said. "Where are you taking me? Any dress code I should follow?"

His assessing gaze swept from her bare feet to the tips of her hair. "Not a tattered housecoat."

And that easily, he declared her inadequate. Her mouth flattened, and she bit off her automatic reply. Nani did not approve of gaalis.

"You're going out?" Dismay filled her grandmother's voice, and Savi sighed.

"I have to be seen, Nani, so that no one can say I was on that plane. No suitable boy is going to marry a girl who's a terrorist."

She ignored the sharpening of Colin's expression, and waited for Nani's reluctant nod before she headed for the bathroom.

"Savi," Colin said, and she glanced back over her shoulder. "Anything you put on will be appropriate."

"Only because they won't be looking at me anyway."

His delighted grin warmed the room--or her blood. It just wasn't right for a man to be that beautiful. Even Guardians and demons who could shape-shift into ideal forms couldn't equal Colin when he smiled.

"They will," he said, "...after a while."

#

Colin angled the lamp, shining the light more fully onto the painting. His masterpiece, if he'd ever had one. But it had not been his brushstrokes, the color, nor the composition that made it beautiful: it was the subject.

Caelum. The realm the Guardians made their home.

He'd chosen the prospect from outside the doors of Michael's temple. It had been from that spot Colin had first seen the splendor of that realm; he didn't know if he'd managed to capture the effect for Lilith, but it still overwhelmed him.

He traced his fingers over the rough canvas, followed the curve of a spiraling tower in which the anterior edge of the lower spiral was the same as the posterior edge of the higher. What had Savitri said of the shape? He pondered for a moment. That it was the result of the Gestalt effect, he suddenly remembered; that they couldn't truly see it and their minds completed the form with the most rational interpretation. He'd painted what he'd seen--but she was correct; there was no sense in such a structure.

And she'd been as awestruck as he, naming most of Caelum's forms irrational. Indeed, the spires seemed too tall and thin to hold their weight; the sky too blue and the sun too bright; the waters surrounding the city too still.

How many times had she stopped him to point out a physical impossibility? How many times had he pulled her along to show her another sublime arrangement of shape and shades of white?

She'd had to leave the day after Colin had opened the doors of the temple. He'd had two months; time given by Michael so he could paint--and recover.

But had she seen it better than he?

Her footsteps sounded quick and light on the stairs from her apartment--the click of heels. He resisted the urge to shut off the lamp, to give himself the advantage of darkness. In the months since his return, he had never observed her reaction to the painting.

She'd always run too quickly; the moment he arrived, she'd fled for the safety of her flat or the dark little office she kept downtown.

Savi stepped through the entrance to the living room, and paused. Her gaze slid past him. Her eyes darkened, her lips parted on a sharply indrawn breath.

And it was the only time in his long life he'd been pleased that something other than his face had caused such a response. Would that he could read her emotions as well, but as usual, her shields were firmly in place.

He smiled, and the change of his expression must have caught her attention; she narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you put my grandmother to sleep?"

"Yes," he said.

"I didn't know you could do that."

"You've never asked me, Savitri. I did not take her blood."

Oh, but to have Savi's again; to have the whole of her. He settled for looking, though he shouldn't have taken so much pleasure in that, either.

She'd chosen low-waisted, chocolate brown trousers and a crimson silk top with sleeves that split at her shoulders, leaving her slim arms bare. Her skin seemed the warmer for the blue tones in the crimson; it shouldn't have. A long cream coat draped over her forearm.

He didn't look at her shoes for fear that he might fall to his knees to examine the contrast of strap against ankle, the arch of her foot.

She glanced at the painting for an instant, and her mouth tightened. "Can other vampires? Can nosferatu?"

"No. Yes, if the human has little psychic resistance or if he drinks the blood."

"Does Nani have resistance?"

"Not to me."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

She walked slowly into the room, circled the sofa and leaned her hip against the upholstered back. "Why?"

"Why do you have more resistance? Or why did I suggest she sleep?"

A wry smile touched her mouth. She'd slicked clear gloss over her lips; they glistened as if she'd eaten a ripened fruit and forgotten to lick away the juice. "Both?"

He gave a small shake of his head.

"Why did you suggest she sleep?"

Was she aware of how much she gave away with that decision? Concern for her grandmother rather than protection for herself.

He had only six feet to cross to her side; he did it in an instant. She blinked, and he lifted her right hand. "I didn't want her to see me do this," he said. The scent of her perfume eddied around them: vanilla, jasmine. His mouth watered, and he swallowed before adding, "I can't heal it in the same way as Michael, but I can accelerate it and ease some of the pain."

His thumb smoothed over the raw tip of her forefinger, the gash on her knuckle. She winced, and tugged her hand from his grip.

She shifted her coat to her opposite forearm, and opened her left fist. "This?"

His breath hissed through his teeth. Deep, straight cuts across the first bend of her fingers; shallow slices over the centre of her palm. They'd been cleaned, but they must be stiff and sore. "From the garrote?"

"Yes. I didn't have piano wire in my gold watch, unfortunately."

He chuckled softly. "The nosferatu is no 007. What are these?" Faint mahogany lines formed an intricate design on her palm; he gently turned her hand over, saw the same on the backs of her fingers. "Henna?"

"My friend's wedding."

A sudden image of those decorated hands sliding over his skin made him ache. He glanced up; she was staring at his mouth.

Would her lips taste as she smelled? Sweet Savitri. He'd only had her blood and her body--her tongue had been busy speaking of beauty that wasn't his. "Do you trust me?"

"No," she said. "But I'll let you, as it is your blood that will be spilled this time."

He stared at her for a long moment, his jaw clenching. Why hadn't he healed her in Caelum, and immediately put her to sleep? Whatever vague, lingering memory that produced this continued resistance could have been prevented with little effort--but he'd not made it.

It didn't matter. This obsession would fade.

He viciously scraped his tongue beneath his fangs, and brought her hand to his mouth. She gasped as he painted the blood in short strokes over the wounds, then spun her around and pulled down the neckline of her shirt to do the same to four punctures on her shoulder. They were surrounded by livid bruises; the nosferatu's dark scent clung, despite her shower.

He lifted his head, fought to control his breathing, his arousal, his bloodlust. Her pulsed raced in the hollow beneath her jaw.

"Colin--"

He closed his eyes at the tinge of fear in her voice. Wasn't that what he'd wanted? "Clean it off, Savitri. I'll wait in the car."

#

A cop pulled them over on Sunset. Savi wordlessly gave Colin her driver's license, and he handed it over along with his license and registration before the cop could ask for them.

"I apologize for speeding, officer," he said pleasantly. "I was distracted by my companion's sparkling repartee."

Savi squinted as the cop shined his flashlight over her face, and tried not to laugh. Silence had reigned between them from the moment she'd slid into the passenger seat, but in the midst of this absurdity, it was impossible to hold onto her anger or her fear.

"You were going ninety in a forty."

"Sparkling Savitri Murray," Colin said, "Like champagne. Sweet Savitri, my sparkling wine."

Two sobriety tests and a warning to install rearview and side mirrors later, Colin pulled back into traffic and sent her a sidelong glance. "Do you have credit cards?"

"Yes, but it's not necessary. I can fake the charges."

He shook his head. "We need more than a paper trail."

He took her to a convenience store, where she debated longer than necessary over the candy bars, making certain her face showed to the camera aimed down the aisle. A fast food restaurant, where she argued with the manager about the temperature of her French fries.

"I feel like a bitch," she told him as she returned to the car with a free apple turnover.

His smile didn't touch his eyes; his gaze was fixed on the red box in her hand. He inhaled deeply, then turned to look out the windshield. "We've done enough for now; we can go to a sit-down, if you're hungry."

She wasn't. "Are you?" Once, she'd seen him eat food at her grandmother's restaurant.

A smile hovered around his mouth. "I ate."

"Polidori's re-opened when I was away; I'd like to see it." After a brief hesitation, he gave a stiff nod. She watched him steadily, trying to discern the reason for his tension. She opened the box and pinched off a bite. "Do you want some?"

"No."

"Do you like food?"

"I can't taste it. But the scent..." He didn't finish, and his lips firmed. "I remember some, particularly fruits and sweets. The cinnamon, the apples. Oranges--I had them several times." He looked at her, then away. "The privilege of aristocracy."

"Too exotic for the plebs?" As the younger son of the seventh earl of Norbridge, he'd have had access to a variety of luxuries a commoner could never have afforded.

"Yes. We had--have--an orangery at Beaumont Court. Though my nephews had transformed it into a fort upon my last visit."

"Do they know what you are?"

"Yes. I'm their beloved blood-drinking Uncle Colin, as I have been for generations."

"They don't think it's weird?"

"My youngest niece's response upon learning the truth was, 'Brill!'" Colin shook his head. "She was not a bit disturbed, though I'll admit to some dismay at her vocabulary. Worse, that the longer I visit, the more I adopt their speaking habits. That is the true horror, my sweet Savitri."

"Do they know about your sister and Anthony Ramsdell?" Grinning, she popped another bite of the apple turnover into her mouth.

He heaved a long sigh, but the amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes belied the harassed sound of it. "Yes. Indeed, I have to recount the events every Christmas season; the children especially enjoy it when I linger over my part--bedridden and starving, attacking my sister and trying to drink her blood--until Castleford and Ramsdell arrived at the penultimate moment and rescued her from my evil clutches. Ramsdell has become a family legend, Castleford and Lilith slightly less so; alas, despite my exquisite appearance and the immortality I gained from their actions, I'm neither legend nor villain."

"I guess it's more exciting to hear tales of winged Guardians and demons than a mere vampire." She caught her tongue between her teeth to stop her laughter when he turned his head to stare at her, an aggrieved impatience creasing his brow. But his lips twitched slightly as he looked back toward the road.

"It's most disagreeable."

"And I suppose it also helps that his medical practice was the basis for Ramsdell Pharmaceuticals," Savi said. "Your family still reaps the benefit of it." Particularly Colin, who held the majority of shares in the international corporation.

"Yes. When creating legends, possessing both virtue and money is an unbeatable combination. I have one, but have no inclination to acquire the other." He smiled briefly. "You do not have the history or familiarity with such things that my niece does, yet you have adjusted very well. Particularly considering your pagan roots."

"I don't know if that helps or hurts--have you seen Detective Taylor lately? Since she found out about all of this?" She shook her head when he arched a brow and replied in the negative. "Never mind. Despite all of the stuff in the restaurant, even in my apartment, I can't really say that Nani and I are pagan--or much of anything. Between Nani and Hugh, my upbringing was completely secular."

The turnover had almost completely cooled; she took another bite. His lids lowered as he inhaled, his gaze falling to her mouth. "That is apple?"

She nodded.

He blinked and gave his head a slight shake, turning his attention back to the road.

"Actually," she said, "the only reason I'm not running away screaming is because it's all so interesting. I live with a two thousand year old woman and an eight hundred year old man. Did you know Lilith once tried to tempt Isaac Newton?"

"She told you that?" Colin glanced at her. "She may have been lying."

"Hugh said she wasn't. But even if she had been, it's still fascinating."

"And are you so certain Castleford tells you the truth?"

"I think so. Usually, if I ask a question he doesn't want to answer, he just says it's not for me to know." He didn't say it very often--and the majority of the times he had, it had been in relation to Colin and Chaos. "Except it doesn't sound so condescending when he says it. Is all that stuff about you in his book true? Have you read it?"

"Yes. With a title such as Lilith, how could I not? But I am never mentioned."

"Not by name. But it's not all that hard to figure it out. The dates, the locations--they match up. You really lived a month only half-transformed?"

A puzzled frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. "I'm certain Derbyshire was not mentioned, Savitri. Nor were there specific dates."

"Oh!" She shook her head. "No, I don't mean the printed version--god, you read that?"

"Yes," he said. "It's quite terrible."

"It's not surprising: I ran his original Latin document through a language translator, then tried to spiff it all up before I had it printed for him."

He turned his head to stare at her.

"It was a present," she said, grinning. "I was young."

"It's atrocious." He passed his hand over his hair. "Oh, good God. What does the Latin include that your version does not?"

"Not much. Something about your brother-in-law, and Hugh taking over a vow Ramsdell made to your sister; that Hugh promised to watch over you."

"Anything of Michael's sword? Mirrors?"

"No. Nothing about Chaos, either."

His jaw tightened. He slowed for a red light, and remained silent until he accelerated again. "I did survive a month, half-transformed."

She blinked. Had he returned to her earlier question to avoid speaking of Chaos? "The nosferatu wouldn't have given you blood. Lilith said she tried to cut off his head while he attacked you--did it get into your mouth or something?"

"No. I bit him whilst trying to get away."

"How uncivilized."

"Exceedingly."

"What did you eat afterward?"

"Nothing, but for the broth Emily forced down my throat." His brows drew together. "And I believe I tried to eat raw meat from the larder, but I'm not certain."

"You don't remember?"

"No. I've only a partial recollection of those days."

Some things, she supposed, were a blessing to forget. "And Hugh and Lilith used the blood of the nosferatu who originally attacked you to complete the transformation?"

"That is correct."

"When did you find out you can withstand the sun?"

"The first morning I did not return to Beaumont Court before sunrise." He turned to look between the seats before switching lanes. "I'm surprised you do not know all of this already, my sweet Savitri. I'm well aware of how you located me last year. An illegal bit of computer wizardry."

She slid her tongue over her bottom lip to catch the last of the cinnamon and apple juice, and hoped the darkness would hide her blush from him. Probably not. Even if he didn't look at her, he could probably feel the heat and blood.

"It was only financial information--IRS and bank account records. Your address and phone number." It hadn't told her anything personal. Savi knew a lot about him, but she didn't know him.

And though she might have asked him in Caelum, she had been occupied--enthralled--by the impossible beauty of that realm.

Enthralled by Colin.

The streetlights washed over his features at regular intervals. His profile was as incredible as the rest of him. Even the rough shadow along his jaw enhanced his masculine perfection. She rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth; it suddenly seemed hot, tingly, as if she'd added too much cayenne to a dish.

He took a deep breath, and his fingers clenched on the steering wheel. The movement shook her out of her silent inspection. God. It was so easy to fall into a friendly banter with him, but she knew too well how his mood could change without warning. He could go from passion to humor to cruelty in the span of a kiss; she'd be an idiot to forget what he was, just because it felt like heaven to look at him.

And it was probably best to cover her stare with her curiosity. "Do you have to shave?" She bit her lip to contain her grin before she added, "Did you have a valet?"

"Rarely; I also have to cut my hair, as do most vampires. And yes, until 1945."

"What happened in 1945?"

"He died, and I learned to use a razor."

Without a mirror. Though she wanted to know what happened in Chaos--Hugh wouldn't tell her, and she'd only had her conjectures and suppositions to work from--she wouldn't broach that subject. Even after seven months, it must still be too raw. And Colin's voice had taken on a rough edge; it hadn't been there before, not even when he'd used his blood on her wounds.

He reached out and pushed a button on the CD player. To silence her? She knew he could hear her over the music.

The Velvet Underground. Lou Reed and a soft, delicate melody. Her smile widened when he shut it off. He had a lovely baritone; did he sing when he was alone?

"Do my questions annoy you?"

He glanced at her, his surprise evident. "No. I'm far too vain to object; I am my favorite topic."

His easy admission startled a laugh from her, but it faded when his gaze sharpened. The warmth spread from her mouth, burned through her stomach and settled low in her abdomen. "What is it then?"

"We need to get out of the car," he said, and turned onto Eddy Street. Near Polidori's. "Your scent is...like a peach. Or a mango. And I'm starving." A muscle in his cheek flexed. "I don't always have control."

A shiver ran up her spine, but she couldn't name its cause. Not simply fear or lust; what was in between? "You said you'd eaten." Vampires--even Colin--didn't need more than one feeding a night.

"I did." Frustration tightened his voice. "Is it your soap?"

"No. It's probably in my skin. I must've eaten a hundred mangoes when I was in India, and two more just before I left. I have no control over myself, either, but I stopped short of taking a mango bath," she said, and waited for his smile. It came slowly. In the dim light, his teeth shone brilliantly white. "The mango wallahs sell them right on the street. Have you ever had one?"

"No." Another deep inhalation. "Tell me."

Tell me. Memory of the last time he'd issued that command flashed through her; she shifted in the seat, pressed her thighs together to ease the pulsing ache. "They're more intense, brighter in flavor than a peach, and the flesh is firm and smooth and slippery. And the juice...cold, sunwarm--it doesn't matter." She looked down at her hands, remembering how sticky they'd been. "There aren't any like it imported into the U.S.; you've got to be there to know what a really, really good mango is like." Caelum on her tongue.

"Did you bring any back with you?" His question was so low, she almost didn't hear it. He parked in a reserved space, killed the engine.

"No; it's too difficult to get through Customs. It's easier to kill a nosferatu on a plane than take a piece of fruit on one." She smiled wryly, and glanced up. Her breath caught. He'd turned toward her; his face was expressionless but for the heat in his gaze. His eyes glittered with pale fire.

Her mouth was parched; she seemed to be burning from the inside. She tried to moisten her tongue, to swallow. His hungry gaze followed the movement of her jaw and throat. "I need a drink," she said hoarsely.

His laugh was short, hard. He opened the door and cold air flooded in. "So do I."