Kitabı oku: «Every Which Way But Dead», sayfa 6

Seven

I pulled my car carefully into the tiny garage, turning off the lights and then the engine. Depressed, I stared at the spackled wall two feet in front of the grille. Silence soaked in, broken by the ticking of the engine cooling off. Ivy’s bike rested quietly against the side wall, covered in a canvas tarp and stored for the winter. It was going to be dark soon. I knew I should get Jenks inside, but it was hard to find the will to unbuckle my belt and get out of the car.

Jenks dropped to the steering wheel with an attention-getting hum. My hands fell into my lap, shoulders slumping. “Well, at least you know where you stand now,” he offered.

My frustration flared, then died, overwhelmed by a wave of apathy. “He said he’s coming back,” I said glumly, needing to believe the lie until I hardened myself to the truth.

Jenks wrapped his arms about himself, dragonfly wings still. “Rache,” he cajoled. “I like Nick, but you’re going to get two calls. One where he says he misses you and is feeling better, and the last when he says he’s sorry and asks you to give his key to his landlord for him.”

I looked at the wall. “Just let me be stupid and believe him for a while, okay?”

The pixy made a sound of wry agreement. He looked positively chilled, his wings almost black as he hunched, shivering. I’d pushed him past his limits by detouring to Nick’s. I was definitely going to make cookies tonight. He shouldn’t go to sleep cold like that. He might not wake up until spring.

“Ready?” I asked as I opened my bag, and he awkwardly jumped down into it instead of flying. Worried, I debated if I should tuck my bag inside my coat. I settled on putting it in the department store bag and rolling the edges down as far as I could.

Only now did I open the door, being careful not to hit the edge of the garage. Bag in hand, I made my way on the shoveled path to the front door. A sleek black Corvette was parked at the curb, looking out of place and unsafe in the snowy streets. I recognized it as Kisten’s, and my face tightened. I’d been seeing too much of him lately for my liking.

The wind bit at my exposed skin, and I glanced up at the steeple, sharp against the graying clouds. Mincing on the ice, I passed Kisten’s mobile icon of masculinity and rose up the stone steps to the thick wooden double doors. There was no conventional lock, though there was an oak crossbar inside which I set every sunrise before I went to bed. Bending awkwardly, I scooped out a cup of pelletized de-icer from the open bag sitting beside the door and sprinkled it on the steps before the afternoon’s snowmelt had a chance to freeze.

I pushed open the door, my hair drifting in the warm draft that billowed out. Soft jazz came with it, and I slipped inside to latch it softly behind me. I didn’t particularly want to see Kisten—no matter how nice he was on the eyes—though I thought I should probably thank him for recommending me to Takata.

It was dark in the small foyer, the glow of dusk slipping in from the sanctuary beyond doing little to light it. The air smelled like coffee and growing things, sort of a mix between a plant nursery and coffeehouse. Nice. Ceri’s things went atop the small antique table Ivy had swiped from her folks, and I opened up my bag, peering down to see Jenks looking up.

“Thank God,” he muttered as he slowly lifted into the air. Then he hesitated, head cocked as he listened. “Where is everyone?”

I shrugged out of my coat and hung it up on a peg. “Maybe Ivy yelled at your kids again and they’re hiding. Are you complaining?”

He shook his head. He was right, though. It was really quiet. Too quiet. Usually there were head-splitting shrills of pixy children playing tag, an occasional crash from a hanging utensil hitting the kitchen floor, or the snarls of Ivy chasing them out of the living room. The only peace we got were the four hours they slept at noon, and four hours again after midnight.

The warmth of the church was soaking into Jenks, and already his wings were translucent and moving well. I decided to leave Ceri’s things where they were until I could get them across the street to her, and after stomping the snow off my boots beside the melting puddles Kisten had left, I followed Jenks out of the dark foyer and into the quiet sanctuary.

My shoulders eased as I took in the subdued lighting coming in through the knee-to-ceiling-high stained-glass windows. Ivy’s stately baby grand took up one corner in the front, dusted and cared for but played only when I was out. My plant-strewn, rolltop desk was kitty-corner to it, way up in the front on the ankle-high stage where the altar once sat. The huge image of a cross still shadowed the wall above it, soothing and protective. The pews had been removed long before I moved in, leaving an echoing wooden and glass space redolent of peace, solitude, grace, and security. I was safe here.

Jenks stiffened, sending my instincts flaming.

“Now!” shrilled a piercing voice.

Jenks shot straight up, leaving a cloud of pixy dust hanging where he had been like an octopus inking. Heart pounding, I hit the hardwood floor, rolling.

Sharp patters of impacts hit the planks beside me. Fear kept me spinning until I found a corner. Heady, the strength of the graveyard’s ley line surged through me as I tapped it.

“Rachel! It’s my kids!” Jenks cried as a hail of tiny snowballs struck me.

Gagging, I choked on the word to invoke my circle, yanking back the cresting power. It crashed into me, and I groaned as twofold the ley line energy suddenly took up the same space. Staggering, I fell to a knee and struggled to breathe until the excess found its way back to the line. Oh God. It felt like I was on fire. I should have just made the circle.

“What in Tink’s knickers do you think you’re doing!” Jenks yelled, hovering over me as I tried to focus on the floor. “You should know better than to jump a runner like that! She’s a professional! You’re going to end up dead! And I’m going to let you rot where you fall. We’re guests here! Get to the desk. All of you! Jax, I am really disappointed.”

I took a breath. Damn. That really hurt. Mental note: never stop a ley line spell midcast.

“Matalina!” Jenks shouted. “Do you know what our kids are doing?”

I licked my lips. “It’s okay,” I said, looking up to find absolutely no one in the sanctuary. Even Jenks was gone. “I love my life,” I muttered, and I worked myself carefully up from the floor in stages. The flaming tingle in my skin had subsided, and pulse hammering, I let go of the line completely, feeling the remaining energy flow out of my chi to leave me shaking.

With the sound of an angry bee, Jenks flew in from the back rooms. “Rachel,” he said as he came to a halt before me. “I’m sorry. They found the snow that Kist brought in on his shoes, and he told them about snowball fights when he was a kid. Oh, look. They got you all wet.”

Matalina, Jenks’s wife, zipped into the sanctuary in a billow of gray and blue silk. Giving me an apologetic wince, she slipped under the crack in my rolltop desk. My head started to hurt and my eyes watered. Her scolding was so high-pitched that I couldn’t hear it.

Tired, I straightened to my full height and tugged my sweater straight. Small spots of water showed where I’d been hit. If they had been fairy assassins with spells instead of pixies with snowballs, I’d be dead. My heart slowed, and I snatched up my bag from the floor. “It’s okay,” I said, embarrassed and wanting Jenks to shut up. “No biggie. Kids will be kids.”

Jenks hovered in apparent indecision. “Yeah, but they’re my kids, and we’re guests. They’ll be apologizing to you, among a few other things.”

Gesturing it was okay, I stumbled down the dark hallway, following the smell of coffee. At least no one had seen me rolling on the floor evading pixy snowballs, I thought. But such commotions had become commonplace since the first hard frost and Jenks’s family moved in. There was no way I could pretend I wasn’t here now, though. Besides, they had probably smelled the flush of fresh air when I opened the door.

I passed the opposing his-and-her bathrooms that had been converted into a conventional bathroom and a combination bathroom/laundry room. The latter was mine. My room was on the right side of the hallway, Ivy’s was directly across from it. The kitchen was next, and I made a left turn into it, hoping to grab some coffee and go hide in my room to avoid Kisten entirely.

I had made the mistake of kissing him in an elevator, and he never missed an opportunity to remind me of it. Thinking at the time I wouldn’t live to see the sunrise, I had let my guard down and enjoyed myself, all but giving in to the lure of vampiric passion. Even worse? Kisten knew he had tipped me over the edge and that I had been a breath away from saying yes.

Exhausted, I elbowed the light switch and dropped my shoulder bag on the counter. Fluorescent lights flickered on, sending Mr. Fish into a frenzy of motion. Soft jazz and the rise and fall of conversation filtered in from the unseen living room. Kisten’s leather coat was draped over Ivy’s chair before her computer. There was a half-full pot of coffee, and after a moment’s thought, I poured it into my gigantic mug. Trying to be quiet, I started a new batch. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Kisten’s voice was as smooth and warm as a bubble bath.

“Ivy, love,” he pleaded as I got the grounds out of the fridge. “It’s only one night. An hour, maybe. In and out.” “No.”

Ivy’s voice was cold, the warning obvious. Kisten was pushing her past where I would, but they’d grown up together, the children of wealthy parents who expected them to join their families and have little vamp brats to continue Piscary’s living-vampire line before they died and became true undead. It wouldn’t happen—the marriage, not the dead part. They had already tried the cohabitation route, and while neither would say what happened, their relationship had cooled until all that was left was more of a warped sibling fondness.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Kisten persuaded, laying his fake British accent on heavy. “Just be there. I’ll say everything.”

“No.”

Someone snapped off the music, and I silently pulled the silverware drawer open for the coffee scoop. Three pixy girls darted out, shrieking. I bit back my yelp, heart pounding as they vanished down the dark hallway. Motions quick from adrenaline, I poked around to find the scoop missing. I finally spotted it in the sink. Kisten must have made the coffee. If it had been Ivy, her asinine need for order would have had it washed, dried, and put away.

“Why not?” Kisten’s voice had taken a petulant tone. “He’s not asking for much.”

Tight and controlled, Ivy’s voice was seething. “I don’t want that bastard in my head at all. Why would I let him see through my eyes? Feel my thoughts?”

The carafe hung from my fingers as I stood over the sink. I wished I wasn’t hearing this.

“But he loves you,” Kisten whispered, sounding hurt and jealous. “You’re his scion.”

“He doesn’t love me. He loves me fighting him.” It was bitter, and I could almost see her perfect, slightly Oriental features tighten in anger.

“Ivy,” Kisten cajoled. “It feels good, intoxicating. The power he shares with you—”

“It’s a lie!” she shouted, and I started. “You want the prestige? The power? You want to keep running Piscary’s interests? Pretend you’re still his scion? I don’t care! But I’m not letting him in my head even to cover for you!”

I noisily ran the water into the carafe to remind them I was listening. I didn’t want to hear more, and I wished they’d stop.

Kisten’s sigh was long and heavy. “It doesn’t work that way. If he really wants in, you won’t be able to stop him, Ivy love.”

“Shut. Up.”

The words were so full of bound anger that I stifled a shudder. The carafe overflowed, and I jumped as water hit my hand. Grimacing, I shut the tap off and tipped the excess out.

There was a creak of wood from the living room. My stomach clenched. Someone had just pinned someone else to a chair. “Go ahead,” Kisten murmured over the tinkling of the water pouring into the coffeemaker. “Sink those teeth. You know you want to. Just like old times. Piscary feels everything you do, whether you want him to or not. Why do you think you haven’t been able to abstain from blood lately? Three years of denial, and now you can’t go three days? Give it up, Ivy. He’d love to feel us enjoying ourselves again. And maybe your roommate might finally understand. She almost said yes,” he goaded. “Not to you. To me.”

I stiffened. That had been directed at me. I wasn’t in the room, but I might as well have been.

There was another creak of wood. “Touch her blood and I’ll kill you, Kist. I swear it.”

I looked around the kitchen for a way to escape but it was too late as Ivy halted in the archway, with a scuff of boots. She hesitated, looking unusually ruffled as she gauged my unease in an instant with her uncanny ability to read body language. It made keeping secrets around her chancy at best. Anger at Kist had pinched her brow, and the aggressive frustration didn’t bode well, even if it wasn’t aimed at me. Her pale skin glowed a faint pink as she tried to calm herself, bringing the faint whisper of scar tissue on her neck into stark relief. She had tried surgery to minimize Piscary’s physical sign of his claim on her, but it showed when she was upset. And she wouldn’t accept any of my complexion charms. I had yet to figure that one out.

Seeing me unmoving by the sink, her brown eyes flicked from my steaming mug of coffee to the empty pot. I shrugged and flicked the switch to get it brewing. What could I say?

Ivy pushed herself into motion, setting an empty mug on the counter. She smoothed her severely straight black hair, bringing herself back to at least looking calm and collected. “You’re upset,” she said, her anger at Kisten making her voice rough. “What’s up?”

I pulled my backstage passes out and clipped them to the fridge with a tomato magnet. My thought went to Nick, then to rolling on the floor evading pixy snowballs. And mustn’t forget the joy of hearing her threaten Kisten over my blood that she wasn’t ever going to taste. Golly, so much to choose from. “Nothing,” I said softly.

Long and sleek in her blue jeans and shirt, she crossed her arms and leaned against the counter beside the coffeemaker to wait for it to finish. Her thin lips pressed together and she breathed deeply. “You’ve been crying. What is it?”

Surprise stopped me cold. She knew I had been crying? Damn. It had only been three tears. At the stoplight. And I had wiped them away before they even dribbled out. I glanced at the empty hallway, not wanting Kisten to know. “I’ll tell you later, okay?”

Ivy followed my gaze to the archway. Puzzlement crinkled the skin about her brown eyes. Then understanding crashed over her; she knew I’d been dumped. She blinked, and I watched her, relieved when the first flicker of blood lust at my new, available status quickly died.

Living vampires didn’t need blood to remain sane, as undead vampires did. They still craved it, though, choosing whom they took it from with care, usually following their sexual preferences on the happy chance that sex might be included in the mix. But the taking of blood could range in importance from confirming a deep platonic friendship to the shallowness of a one-night stand. Like most living vamps, Ivy said she didn’t equate blood with sex, but I did. The sensations a vampire could pull from me were too close to sexual ecstasy to think otherwise.

After twice being slammed into the wall by ley line energy, Ivy got the message that though I was her friend, I would never, ever, say yes to her. It had been easier after she resumed practicing, too, with her slacking her needs somewhere else and coming home satiated, relaxed, and quietly self-loathing for having given in again.

Over the summer she seemed to have turned her energies from trying to convince me that her biting me wasn’t sex to ensuring that no other vampire would hit on me. If she couldn’t have my blood, then no one could, and she had devoted herself in a disturbing, yet flattering, drive to keep other vampires from taking advantage of my demon scar and luring me into becoming their shadow. Living with her gave me protection from them—protection I wasn’t ashamed to accept—and in return I was her unconditional friend. And whereas that might seem one-sided, it wasn’t.

Ivy was a high-maintenance friend, jealous of anyone who attracted my attention, though she hid it well. She barely tolerated Nick. Kisten, though, seemed exempt, which made me oh-so-warm and fuzzy inside. And as I took up my coffee, I found myself hoping she would go out tonight and satisfy that damned blood lust of hers so she wouldn’t be looking at me like a hungry panther the rest of the week.

Feeling the tension shift from anger to speculation, I looked at the unfinished pot brewing, thinking only of escaping the room. “You want mine?” I said. “I haven’t drunk any.”

My head turned at Kisten’s masculine chuckle. He had appeared without warning in the doorway. “I haven’t drunk any either,” he said suggestively. “I’d like some if you’re offering.”

A flush of memory took me, of Kisten and me in that elevator: my fingers playing with the silky strands of his blond-dyed hair at the nape of his neck, the day-old stubble he cultivated to give his delicate features a rugged cast harsh against my skin, his lips both soft and aggressive as he tasted the salt on me, the feel of his hands at the small of my back pressing me into him. Damn.

I pulled my eyes from him, forcing my hand down from my neck where I had been unconsciously touching my demon scar to feel it tingle, stimulated by the vamp pheromones he was unconsciously putting out. Double damn.

Pleased with himself, he sat in Ivy’s chair, clearly guessing where my thoughts were. But looking ‘at his well-put-together body, it was hard to think of anything else.

Kisten was a living vamp, too, his bloodline going back as far as Ivy’s. He had once been Piscary’s scion, and the glow of sharing blood with the undead vampire showed in him still. Though he often acted the playboy by dressing in biker leather and affecting a bad British accent, he used it to hide his business savvy. He was smart. And fast. And while not as powerful as an undead vampire, he was stronger than his compact build and slim waistline suggested.

Today he was dressed conservatively in a silk shirt tucked into dark slacks, clearly trying to be the professional as he took on more of Piscary’s business interests now that the vampire languished in prison. The only hints to Kisten’s bad-boy side were the gunmetal gray chain he wore about his neck—twin to the pair Ivy wore about her ankle—and the two diamond studs he had in each ear. At least there were supposed to be two in each ear. Someone had torn one out to leave a nasty tear.

Kisten lounged in Ivy’s chair with his immaculate shoes provocatively spread, leaning back as he took in the moods drifting about the room. I found my hand creeping up to my neck again, and I scowled. He was trying to bespell me, get in my head and shift my thoughts and decisions. It wouldn’t work. Only the undead could bespell the unwilling, and he couldn’t lean on Piscary’s strength any longer to give him the increased abilities of an undead vampire.

Ivy pulled the brewed coffee out from under the funnel. “Leave Rachel alone,” she said, clearly the dominant of the two. “Nick just dumped her.”

My breath caught and I stared at her, aghast. I hadn’t wanted him to know!

“Well …” Kisten murmured, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. “He was no good for you anyway, love.”

Bothered, I put the island counter between us. “It’s Rachel. Not love.”

“Rachel,” he said softly, and my heart pounded at the compulsion he put in it. I glanced out the window to the snowy gray garden and the tombstones beyond. What the Turn was I doing standing in my kitchen with two hungry vamps when the sun was going down? Didn’t they have somewhere to go? People to bite, that weren’t me?

“He didn’t dump me,” I said as I grabbed the fish food and fed Mr. Fish. I could see Kisten’s reflection watching me in the dark window. “He’s out of town for a few days. Gave me his key to check on everything and pick up his mail.”

“Oh.” Kisten glanced sidelong at Ivy. “A long excursion?”

Flustered, I set the fish food down and turned. “He said he was coming back,” I protested, my face tightening as I heard the ugly truth behind my words. Why would Nick say he’d be coming back unless it had occurred to him not to?

As the two vamps exchanged more silent looks, I pulled a mundane cookbook out from my spell library and set it thumping onto the island counter. I’d promised Jenks the oven tonight. “Don’t even try to pick me up on the rebound, Kisten,” I warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” The slow, soft tone of his voice said otherwise.

“’Cause you’re not capable of being half the man Nick is,” I stupidly said.

“High standards, eh?” Kisten mocked.

Ivy perched herself on the counter by my ten-gallon dissolution vat of saltwater, wrapping her arms about her knees yet still managing to look predatory while she sipped her coffee and watched Kisten play with my emotions.

Kisten glanced at her as if for permission, and I frowned. Then he stood in a sliding sound of fabric, coming to lean on the island counter across from me. His necklace swung, pulling my attention to his neck, marked with soft, almost unseen, scars. “I like action movies,” he said, and my breath came fast. I could smell the lingering aroma of leather on him under the dry scent of silk.

“So?” I said belligerently, peeved that Ivy had probably told him about Nick’s and my weekend-long stints in front of the Adrenaline channel.

“So, I can make you laugh.”

I flipped to the most tattered, stain-splattered recipe in the book I’d swiped from my mom, knowing it was for sugar cookies. “So does Bozo the Clown, but I wouldn’t date him.”

Ivy licked her finger and made a tally mark in the air.

Kisten smiled to show the barest hint of fang, leaning back and clearly feeling the hit. “Let me take you out,” he said. “A platonic first date to prove Nick wasn’t anything special.”

“Oh, please,” I simpered, not believing he was stooping this low.

Grinning, Kisten turned himself into a spoiled rich boy. “If you enjoy yourself, then you admit to me that Nick was nothing special.”

I crouched to get the flour. “No,” I said when I rose to set it thumping on top of the counter.

A hurt look creased his stubbled face, put-on but still effective. “Why not?”

I glanced behind me at Ivy, silently watching. “You have money,” I said. “Anyone can show a girl a good time with enough money.”

Ivy made another tally mark. “That’s two,” she said, and he frowned.

“Nick was a cheap ass, huh,” Kisten offered, trying to hide his ire.

“Watch your mouth,” I shot back. “Yes, Ms. Morgan.”

The sultry submissiveness in his voice yanked my thoughts back to the elevator. Ivy once told me Kisten got off on playing the submissive. What I had found out was that a submissive vampire was still more aggressive than most people could handle. But I wasn’t most people. I was a witch.

I put my eyes on his, seeing that they were a nice steady blue. Unlike Ivy, Kisten freely indulged his blood lust until it wasn’t the overriding factor governing his life. “One hundred seventy-five dollars?” he offered, and I bent to get the sugar.

The man thought a cheap date was almost two hundred dollars?

“One hundred?” he said, and I looked at him, reading his genuine surprise.

“Our average date was sixty,” I said.

“Damn!” he swore, then hesitated. “I can say damn, can’t I?”

“Hell, yes.”

From her perch on the counter, Ivy snickered. Kisten’s brow pinched in what looked like real worry. “Okay,” he said, deep in thought. “A sixty-dollar date.”

I gave him a telling look. “I haven’t said yes yet.” He inhaled long and slow, tasting my mood on the air. “You haven’t said no, either.” “No.”

He slumped dramatically, pulling a smile from me despite myself. “I won’t bite you,” he protested, his blue eyes roguishly innocent.

From under the island counter I pulled out my largest copper spell pot to use as a mixing bowl. It wasn’t reliable any longer for spelling, as it had a dent from hitting Ivy’s head. The palm-sized paint ball gun I stored in it made a comforting sound against the metal as I took it out to put back under the counter at ankle height. “And I should believe you because …”

Kisten’s eyes flicked to Ivy. “She’ll kill me twice if I do.”

I went to get the eggs, milk, and butter out of the fridge, hoping neither of them sensed my pulse quickening. But I knew my temptation didn’t stem from the subliminal pheromones they were unconsciously emitting. I missed feeling desired, needed. And Kisten had a Ph.D. in wooing women, even if his motives were one-sided and false. From the looks of it, he indulged in casual blood taking like some men indulged in casual sex. And I didn’t want to become one of his shadows that he strung along, caught by the binding saliva in his bite to crave his touch, to feel his teeth sinking into me to fill me with euphoria. Crap, I was doing it again.

“Why should I?” I said, feeling myself warm. “I don’t even like you.”

Kisten leaned over the counter as I returned. The faultless blue of his eyes caught and held mine. It was obvious by his rakish grin that he knew I was weakening. “All the better reason to go out with me,” he said. “If I can show you a good time for a lousy sixty bucks, think what someone you like could do. All I need is one promise.”

The egg was cold in my hands, and I set it down. “What?” I asked, and Ivy stirred.

His smile widened. “No shirking.”

“Beg pardon?”

He opened the tub of butter and dipped his finger into it, licking it slowly clean. “I can’t make you feel attractive if you stiffen up every time I touch you.”

“I didn’t before,” I said, my thoughts returning to the elevator. God help me, I had almost done him right there against the wall.

“This is different,” he said. “It’s a date, and I would give my eyeteeth to know why women expect men to behave differently on a date than any other time.”

“Because you do,” I said.

He gave a raised-eyebrow look to Ivy. Straightening, he reached across the counter to cup my jaw. I jerked back, brow furrowed.

“Nope,” he said as he drew away. “I won’t ruin my reputation by taking you out on a sixty-dollar date for nothing. If I can’t touch you, it’s a no-go.”

I stared at him, feeling my heart pound. “Good.”

Shocked, Kisten blinked. “Good?” he questioned as Ivy smirked.

“Yeah,” I said, pulling the butter to me and scooping out about a half cup with a wooden spoon. “I didn’t want to go out with you anyway. You’re too full of yourself. Think you can manipulate anyone into doing anything. Your ego-testicle attitude makes me sick.”

Ivy laughed as she unfolded herself and jumped lightly to the floor without a sound. “I told you,” she said. “Pay up.”

Shoulders shifting in a sigh, he twisted to reach his wallet in a back pocket, pulling out a fifty and shoving it into her hand. She raised a thin eyebrow and made another tally mark in the air. An unusual smile was on her as she stretched to drop it into the cookie jar atop the fridge.

“Typical,” Kisten said, his eyes dramatically sad. “Try to do something nice for a person, cheer her up, and what do I get? Abused and robbed.”

Ivy took three long steps to come up behind him. Curling an arm across his chest, she leaned close and whispered in his torn ear, “Poor baby.” They looked good together, her silky sultriness and his confident masculinity.

He didn’t react at all as her fingers slipped between the buttons of his shirt. “You would have enjoyed yourself,” he said to me.

Feeling as if I’d passed some test, I pushed the butter off the spoon and licked my finger clean. “How would you know?”

“Because you enjoyed yourself just now,” he answered. “You forgot all about that shallow, self-centered human who doesn’t know a good thing when she bites him on his—” He looked at Ivy. “Where did you say she bit him, Ivy love?”

“His wrist.” Ivy straightened and turned her back on me to retrieve her coffee.

“Who doesn’t know a good thing when she bites him on his … wrist,” Kisten finished.

My face was burning. “That’s the last time I tell you anything!” I exclaimed to Ivy. And it wasn’t as if I had drawn blood. Good God!

“Admit it,” Kisten said. “You enjoyed talking with me, pitting your will against mine. It would have been fun,” he said as he looked at me through his bangs. “You look like you could use some fun. Cooped up in this church for God knows how long. When was the last time you got dressed up? Felt pretty? Felt desirable?”

I stood very still, feeling my breath move in and out of me, balanced. My thoughts went to Nick leaving to go out of town without telling me, our cuddling and closeness that had ended with a shocking abruptness. It had been so long. I missed his touch making me feel wanted, stirring my passions and bringing me alive. I wanted that feeling back—even if it was a lie. Just for a night, so I wouldn’t forget how it felt until I found it again.

“No biting,” I said, thinking I was making a mistake.

Ivy jerked her head up, her face expressionless.

Kisten didn’t seem surprised. A heady understanding was in his gaze. “No shirking,” he said softly, his eyes alive and glinting. I was like glass to him.