Every Which Way But Dead (30 page)

A low sound, barely audible, came from me as his fingers brushed me. In his touch, I felt his need flash into demand. My eyes closed and I sent one hand downward, finding him.

Feeling him against me, I shifted forward, then back. Our breath slipped out in tandem as we joined. Heavy and potent, my want and relief rose. He slipped deep inside me.
Soon, God help me, if it wasn't soon, I was going to die.
His soft breathing rose to swirl in my thoughts, sending surges from my neck to my groin.

My heart pounded, and his fingers traced my neck, resting atop my pulsing skin. We moved together, a pace steady with promise. His free arm wrapped about me, holding me closer, its weight both imprisoning and secure.

“Give me this,” he whispered, drawing me closer, and I willingly bent to his will, letting his lips find my demon scar.

My breath came in a loud gasp. I shuddered, our rhythm shifting. He held me close as the waves of desire built upon themselves. His lips on my neck became teeth, hungry, demanding. There was no pain, and I urged him to do what he would. A small part of me knew if he hadn't his caps, I would have been bitten. It only drove me to a more desperate need. I heard myself cry out, and his grip trembled, becoming tighter.

Wild with passion, I clutched his shoulders. It was there, I only needed to catch it. My breath came fast against his neck. There was nothing but him, and me, and our bodies moving together. His rhythm shifted, and feeling his passions beginning to crest, I found his neck and sent my teeth into him again.

“Harder,” he whispered. “You can't hurt me. I promise you can't hurt me.”

It tipped me over the edge, and as I played pretend with my vampire, I lunged hungrily into him with no thought of what I'd leave behind.

Kisten groaned, his arms tightening around me. His head pushed mine aside, and with a guttural sound, he buried his face in my neck.

I cried out as his lips found my scar. Fire struck my body alight. With that, fulfillment crashed upon me and I climaxed. Wave after wave rose, each building on the one before. Kisten shuddered, his motion under me ceasing as his passions crested an instant after my own. My breath came in a pained sound and I trembled, unable to move, fearing and wanting the last tingling jolts. “Kisten?” I managed as they faded to nothing and I found myself panting against him.

His grip about me hesitated and his hands fell away. My forehead dropped to his chest, and I took a shaking breath, exhausted and spent. I could do nothing as I lay atop him, my eyes half closed. Slowly I realized my back was cold and that Kisten's hand was tracing a warm path up and down my spine. I could hear his heartbeat and smell our scents mingling. Muscles trembling with fatigue, I pulled my head up to find his eyes shut and a contented smile on him.

My breath caught.
Holy shit. What had I just done?

Kisten's eyes opened, finding mine. They were clear and blue, the black of his pupil normal and calming. “Now you're afraid?” he said. “It's a little late for that.”

His gaze lingered on my black eye—only now seeing it with my amulets on the floor. I pulled myself up from him, immediately falling back as it was cold. My limbs started shaking. “Um, that was fun,” I said, and he laughed.

“Fun,” he said, running a finger down my jawline. “My wicked witch thought that was
fun
.” His smile wouldn't leave him. “Nick was a fool to let you go.”

“What do you mean?” I said, shifting to move, but his hands held me to him.

“I mean,” he said softly, “that you are the most erotic woman I've ever touched. That you're both a wide-eyed innocent and an experienced slut all at the same time.”

I stiffened. “If this is your attempt at pillow talk, it sucks eggs.”

“Rachel,” he cajoled, the heavy look of satisfied tenderness the only thing keeping me where I was.
That and I didn't think I could stand up quite yet.
“You have no idea how arousing it is to have your tiny little teeth on me, struggling to break through, tasting without tasting. An innocent, experienced and hungry all at the same time.”

I raised my eyebrows, blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes. “You had this all planned, didn't you?” I accused. “Thought you could come in here and seduce me like you do everyone else?” It wasn't as if I could be angry, lying atop him as I was, but I tried.

“No. Not like everyone else,” he said, the glint in his eyes going right to my core. “And yes, I came over here fully intending to seduce you.” He lifted his head and whispered in my ear, “It's what I'm good at. Just like you're good at evading demons and kicking ass.”

“Kicking ass?” I questioned as he dropped his head back to the arm of the couch. His hand was exploring again, and I didn't want to move.

“Yeah,” he said, and I jumped as he found a ticklish spot. “I like a woman who takes care of herself.”

“Not much of a white knight on a horse, huh?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Oh, I could,” he said. “But I'm a lazy son of a bitch.”

I laughed at that, and he joined me with his own chuckle as his grip about my waist tightened. With a little lurch, he lifted me from him. “Hold on,” he said as he stood, swinging me into the cradle of his arms as if I was a five-pound bag of sugar. With his vamp strength, he held me with one arm and hoisted his pants up loose about his hips. “Shower?”

My arms were laced about his neck, and I inspected it for bite marks. There wasn't a one, though I knew I had bit down hard enough to leave them. I also knew without looking that he hadn't made a visible mark on me despite his roughness. “That sounds great,” I said as he shuffled forward, his jeans still unzipped.

“I'll get you a shower,” he said as I looked behind me to my amulets, pants, and one sock strewn on the floor. “And then we'll open all the windows and air the church out. I'll help you finish making your fudge, too. That will help.”

“It's brownies.”

“Even better. That uses the oven.” He hesitated before my bathroom door, and feeling cared for and wanted in his arms, I pushed it open with my foot. The man was strong. I'd give him that. This was as satisfying as the sex. Well, almost.

“You have scented candles, don't you?” he asked as I flicked on the light with my toe.

“I have two X-chromosomes,” I said dryly as he set me atop the washer and pulled off my last sock. “I have a candle or two.”
He was going to help me into the shower? How sweet.

“Good. I'll get one going in the sanctuary. Tell Ivy you put it there in the window for Jenks, and you can keep it going until sunup.”

A whisper of unease pulled me straight, and my motions grew slow as I pulled my sweater over my head and dropped it onto the washer. “Ivy?” I questioned.

Kisten leaned against the wall and took off his boots. “You don't mind telling her?”

His boot thumped into the far wall, and my face went cold.
Ivy. Scented candles. Airing out the church. Making brownies to scent the air. Washing his scent off me. Swell.

Smiling his bad-boy smile, Kisten padded to me in his socks and open jeans. His wide hand cupped my jaw and he leaned close. “I don't mind if she knows,” he said, and I didn't move, enjoying the warmth. “She's going to find out eventually. But I'd break it to her gently if I were you, not dump it on her.” He gave me a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth. His hand trailed reluctantly from me as he backed up and opened the door to the shower.

Crap, I'd forgotten about Ivy.
“Yeah,” I said distantly, recalling her jealousy, her dislike of surprises, and how badly she reacted to both. “You think she's going to be upset?”

Kisten turned, his shirt off and water beading on his hand from feeling the temperature. “Upset? She's going to be as jealous as a green apple that you and I have a physical way to express our relationship and she doesn't.”

Frustration filled me. “Damn it, Kisten. I'm not going to let her bite me so she knows I like her. Sex and blood. Blood and sex. It's the same thing, and I can't do that with Ivy. I'm not wired that way!”

He shook his head, a sad smile on him. “You can't say blood and sex are the same thing. You've never given blood to another. You have nothing to base your view on.”

I frowned. “Every time a vamp puts his eyes on me looking for a snack, it feels sexual.”

He came forward, wedging his body between my knees, pressing close up to the washer. His hand went out, and he pushed my hair back over my shoulder. “Most living vampires who are looking for a quick fix find a willing partner faster when they stir them sexually. But Rachel, the meaning behind the giving and receiving blood isn't supposed to be based on sex but respect and love. That you can't be moved by the promise of great sex is why Ivy gave up that tack with you so quickly. But she's still hunting you.”

I thought of all the facets of Ivy that Skimmer's appearance had forced me to openly acknowledge. “I know.”

“Once she gets over her initial anger, I think she'll be all right with us dating.”

“I never said I was dating you.”

He smiled knowingly and touched my cheek. “But if I took your blood, even in accident or a moment of passion?” Kisten's blue eyes pinched in worry. “One scratch and she'd stake me. The entire city knows she's put a claim on you, and God help the vamp that gets in her way. I took your body. If I touch your blood, I'm dead twice.”

I went cold. “Kisten, you're scaring me.”

“You should be scared, little witch. She's going to be the most powerful vampire in Cincinnati someday, and she wants to be
your
friend. She wants you to be
her
savior. She thinks you'll either find a way to kill the vamp virus in her so she can die with her soul intact, or be her scion so she can die knowing that you'll be there to take care of her.”

“Kisten. Stop.”

Smiling, he kissed my forehead. “Don't worry. Nothing has changed from yesterday. Tomorrow will be the same. She's your friend, and she won't ask anything you can't give.”

“That doesn't help.”

He shrugged, and with a last touch on my side, he took a step back. Steam billowed out from the crack in the door as Kisten shimmied out of his jeans and leaned into the shower to adjust the temperature again. My eyes ran from his well-toned calves to his tight behind to his broad back, lightly muscled. All thoughts of Ivy's coming anger vanished.
Damn.

As if feeling my eyes on him, he turned, catching me ogling him.

The steam eddied about him. Drops of moisture from the showerhead clung to his stubble. “Let me help you get your camisole off,” he said, the timbre of his voice shifting.

I ran my eyes down him again, grinning as I brought my gaze up.
Double damn.

He slipped his hands behind my back, and with a little help on my part, he nudged me forward to the edge of the dryer and slipped my halter top off. Wrapping my legs around him, I laced my hands behind his neck and tucked my chin into the hollow of his neck. God help me, he was beautiful. “Kisten?” I questioned as he nuzzled my hair out of the way and found the ticklish spot behind my ear. A warm feeling started in my middle, stemming from where his lips touched me, demanding I recognize it. Accept it. Call it a good thing.

“Do you still have that tight leather biker outfit?” I asked, kind of embarrassed.

Lifting me off the washer and carrying me into the shower, he laughed.

I
smiled as the music ended, to leave a comfortable silence. The ticking of the clock above the sink became loud in the candlelit air. My eyes went to the hand jerking about the dial. It was creeping up on four in the morning, and I had nothing to do but sit and daydream about Kisten. He had left about three to handle the crowd at Piscary's, leaving me warm, content, and happy.

We had spent the entire early evening together eating BLTs and junk food, ransacking Ivy's and my music collection and then using her computer to burn a CD of our favorites. In retrospect, I think it had been the most enjoyable evening of my entire adult life as we laughed over each other's memories and I realized I enjoyed sharing more than my body with him.

Every candle I owned was lit as insurance that I'd be able to pick the time I told Ivy about my new arrangement with Kisten, and their glow added to the peace instilled by the soft burble of potpourri over the stove and the slight lethargy from the pain amulet about my neck. The air smelled of ginger, popcorn, and brownies, and as I sat at Ivy's table with my elbows to either side of me, I played with my amulets and wondered what Kisten was doing.

Much as I didn't want to admit it, I really liked him, and that I could have gone from fear to dislike to attraction and interest in less than a year left me concerned and embarrassed. It wasn't like me to overlook my healthy distrust of vampires because of a tight butt and a charming demeanor.

Living with a vampire might have something to do with it,
I thought, dipping my hand into the nearby bowl of popcorn and eating a piece because it was there, rather than out of any need to satisfy hunger. I didn't think my new attitude was because of my scar; I had liked Kisten before the sex, or there wouldn't have been any—and he hadn't played upon it to influence me, either.

Wiping my fingers free of the salt, I stared into nothing. I had been thinking of Kisten differently since he'd dressed me up and made me feel good.
Maybe,
I thought, picking out another kernel. Maybe I could find something with a vampire that I'd never been able to hold on to with a witch, war-lock, or human.

Chin in the cup of my palm, I sent my fingers lightly over the demon scar as I recalled his careful attention as he shampooed my hair and soaped my back, and how good it felt to be able to return the favor. He had let me hog the shower-head most of the time. That kind of stuff was important.

The sound of the front door opening jerked my attention to the clock.
Ivy was home? Already?
I had wanted to be tucked in bed pretending sleep when she came in.

“You up, Rachel?” she said, loud enough to be heard and soft enough to not wake me.

“Kitchen,” I called back. Nervous, I glanced at the potpourri. It was enough. Kisten had said it was. Standing, I flicked on the overhead light and resettled myself. As the fluorescent bulbs flickered on, I tucked my amulets behind my sweater and listened to her thump about in her room. Her steps in the hall were quick and stilted.

“Hi,” I said when she walked in, a vision of tight leather and tall boots. A black satchel was over one arm, and a silk-wrapped package about the size of a broken fishing pole was in her hand. My eyebrows rose as I realized she had put on makeup. Her image was both professional and sexy. Where was she going this late? And dressed like that?

“What happened with dinner with the folks?” I prompted.

“Change of plans.” Setting her stuff beside me on the table, she crouched to dig in a lower drawer. “I came to get a few things, then I'm gone.” Still at knee level, she smiled at me to show teeth. “I'll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Okay,” I said, slightly confused. She looked happy. She actually looked happy.

“It's cold in here,” she said as she pulled out three of my wooden stakes and set them clattering on the counter by the sink. “It smells like you had the windows open.”

“Um, it must be from our plywood door.” My brow furrowed as she stood, tugging the hem of her leather jacket down. Crossing the room with a speed just shy of eerie, she unzipped the satchel and jammed the stakes into it. I silently watched her, wondering.

Ivy hesitated. “Can I use them?” she asked, mistaking my silence for disapproval.

“Sure. Keep them,” I said, wondering what was up. I hadn't seen her in this much leather since she took that run to liberate a vamp child from a jealous ex. And I really didn't want a stake back if it had been used.

“Thanks.” Boot heels clacking on the linoleum, she went to the coffeemaker. Her oval face creased in annoyance as she peered at the empty carafe.

“You have a run?” I asked.

“Sort of.” Her enthusiasm dimmed, and I watched her throw the old grounds away.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I flicked back the silk covering to see what was under it. “Holy crap!” I exclaimed as I found a shiny length of steel smelling faintly of oil. “Where did you get a sword!”

“Nice, isn't it.” Not turning, she added three scoops of coffee to the filter and set it to brew. “And you can't trace it like bullets or charms.”

Oh, such a warm and fuzzy thought.
“Can you use it?”

Ivy pushed herself from the counter. I leaned back in my chair as she shook the wrap off, grasping the handle of the thin sword and pulling it from the back sheath. It came free with a whisper of ringing steel that tickled my inner ear. Like collapsing silk, her posture melted into a classic pose, her free arm arched over her head and her sword arm bent and extended. Her face was empty as she looked at the wall, her black hair swinging to a slow stop.

I had a freaking vampire samurai warrior for a roommate. This was getting better and better.
“And you know how to use it, too,” I said faintly.

She flashed me a smile as she stood and wedged it back into its sheath. “I took lessons from fifth grade through high school,” she said as she set it on the table. “I grew so fast that it was hard to keep my balance. I kept running into things. Mostly people who irritated me. Adolescence is when the faster reflexes kick in. The practice helped, and I stuck with it.”

I licked the salt off my fingers and pushed the popcorn away. I was willing to bet the classes had a good section devoted to self-control. Feeling more relaxed since the candles seemed to be working, I stretched my legs out under the table, wanting some of the coffee. Ivy rummaged in an upper cupboard to bring out her thermos. I eyed the dripping coffee, hoping she wasn't going to take it all.

“Well,” she said as she filled the metal vacuum bottle with hot water to warm it up. “You look like the vamp who bled the cat.”

“Beg pardon?” I said, stomach clenching.

She turned and dried her hands off on a dishcloth. “Did Nick call?”

“No,” I said flatly.

Her smile widened. Swinging her hair out of her way, she said, “Good.” Then, softly, she repeated, “That's good.”

This was not where I wanted the conversation to go. Rising, I wiped my palms on my jeans and padded in my bare feet to turn the flame up under the potpourri. Ivy yanked open the fridge and came out with the cream cheese and a bag of bagels. The woman ate as if calories couldn't stick to her. “No Jenks?” I asked, though the answer was obvious.

“No Jenks. He did talk to me, though.” Her eyes were pinched with frustration. “I told him I knew what Trent was, too, and to get over it. Now he won't talk to me, either.” She popped the lid on the cream cheese and scraped a knifeful across her bagel. “Do you think we should put an ad in the paper?”

My head rose. “To replace him?” I stammered.

Ivy took a bite and shook her head. “Just shake him up,” she said around her full mouth. “Maybe if he sees our ad for pixy backup, he'll talk to us.”

Frowning, I sat down in my spot and slouched, extending my legs to put my bare feet on her unused chair. “I doubt it. It would be just like him to tell us to take a flying leap.”

Ivy lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “It's not like we can do anything until spring.”

“I suppose.” God, this was depressing. I had to find a way to apologize to Jenks. Maybe if I sent him a clown-delivered telegram. Maybe if I was the clown. “I'll talk to him again,” I said. “Take him some honey. Maybe if I get him drunk, he'll forgive me for being such an ass.”

“I'll pick some up while I'm out,” she offered. “I saw some gourmet honey made from Japanese cherry blossoms.” Dumping the water from the thermos, she refilled it with the entire carafe of coffee, sealing the heavenly scent in metal and glass.

Biting back my disappointment, I pulled my feet off her chair. Obviously she had been thinking about how to soothe Jenks's pride as well. “So where are you going this late with a thermos of coffee, a bag of stakes, and that sword?” I asked.

Ivy leaned against the counter with the sleek grace of a black panther, the half-eaten bagel perched on her finger tips. “I have to lean on some uppity vamps. Keep them up past their bedtime. The sword is for show, the stakes to remember me by, and the coffee is for me.”

I made a face, imagining just how nasty it could be to have Ivy keep you up. Especially if she applied herself. But then my eyes widened as I put two and two together. “You're doing this for Piscary?” I said, sure I was right when she turned to look out the window.

“Yup.”

Silently I waited, hoping she'd say something. She didn't. I ran my attention over her, taking in her closed posture. “Your dad worked something out?” I hinted.

She sighed and turned to me. “As long as I handle Piscary's affairs, the bastard won't be dipping into my head.” She looked at her half-eaten bagel. Frowning, she clacked her boots to the trash and threw it away.

I said nothing, surprised she had capitulated so easily. Apparently hearing in my silence an accusation that wasn't there, her smooth face went ashamed. “Piscary agreed to let me continue using Kisten as my frontman,” she said. “He likes the notoriety, and anyone who is important will know that whatever he says is really coming from me—I mean, Piscary. I don't have to do anything unless Kisten runs into something he can't handle. Then I'll go in as the muscle to bail him out.”

My memories returned to Kisten taking down seven witches with the ease and nonchalance of breaking a candy bar. I couldn't imagine anything he couldn't handle, but then again, he wouldn't be able to go up against undead vampires without leaning on Piscary's strength. “And you're okay with this?” I said stupidly.

“No,” she said, crossing her arms before her. “But it's what my dad came up with, and if I can't accept how he helped me, I shouldn't have asked for it.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, wishing I had kept my mouth shut.

Apparently mollified, Ivy crossed the kitchen and put the thermos in with the stakes. “I don't want Piscary in my head,” she said, giving her satchel a shake to settle everything before zipping it closed. “As long as I do what he says, he'll stay out; and he'll leave Erica alone. Kisten should be his scion, not me,” she muttered. “He wants it.”

I absently agreed, and her fingers on the bag went still, her face carrying a shadow of the pain I recognized from the night Piscary had raped her in more ways than one. A chill struck through me as her nostrils flared and her focus went distant. “Kisten was here,” she said softly.

My skin tightened.
Damn. I hadn't been able to keep it from her for even a night.
“Uh, yeah,” I said as I pulled myself straighter in my chair. “He was here looking for you.”
About half the day ago.
The chill inside me deepened when her focus narrowed, reading my unease. Her head shifted to look at the potpourri on the stove.
Double damn.

Lips pressed tight, she walked out, heels clacking.

The wood chair scraped loudly as I stood. “Um, Ivy?” I called, following her out.

My breath caught and I jerked to a stop when I almost ran into her in the dark hallway on her way back from the sanctuary. “Excuse me,” she muttered, shifting around me with a vamp's speed. Her posture was tense, and in the light leaking in from the kitchen, I could see her eyes were dilated.
Crap. She was vamping out.

“Ivy?” I said to the empty hall, as she had walked into the living room. “About Kisten—”

My words choked off and I halted, my feet edging the gray carpet in the candlelit living room. Ivy stood with a ridged stiffness before the couch. The couch Kisten and I had had sex on. Emotions cascaded over her, frightening in their rapidity: dismay, fear, anger, betrayal. I jumped when she jerked into motion, jabbing at the CD-check button.

The five CDs came rolling halfway out. Ivy stared at them, stiffening. “I'll kill him,” she said, her fingers touching Jeff Buckley.

Shocked, I opened my mouth to protest, finding my words dying to nothing at the anger, black and heavy, in her tight expression.

“I'll kill him twice,” she said. She knew. Somehow she knew.

My heart pounded. “Ivy,” I started, hearing the fear in my voice. And with that, I jerked her instincts into play. Gasping, I backpedaled, far too slow.

“Where is it?” she hissed, her eyes wide and wild as she reached for me.

“Ivy…” My back hit the wall of the hallway, and I knocked her hand aside. “He didn't bite me.”

“Where is it!”

Adrenaline surged. Smelling it, she jerked her hand out, reaching. Her eyes were black and lost. It was only our former sparring that kept her grip from landing as I blocked her reach and dove under her arm to come to a stand in the middle of the candlelit living room.

“Back off, Ivy!” I exclaimed, trying not to fall into a defensive crouch. “He didn't bite me!” But I didn't have time to breathe before she was on me, jerking the collar of my sweater.