For a Few Demons More (21 page)

“Hey!” I exclaimed, knowing it was a bad idea to follow a fleeing vampire, but when had I ever done the smart thing?

“Ivy,” I complained, finding her at the kitchen sink, scrubbing furiously. The sharp scent of cleanser was thick, and a cloud of it hung over her, glittering in the sun. She must have dumped half the canister. “
I
want to talk about it,” I said, and she shot me a look that struck me cold. “I know what to expect now,” I added doggedly from the hallway. “It won't be as bad.”

“You don't know what bad is,” she said, then turned on the tap. Her motions were rough, edging into a vampire quickness. Realizing I was blocking her exit, I sidled into the kitchen and pretended to get a bottle
of water. My pulse was fast, and I shut the fridge door, cracking the cap and taking a swig.

“How often do you need blood?” I asked, then jumped when she whipped around, her hands tangled in a dish towel.

“That's putting it ugly, Rachel,” she accused, hurt showing in the slant of her eyebrows.

“It's not ugly,” I protested. “That's the point. You need blood to feel good about yourself. Hell, I need sex at least once a week if I'm dating someone I care about, or I'm plagued with delusions that the guy doesn't love me, or he's cheating on me, or any number of stupid, groundless ideas. It doesn't make sense, but there it is. Why should you be any different? So how often do you need to share blood to feel secure and happy?”

Her face was scarlet beside her black hair. How about that? Under it all, Ivy was shy.

“Two or three times a week,” she muttered. “It's not that I need a lot at any one time. It's the act, not the result.” Then her roving eyes fixed on me, striking me to my core.

“I can do that,” I said, heart pounding.
I can, right?

Ivy stared. Abruptly she shifted into motion, and I was looking at an empty room.

“Ivy!” I exclaimed, setting the bottle on the table and following her out. “I'm not asking you to bite me. I simply want to talk!” I glanced into her room and bathroom in passing, then heard her footsteps in the sanctuary. She was leaving. Typical. “Ivy…” I cajoled, then caught my breath in a tiny gasp when I entered the sanctuary and she was suddenly before me.

I stumbled to a stop, taking in her wire-tight posture and her black eyes. I was pushing it, and we both knew it. My demon scar was tingling from the pheromones she was kicking out, and the memory of Jenks telling me I was an adrenaline junkie surfaced. But damn it, this was the most I'd gotten her to open up in months.

“You're following me,” she said, the threat behind her voice making me stifle a shudder.

“I want to talk,” I said. “Just talk. I know you're afraid—

“Hey!” I yelped when her arm shot out and pushed my shoulder. My back touched the wall, and I looked up. Ivy was right in front of me, eyes black as sin—and alive as the sun.

“I have good reason to be afraid,” she said, her breath shifting my hair. “You think I don't want to bite you? You think I don't want to fill myself with you again? You love me, Rachel, whether you know what to do about it or not, and love without demands comes so seldom to a vampire. It drives me insane knowing you're right there and I can't have you!”

I stared, pulse racing, knees going weak. Maybe following her had been a mistake.

“I want it so bad that I hurt people to keep you safe and almost criminally innocent,” Ivy said. “So if I don't bite you, trust me, there's a reason.”

She pushed hard on my shoulder and turned around.

Shocked, I watched her walk away. The sun coming in through the stained-glass windows made spots of color on her as her arms swung stiffly. My resolve strengthened. I took a step after her. This pattern of her fleeing my questions was getting old.

“Talk to me,” I demanded. “Why won't you at least try to find a way to make this work? You could be so happy, Ivy!”

Ivy halted just before the foyer, hand on her hip as she faced the door. For three heartbeats she stood before she slowly spun. Slim and tense, she made a picture of collected frustration. “You can't stop me,” she said simply, and I took a protesting step forward. “You're too wrapped up in the ecstasy to keep conscious enough to stop me if things go wrong, and, Rachel, unless I mix sex with it, things
will
go wrong. It's how Piscary made me.”

A glimmer of her self-disgust, her hatred of who she was, showed, and my heart ached to prove to her she was wrong. My breath came fast, and I held it. “I know what to expect now,” I said softly. “It was the surprise. I can do better.”

Hip cocked, she looked to her left as if searching for strength. Or maybe answers. “Better won't keep you alive,” she said, and I went cold at the caustic sound. “You don't have it in you. You said yourself you don't want to hurt me. If I take your blood again without letting my feelings for you shackle my hunger, you're going to have to hurt me, because the hunger will take control, and I'm not capable of stopping then. Think you can do that?”

My mouth went dry, and my first words came out in a croak. “I…” I stammered, “I don't have to hurt you to stop you.”

“Is that so?” she said, and as I stood frozen with my eyes wide, she dropped her purse. “Let's find out.”

I jerked back as she leapt. Gasping, I dove toward her, pushing off the wall. My intent was to get past her. If she got a hold on me, I was dead meat. This wasn't passion. This was anger. Anger at herself, perhaps, but anger.

The thump of her hitting the wall where I had been brought my heart into my throat. I spun where I landed. She was coming back, and I grabbed her arm, wrenching it to lever her into falling. She twisted from me, rolled by the sound of it, and I spun.

But I was too slow, and I bit back a yelp when a white arm slipped around my neck. Her fingers pinched my hand, bending my wrist backward until it hurt. I went slack in her grip, caught and unable to best her vampire reactions. It was over that quickly. She had me.

“Hurt me, Rachel,” she whispered, stirring my hair. “Show me you aren't afraid to hurt me. If you aren't brought up that it's the norm, it's harder than you think.”

She wasn't masochistic. She was a realist, trying to get me to understand. Frightened, I struggled, pain ripping through my shoulder. Her grip was confining without being painful. It was my trying to get away that hurt. I went still, eyes wide and focused on the wall. I felt her warm against my back, and tension pulled my muscles tight one by one as the tingling started high in my neck and trickled lower.

“We can share blood without love if you hurt me,” Ivy breathed, her breath brushing my ear. “We can share blood without hurt if you love me. There is no middle ground.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” I said, knowing that my magic was like a ball bat. I had no finesse. It would hurt her, and hurt her bad. “Let go,” I demanded, shifting. She tightened her grip, and a thread of heat coiled in my center as my motion ended with more of our bodies touching. This had started as an object lesson to get me to leave her alone, but now…
Oh, God. What if she bites me again. Right now?

“You're the one stopping us from finding a blood balance,” she said. “Love is pain, Rachel. Figure it out. Get over it.”

It wasn't. At least it didn't have to be. I wiggled again. “Ow, ow!” I said, feet scuffling. I was starting to sweat. Her scent poured over me, soothing, enticing, bringing the memory of her teeth sliding into me to
the forefront of my thoughts as evolution had intended. And when my eyes closed at a surge of adrenaline pooling in me to set my blood rushing, I realized just what kind of trouble we were in. I didn't want her to let go. “Uh, Ivy?”

“Damn it,” she whispered, and the heat in her voice hit me hard.

We were six kinds of stupid. I had only wanted to talk, and she had only wanted to prove how dangerous finding a blood balance would be. And now it was too late for thinking.

Her grip tightened, and I relaxed into it. “God, you smell good,” she said, and my pulse thrummed. “I shouldn't have touched you….”

Feeling unreal, I tried to move, finding she'd let me turn to face her. My heart jumped into my throat, and I swallowed as I gazed into her perfect face, flushed with the danger of where we were. Her eyes were black as absolute night, reflecting my image: lips parted, eyes wild. The darkness was colored by the blood lust shimmering in her eyes. And below that, deeper under it all, was her fragile vulnerability.

“I can't hurt you,” I said, fear a faint whisper in me.

My neck throbbed with the memory of her lips on me, the glorious feeling of her pulling, drawing what she needed to fill the hurting chasm in her soul. Her eyes closed, and, breathing deeply, I felt myself relax against her as her forehead touched my shoulder. “I'm not going to bite you,” she said, her teeth inches from me, and a pulse of need shocked though me. “I'm not going to bite you.”

My soul seemed to darken with her words. The question of what she would do had been answered. She was going to walk away. She was going to let go, drop back, and walk away.

A feeling of loss rose to wind around my lungs, crushing my air from me.

“But I want to,” she said, and the chained desire in her whisper sent a pulse through me.

I gasped as the unexpected sensation dove to my middle and set me alight, twice as potent since I had given up on it. It was followed by fear, and Ivy's grip clenched. I froze when she tilted her head, her lips brushing just shy of my scar. “Either bite me or let me go,” I breathed, dizzy with need.
How did this happen? How did it happen so fast?

“Close your eyes,” she said, her gray voice holding the emotion she was trying to control.

My pulse hammered, and, lids fluttering, I felt her pull back. In my imagination I could see her black eyes, see the heat in them and the way she got off on self-denial followed by a savage fulfillment when it became too much for her to contain, the guilt coating her soul.

“Don't move,” she said, and I trembled at her breath against my cheek. She was going to bite me. Oh, God, I'd do better this time. I wouldn't let her lose control. I could do this.

“Promise me,” she said, running a finger across my neck to make my breath catch, “that this won't change anything. That you know it's a taste for you to try, and that I will do nothing to encourage you. I won't ever do it again unless you come to me. If you come to me. And don't come to me unless you want it all, Rachel. I can't do it any other way.”

A taste. I had already tasted this, but I nodded, my eyelids closed. My breath came in a pant, and I held it, waiting. Aching for the feel of her teeth in me. “I promise.”

“Keep your eyes shut,” she breathed, and I almost moaned when her light touch upon my scar lit a path through me to my groin. I gasped, feeling the wall against my back and her grip on me tighten. My heart pounded, and anticipation coiled deeper, tighter.

The softness of her small lips on mine went almost unnoticed until her hand left my scar and crept to the back of my neck to hold me unmoving. I froze.
She's kissing me?

My first reaction to jerk away rose and fell, everything confusing as my body still resonated with the wash of endorphins that her playing on my scar had started. A taste, she had said, and adrenaline pounded. She felt the lack of a violent response, and with her lips the barest whisper on mine, she shifted her hand, finding my scar again.

A groan escaped me. She had let up enough to be sure I knew what she was doing, and now she was going to let me have it all.

“Oh, God, Ivy,” I moaned, the conflict between knowledge and emotion making me helpless, and she pressed me into the wall, her lips upon mine again becoming more sure, aggressive. The hint of her tongue brought a gasp from me, and I froze, not knowing what to do. It was too much. I couldn't think. Her light touch retreated, and with a suddenness that shocked through me, she pulled away.

Panting, I leaned against the wall, my eyes open and my hand pressing the throbbing pulse of my neck. Ivy stood four feet away, her eyes
utterly black and her body clearly hurting from the effort she had exerted to let go.

“All or nothing, Rachel,” she said, stumbling backward, looking afraid. “I'm not going to be the one to leave, and I won't ever kiss you again unless you start it. But if you try to manipulate me into biting you, I'm going to assume you're taking me up on my offer, and I'll meet you.” Her eyes went frightened. “With all of me.”

My pulse hammered and my knees wobbled. This was going to make our mornings alone a little more uncomfortable—or a hell of a lot more interesting.

“You promised you wouldn't leave,” she said, her voice becoming vulnerable. And then she was gone, her steps sharp as she picked up her purse and fled the church and the confusion she had left me in.

My hand dropped, and I held myself as if trying to keep from falling apart.
What in hell have I done? Just stood there and let her do it?
I should have pushed her away, but I hadn't. I had started it, and she had used my scar to manipulate me into seeing what she offered without fear and holding all the passion it might entail. All or nothing, she had said, and now that I had tasted it all without fear, I knew what that meant.

The rumble of Ivy's cycle echoed in through the open transom windows, fading into the distant sound of traffic. I slowly let myself slide down the wall until I hit the floor, knees scrunched and trying to breathe.
Okay,
I thought, still feeling the promise of her resonating in me.
Now what am I going to do?

The dry sifting of wings coming in the high windows drew my attention, and I stood, wiping the sweat from my neck. Jenks? Where had he been five minutes ago, and what in hell was I going to do now? Ivy had said she wouldn't do anything again unless I started it, but could I stay in the church with that kiss resonating between us? Every time she looked at me, I'd be wondering what she was thinking.
Maybe that was her intent?

“Hey, Rache,” Jenks called cheerfully as he dropped from the ceiling, “where's Ivy going?”

“I don't know.” Numb, I headed to the kitchen before he could see my state. Clearly his kid's wings were okay. “Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?” I said, rubbing my sore wrist. Crap, if it bruised, it would look great with my bridesmaid's dress. At least I didn't have a new bite mark to go with it.

“Ah, hell,” Jenks said, and I dropped my eyes when I saw his disapproving gaze. “It stinks in here. You pushed her again, didn't you?”

It wasn't a question, and I walked without pause into the kitchen.

“You stupid-ass witch,” he said, shedding silver sparkles as he followed. “Is she coming back? You scare her off for good this time? What's wrong with you? Can't you leave it alone?”

“Jenks, shut up,” I said flatly, grabbing my forgotten bottled water and heading into the living room. The radio was in there. If I turned it
high enough, I wouldn't be able to hear him. “We talked, is all.”
And she kissed me.
“I got a few questions answered.”
And with her messing with my scar at the same time, it felt really good.
Shit. How was I supposed to figure this out? I thought I was straight. I was, wasn't I? Or did I have “latent tendencies”? And if I did, were they really a convenient excuse for thinking with my G-spot? Was that what I was all about? Had I no depth at all?

He followed me into the empty living room, and I sat on the raised hearth, trying to remember how to think. I clicked on the radio to find happy, bouncy music, and I turned it off.

“Well?” Jenks landed on my knee, looking almost hopeful. But then his wings stilled and drooped when I sighed.

“I asked about a blood balance, and she set some rules,” I said, looking out the high windows at the undersides of the oak tree's leaves. “She's not going to make a move to touch my blood, but if I even hint that I want her to, it's with the understanding that I want everything.”

He looked at me blankly, and I added, “She kissed me, Jenks.”

His eyes widened, and a small part of me was reassured that he hadn't seen the entire thing and was hiding the fact. “Did you like it?” he asked bluntly, and I frowned, shifting my knee until he took off to land right where he had been.

“She was playing on my scar at the time,” I muttered, blushing. “I got a real good idea what it would be like to let my hair down and go with it, but I don't know where the feelings are coming from anymore. She mixed them all up, then walked out the door.”

“So…” Jenks hedged. “What are you going to do?”

I gave him a mirthless smile. His unconditional acceptance was a balm, and the tension eased. He didn't care what Ivy and I did, as long as we stayed together and didn't kill each other. “How should I know?” I said as I stood. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Hell, yes,” Jenks said, rising up with me. “You just keep thinking whatever you need to think. As long as you don't leave.”

Setting my water on the sill, I took up the broom and started to sweep our brand-new floor again. I wasn't going to leave because Ivy had kissed me. She'd said she wasn't going to do it again, and I believed her, knowing how she'd wanted this since our moving in together, and me being as dumb as a stone because of her ability to hide her desires
the way she could. It had been a taste to show me what might be, then a return to the distance we kept to give me the time I needed to think about it. Figure things out.
The Turn take it.

Jenks hovered for a moment, then landed on the sill and in the sun. “This is better,” he said, scanning the bare walls. “I don't know why you didn't let the guys do it. It wasn't that much, and the amount you saved won't make a dent in what we need to resanctify the church.” His face grew worried. “And we are going to resanctify it, right? I mean, we can't move.”

Rising from sweeping the dust into the pan, I turned to him, hearing the worry he was trying to hide. It didn't matter how uncomfortable things got between Ivy and me. If the firm fell apart, Jenks would probably lose control of the garden. He had way too many kids, and Matalina wasn't up to staking out new territory. Jenks said she was okay, but I was worried.

“We aren't moving,” I said flatly, and I dumped the pan in the black contractor bag. “We'll find a way to get the church resanctified.”
Ivy and I will deal with the uncomfortable situation like we always have…by ignoring it.
It was something we were both good at.

Reassured, Jenks glanced into the garden, the sun glinting on his shock of bright yellow hair. “I still say you should've let the guys fix the walls,” he said. “What did you save? A hundred bucks? Tink's knickers, that's nothing.”

I set the broom aside and shook the trash down in the bag, looking for a twist tie. “I'll have a big chunk after Trent's wedding. Unless nothing happens, but what are the chances of that?”

Jenks snickered. “With your luck, nothing will.”

I scanned the living room and tried to decide how to pick up the bag of trash without getting poked by a stray nail or jagged sliver. Though the space was empty and echoing, the walls were back together and the newly uncovered floor was clean. A quick trip to the store for a new piece of baseboard and we could move everything back. Actually, there was no reason to wait for the baseboard. I could move everything back in now, and finish it later. If I hustled, I could get it back before Ivy returned. It might be easier to do it myself than our doing it together.

“Phone's going to ring,” Jenks said from atop the broom's handle, and I froze, jumping when it did.

“God, Jenks, that's creepy,” I muttered as I dropped the bag and went to the hearth. I knew he probably heard the electronics click over, but it was still unnerving.

He was grinning as I plucked up the receiver. “Vampiric Charms,” I said, adopting my most professional voice. I stuck my tongue out at Jenks, and he merrily flipped me off. “This is Morgan. We can help. Day or night, dead or alive.”
Where are the freaking pen and paper?

“Rachel? It's Glenn.”

My breath puffed out, and I relaxed. “Hi, Glenn,” I said, looking for something to sit on and finally moving to the kitchen. “What's up? You got another job for me? Maybe want to arrest another one of my friends?”

“I didn't arrest Mr. Hue, and it's the same job.”

He sounded tense, and since the chance to get money out of the FIB didn't come very often, I dropped into my chair at the table. My gaze flicked to Jenks, the pixy having followed me in and clearly listening to both ends of the conversation.

“There's been another Were murder made up to look like a suicide,” Glenn said around the noise of FIB scanners and birds, and I wondered if he was on site. “I'd like you and Jenks to give me your Inderlander opinion before they move the body. How soon can you get here?”

I glanced at my construction-dusty jeans and T-shirt, wondering just what he thought I could do that he couldn't. I wasn't a detective. I was a hired spell caster/bounty hunter. Jenks took to the air, darting out the pixy hole in the kitchen screen. “Ah,” I hedged, “can't I just come to the morgue and look at the body?”

“You have something better to do?”

I thought about the living room and how I wanted our stuff back in it before Ivy got back. “Well, actually…”

“They're going to try to jerk it out from under me again,” Glenn said, drawing my attention back to him, “and I want you to see it before the I.S. has a chance to doctor the body. Rachel…” His voice took on a hard edge. “It's Mrs. Sarong's accountant. You know…the Howlers? He was high in the pack, and no one is happy.”

My eyebrows rose. Mrs. Sarong was the owner of Cincinnati's all-Inderland baseball team, the Howlers. It was their fish I had tried to recover from Mr. Ray—the same Mr. Ray whose secretary was already
in the morgue. I had forced the woman to pay me for my time, actually meeting her in the process. That there had been two “suicides” from two of Cincinnati's most prominent packs in as many days was not good.

It was obvious someone knew that the focus was in Cincinnati and was trying to find out who had it. I had to get rid of it. The chaos would be astounding if an entire pack could turn humans. Vampires would start culling them. My fingers started to tap the table. Maybe that's what was already happening? Piscary was in jail, but that wouldn't stop him.

The sound of wings was a relief, and Jenks came back in dressed for work, a sword and belt in one hand, a red bandanna in the other. “The murdered Were is Mrs. Sarong's accountant,” I said to him as I stood and looked for my shoulder bag.

“Oh.” Jenks dropped several inches, a guilty look coming over him. “A-a-a-ah, that might explain the message on the machine.”

I covered the phone receiver, unable to hide my exasperation. “Jenks…”

He made a face, leaking silver sparkles. “I forgot, okay?”

“Rachel?” came Glenn's tiny voice, pulling me back to him.

“Yeah…” I held a hand to my forehead. “Yes. Glenn, I can come out there….” I hesitated. “Where are you?”

Glenn cleared his throat. “Spring Grove,” he muttered.

A cemetery. Oooooh, how nice.
“Okay,” I said, standing up straight and scuffing into my sandals. “See you in a bit.”

“Great. Thanks.” He sounded preoccupied, as if he were trying to do two things at once.

I took a breath to say good-bye, but Glenn had hung up. Eyeing Jenks, I thumbed the phone off and cocked my hip. “I have a message?” I said dryly.

Jenks looked uncomfortable as he put the bandanna on, to look like an inner-city gang member in his black working clothes. “Mr. Ray wants to talk to you,” he said softly.

I thought about his secretary having been murdered and the I.S. not only looking the other way but trying to cover it up. “I'll bet.” Grabbing my bag, I looked to make sure I had all my usual spells. The thought occurred to me that Mr. Ray might be the one killing the Weres, but why
would he kill his own secretary first? Maybe Mrs. Sarong had murdered the woman and the second killing had been in retaliation? I was getting a headache.

Remembering my suspended license, I hesitated, but what kind of image would I have if I arrived on a crime scene by bus, and I pulled out my keys. My gaze went to the shelves under the center island counter. Leaning, I smiled when the smooth, heavy weight of my splat-ball gun filled my palm. The metal parts clicked comfortingly as I checked the reservoir. Spells stored in amulets were good for a year, but unstored, invoked potions lasted only a week. These were three weeks old and useless, but waving my gun around made me feel good and ticked Glenn off. I dropped it into my bag as Jenks finished writing a note for Ivy. “Ready?” I asked him.

He flew to my shoulder, bringing the delicate scent of the soap Matalina washed his clothes in. “You want to take his ketchup?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah.” I strode into the pantry, coming out with the gallon jar of super-duper belly-buster hot jalapeño salsa and the big red tomato I had gotten him as a surprise. Pulse fast, I headed for the hall, a gallon of salsa on my hip, a tomato in my hand, and a pixy on my shoulder.

Yeah, we bad.