Ким Харрисон - A Fistful of Charms

Ivy and I had been home a week, and we were all still in emotional limbo. Three seconds after Ivy and I walked in the door, Kisten looked at my dental floss stitches, breathed deeply, and knew what had happened. In an instant, Ivy had gone from happy-to-be-home to depressed. Her face full of an aching emptiness, she'd dropped her bags and took off on her bike to get it "checked over."

Just as well. Kisten and I had a long, painful discussion where he both sorrowed after and admired my new scars. It felt good to confess to someone that Ivy had scared the crap out of me, and even better when he agreed that in time she might forget her own fear and try to find a blood balance with me.

Since then he'd been his usual self. Almost. There was a sly hesitancy in his touch now, as if he was holding himself to a limit of action to see if I would change it. The unhappy result was the mix of danger and security that I loved in him was gone. Not wanting to interfere in anything Ivy and I might find, he had put me in charge of moving our relationship forward.

I didn't like being in charge. I liked the heart pounding rush of being lured into making decisions that might turn bad on me. Realizing as much was depressing. It seemed that Ivy and Jenks were right that not only was I an adrenaline junkie, but I needed a sensation of danger to get turned on.

Thinking about it now, my mood thoroughly soured, I crouched beside my desk, arm extended to try to get the stupid cat to like me. Her neck stretched out and she sniffed my fingers, but wouldn't bump her head under my hand as she would Ivy's. Giving up, I stood and headed for the back of the church, following the sound of Kisten's masculine rumble. I took a breath to call out and tell them I was there, but my feet stilled when I realized they were talking about me.

"Well, you did bite her," Kisten said, his voice both lightly accusing and coaxing.

"I bit her," Ivy admitted, her voice a whisper.

"And you didn't bind her," he prompted.

"No." I heard the creak of her chair as she repositioned herself, guilt making her shift.

"She wants to know what comes next," Kisten said with a rude laugh. "Hell, I want to know myself."

"Nothing," Ivy said shortly. "It's not going to happen again."

I licked my lips, thinking I should back out of the hallway and come in making more noise, but I couldn't move, staring at the worn wood by the archway to the living room.

Kisten sighed. "That's not fair. You strung her along until she called your bluff, and now you won't go forward, and she can't go back. Look at her," he said, and I imagined him gesturing at nothing. "She wants to find a blood balance. God, Ivy, isn't that what you wanted?"

Ivy's breath came harsh. "I could have killed her!" she exclaimed, and I jumped. "I lost control just like always and almost killed her. She let me do it because she trusted me." Her words were now muffled. "She understood everything and she didn't stop me."

"You're scared," Kisten accused, and my eyes widened at his gall.

But Ivy took it in stride as she laughed sarcastically. "You think?"

"No," he insisted, "I mean you're scared. You're afraid to try to find a balance you can both live with, because if you try and can't, she leaves and you've got nothing."

"That's not it," she said flatly, and I nodded. That was part of it, but not all.

Kisten leaned forward; I could hear the chair creak. "You think you don't deserve anything good," he said, and my face went cold, wondering if there was more to this than I had thought. "Afraid you're going to ruin every decent thing you get, so you're going to stick with this shitty half relationship instead of seeing where it might go."

"It's not a half relationship," Ivy protested.

He touched the truth, I thought. But that's not what keeps her silent.

"Compared to what you might have, it is," he said, and I heard someone get up and move. "She's straight, and you're not," Kisten added, and my pulse quickened. His voice was now coming from where Ivy sat. "She sees a deep platonic relationship, and you know that even if you start one, you'll eventually delude yourself into believing it's deeper. She'll be your friend when what you want is a lover. And one night in a moment of blood passion, you're going to make a mistake in a very concrete way and she'll be gone."

"Shut up!" she shouted, and I heard a slap, perhaps of a hand meeting someone's grip.

Kisten laughed gently, ending it with a sigh of understanding. "I got it right that time."

His liquid voice, gray with truth, sent a shiver through me. Back up, I told myself. Back up and go play with the cat. I could hear my heartbeat in the silence. From the disc player, the song ended.

"Are you going to share blood with her again?"

It was a gentle, hesitant inquiry, and Ivy took a noisy breath. "I can't."

"Mind if I do?"

Oh God. This time I did move, pulling the canvas bag tight to me. Kisten already had my body. If we shared blood, it would be too much for Ivy's pride. Something would break.

"Bastard," Ivy said, pulling my retreat to a halt.

"You know how I feel about her," he said. "I'm not going to walk away because of your asinine hang-ups about blood."

My lips parted at his bitter accusation, and Ivy's breath hissed. "Hang-ups?" she said vehemently. "Mixing sex with bloodletting is the only way I can keep from losing control with someone I love, Kisten! I thought I was better, but obviously I'm not!"

It had been bitter and accusing, but Kisten's voice was harsh with his own frustration. "I don't understand, Ivy," he said, and I heard him move away from her. "I never did. Blood is blood. Love is love. You aren't a whore if you take someone's blood when you don't like them, and you aren't a whore for wanting someone you don't like to take your blood."

"This is where I am, Kisten," she said. "I'm not touching her, and neither are you."

My pulse pounded, and I heard in his heavy exhalation the sound of an old argument that had no answer. "Rachel's worth fighting for," he said softly. "If she asks me, I won't say no."

I closed my eyes, seeing where this was heading.

"And because you're a man," Ivy said bitterly, "she won't have a problem when the blood turns to sex, will she."

"Probably not." It was confident, and my eyes opened.

"Damn you," she whispered, sounding broken. "I hate you."

Kisten was silent, and then I heard the soft sound of a kiss. "You love me."

Mouth dry, I stood in the hallway, afraid to move in the silence the last sound track had left.

"Ivy?" Kisten coaxed. "I won't lure her from you, but I won't sit by and pretend I'm a stone either. Just talk to her. She knows where your feelings are, and she still has the room next to yours, not an apartment across the city. Maybe…"

My eyes closed in the swirl of conflicting feelings. The image of me sharing a room with Ivy flitted through my mind, shocking me. Of me slipping between those silken sheets and sliding up to her back, smelling her hair, feeling her turn over and seeing her easy smile four inches from mine. I knew how her eyes would be lidded and heavy with sleep, the soft sound of welcome she would make. What in hell was I doing?

"She's rash," Kisten said, "impulsive, and the most caring person I have ever met. She told me what happened, but she doesn't think anything less of you, or herself, even when it went wrong."

"Shut up," Ivy whispered, pain and self-reproach in her voice.

"You opened the door," he accused, making her come to grips with what we had done. "And if you don't walk her through it, she'll find someone who will. I don't have to ask your permission. And unless you tell me right now that someday you're going to try to find a blood balance with her, I will if she asks me."