Ким Харрисон - Every Witch Way But Dead

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.

"Where did he bite you?" she said, her gray voice trembling. "I'll kill him. I'll freaking kill him! I can smell him all over you!"

Her hand jerked to the hem of my sweater.

It tripped me over the panic line, and instinct took over. "Ivy! Stop!" I shouted. Frightened, I tapped the line. She reached for me, face twisted in anger. The line filled my chi, wild and out of control. A burst of energy flamed from my hands, burning them, as I hadn't harnessed it with a charm.

We both cried out as a black and gold sheet of ever-after expanded from me, knocking Ivy back into the plywood door. She slid to the floor in an awkward heap, her arms over her head and her legs askew. The windows shook at the boom. I rocked back, then caught my balance. Anger replaced my fear. I didn't care if she was all right or not.

"He didn't bite me!" I shouted, spitting my hair out of my mouth as I stood over her. "Okay? We had sex. All right? God help you, Ivy. It was only sex!"

Ivy coughed. Red-faced and gasping, she found her breath. The plywood sheet behind her was cracked. Shaking her head, she peered up at me, clearly not focusing yet. She didn't get up. "He didn't bite you?" she rasped, her face shadowy in the candlelight.

My legs trembled from adrenaline. "No!" I exclaimed. "You think I'm stupid?"

Clearly shaken, she looked askance at me. Taking a slow breath, she wiped her lower lip with the back of her hand. My gut tightened as it came away red with blood. Ivy stared at it, then gathered her legs under her and got to her feet. I breathed easier when she reached for a tissue, wiping her hand off and crumpling it into a ball.

She reached out, and I sprang back. "Don't touch me!" I said, and she raised a hand in acquiescence.

"Sorry." She looked at the cracked plywood, then winced as she felt her back. Carefully she tugged her coat down. Eyes going to mine, she took a slow breath. My heart pounded in time to the pain in my head. "You slept with Kisten and he didn't bite you?" she asked.

"Yes. And no, he didn't bite me. And if you ever touch me again, I'm walking out the front door, forever. Damn it, Ivy. I thought we were clear on this!"

I expected an apology or something, but all she did was eye me speculatively and ask, "Are you sure? You might not even notice if he cut your inner lip."

Goose bumps rose, and I ran my tongue across the inside of my mouth. "He wore caps," I said, feeling ill for how easily he could have tricked me. But he hadn't.

Ivy blinked. Slowly she sat on the edge of the couch, her elbows on her knees and her forehead cupped in the cradle of her hands. Her thin body looked vulnerable in the light from the three candles on the table. Crap. It suddenly occurred to me that not only did she want a closer relationship with me, but that Kisten was her old boyfriend. "Ivy? Are you okay?"

"No."

I cautiously sat on the chair across from her, the corner of the table between us. By any standards, this was a complete shitfest. I cursed silently, then reached out. "Ivy. God, this is awkward."

She jumped at the weight of my hand on her arm, looking up with frighteningly dry eyes. I pulled back, laying my hand like a dead thing in my lap. I knew I shouldn't touch her when she wanted more. But to sit and do nothing was so cold.