“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.”