Checking to see that my bandages hadnt come off my knuckles, I stomped up the wooden steps and wedged my gardening sneakers off. Leaving them there, I went in the back door and into the living room. The smell of coffee was almost a slap. A set of masculine boots clattered on the linoleum in the kitchen across the hall, and I hesitated. That wasnt Ivy. Kisten?
Curious, I padded to the kitchen. Hesitating in the open archway, I scanned the apparently empty room.
I liked my kitchen. No, let me rephrase. I loved my kitchen with the loyalty of a bulldog to his favorite bone. It took up more space than the living room and had two stovesso I never had to stir spells and cook on the same flame. There were bright fluorescent lights, expansive counter and cupboard space, and sundry ceramic spelling utensils hanging over the center island counter. An oversized brandy snifter with my beta, Mr. Fish, rested on the sill of the single blue-curtained window over the sink. A shallow circle was etched in the linoleum for when I needed the extra protection for a sensitive spell, and herbs hung from a sweater rack in the corner.
A heavy, antique farm table took up the interior wall, my end holding a stack of books that hadnt been there earlier. The rest held Ivys precisely arranged computer, printer, maps, colored markers, and whatever else she needed to plan her runs into boredom. My eyebrows rose at the pile of books, but I smiled because of the jeans-clad backside poking out from the open stainless-steel fridge door.
Kist, I said, the pleased sound of my voice bringing the living vamps head up. I thought you were Ivy.
Hi, love, he said, the British accent he usually faked almost nonexistent as he casually shut the door with a foot. Hope you dont mind I let myself in. I didnt want to ring the bell and wake the dead.
I smiled, and he set the cream cheese on the counter and moved to me. Ivy wasnt dead yet, but she was as nasty as a homeless bridge troll if you woke her before she thought she should be up. Mmmm, you can let yourself in anytime so long as you make me coffee, I said, curving my arms around his tapering waist as he gave me a hug hello.
His close-cut fingernails traced an inch above the new bruises and tooth marks on my neck. Are you okay? he breathed.
My eyes slid shut at the concern in his voice. He had wanted to come over last night, and I appreciated that he hadnt when I asked him not to. Im fine, I said, toying with the idea of telling him that they hadnt played fair, five alphas binding into a round to give their bitch the advantage in an already unfair fight. But it was so unusual an occurrence that I was afraid he would say I was making it upand it sounded too much like whining to me.
Instead, I leaned my head against him and took in his scent: a mix of dark leather and silk. He was wearing a black cotton tee that pulled tight across his shoulders, but the aroma of silk and leather remained. With it was the dusky hint of incense that lingered around vampires. I hadnt identified that particular scent with vamps until I started living with Ivy, but now I could probably tell with my eyes closed whether it was Ivy or Kisten in the room.
Either scent was delicious, and I breathed deeply, willingly taking in the vampire pheromones he was unconsciously giving off to soothe and relax me. It was an adaptation to make finding a willing source of blood easier. Not that Kisten and I were sharing blood. Not me. Not this little witch. No how or ever. The risk of becoming a playthingmy will given to a vampirewas too real. But that didnt mean I couldnt enjoy the mild buzz.
I could hear his heartbeat, and I lingered while his fingers traced a yummy path to the small of my back. My forehead came to his shoulder, lower than usual, since he was in boots and I was in socks. His exhaled breath stirred my hair. The sensation brought my head up, and I met his blue eyes squarely from under his long bangs, reading in the normalsized pupils that he had slaked his blood lust before coming over. He usually did.
I like it when you smell like dirt, he said, his eyes half-lidded and sly.
Smiling, I ran a fingernail down his rough cheek. He had a small nose and chin, and he usually kept a days worth of stubble to give himself a more rugged cast. His hair was dyed blond to match his almost-beard, though I had yet to catch him with darker roots or a charm to color it. Whats the real color of your hair? I asked impulsively as I played with the wispy strands at the nape of his neck.
He pulled away, blinking in surprise. Two slices of toast popped up, and he shifted to the counter, bringing out a plate and setting the bread on it. Ah, its blond.
My eyes roved over his very nice backside, and I slumped against the counter, enjoying the view. The rims of his ears were a faint red, and I pushed into motion, leaning to run a finger along his torn ear where someone had ripped out one of the twin diamond studs. His right ear still held both studs, and I wondered who had the missing earring. I would have asked, but was afraid hed tell me Ivy had it. You dye your hair, I insisted. What color is it, really?
He wouldnt look at me while he opened the cream cheese and spread a thick layer on the toast. Its sort of brown. Why? Is that a problem?
Dropping my hands to his waist, I turned him around. Pinning him to the counter, I leaned until our hips touched. God, no. I just wondered.
Oh. His hands went about my waist, and clearly relieved, he inhaled slowly, seeming to take my very soul in with him. A spark of desire jumped from him to me, going right to my core to catch my breath. I knew he was scenting me, reading in the slight tension of my body pressing into him my willingness to turn our embrace into something more. I knew our natural scents mixing was a potent blood aphrodisiac. I also knew Ivy would kill him if he broke my skin even by accident. But this was all old news, and Id be a fool if I didnt admit that part of Kistens allure was the mix of deep intimacy he offered along with the potential danger of him losing control and biting me. Yeah, I was a stupid, trusting girl, but it made for great sex.
And Kisten is very careful, I thought, pulling coyly away at the low growl rumbling up through him. He wouldnt have come over if he wasnt sure of his control, and I knew he teased himself with my off-limits blood as much as I tested my will against the supposedly better-than-sex carnal ecstasy that a vampire bite could bring.
I see youre making friends with your neighbors, he said, and I eased from him to reopen the window and wash my hands. If I didnt stop, Ivy would sense it and be out here glowering like a shunned lover. We were roommates and business partnersthat was allbut she made no attempt to hide that she wanted more. She had asked me once to be her scion, which was sort of a number-one helper and wielder of vampire power when the vamp in question was limited by sunlight. She wasnt dead yet and didnt need a scion, but Ivy was a planner.
The position was an honor, but I didnt want it, even though, as a witch, I couldnt be turned vampire. It involved an exchange of blood to cement ties, which was why I had flatly refused her the first time shed asked, but after meeting her old high school roommate, I thought she was after more than that. Kisten could separate the drive for blood from the desire for sex, but Ivy couldnt, and the sensations a blood-lusting vamp pulled from me were too much like sexual hunger for me to think otherwise. Ivys offer that I become her scion was also an offer to be her lover, and as much as I cared for her, I wasnt wired that way.
I turned off the tap and dried my hands on the dish towel, frowning at the butterfly wings drifting closer to the garden. You could have helped me out there, I said sourly.
Me? Blue eyes glinting in amusement, he set the orange juice on the counter and shut the fridge. Rachel, honey, I love you and all, but what do you think I could have done?
Tossing the dish towel to the counter, I turned my back on him, crossing my arms while I gazed out at the cautiously approaching wings. He was right, but that didnt mean I had to like it. I was lucky Matalina had shown up, and I wondered again what she wanted.
A warm breath touched my shoulder and I jerked, realizing Kisten had snuck up on me, unheard with his vamp-soft steps. I would have come out if you needed it, he said, his rumbly voice going right into me. But they were only garden fairies.
Yeah, I said with a sigh. I suppose. Turning, my eyes went over his shoulder to the three books on the table. Are those for me? I asked, wanting to change the subject.
Kisten reached past me to pluck an early daisy from the vase beside Mr. Fish. Piscary had them behind glass. They look like spell books to me. I thought you might find something to Were in them. Theyre yours if you want them. Im not going to tell him where they went.
His eyes were eager for the chance to help me, but I didnt move, standing beside the sink with my arms crossed, eyeing them. If the master vampire had them under glass, then they were probably older than the sun. Even worse, they had the look of demon magic, making them useless since only demons could work it. Generally.
Uncrossing my arms, I considered them again. Maybe there was something I could use. Thanks, I said, moving to touch the top book and stifling a shudder when I felt a slight sponginess, as if my aura had gone from liquid to syrup. My torn skin tingled, and I wiped my hand on my jeans. You wont get in trouble?
The faint tightening of his jaw was the only sign of his nervousness. You mean in more trouble than trying to kill him? he said, flicking his long bangs from his eyes.
I gave him a sick smile. I see your point. I went to get myself a cup of coffee while Kisten poured a small glass of orange juice and set it on a tray he pulled from behind the microwave. The plate of toast went on it, shortly followed by the daisy hed taken from the windowsill. I watched, my curiosity growing when he gave me a sideways smile to show his sharp canines and hustled into the hallway with it all. Okay, so it wasnt for me.
Leaning against the counter, I sipped my coffee and listened to a door creak open. Kistens voice called out cheerfully, Good afternoon, Ivy. Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!
Shove it, Kist, came Ivys slurred mumble. Hey! she cried louder. Dont open those! What the hell are you doing?
A smile curved over my face and I snickered, taking my coffee and sitting at the table.
Theres my girl, Kisten coaxed. Sit up. Take the damn tray before I spill the coffee.
Its Saturday, she snarled. What are you doing here so early?
As I listened to Kistens soothing voice rise and fall in an unrecognizable patter, I wondered what was going on. From families of wealth, Kisten and Ivy had grown up together, tried the cohabitation thing, and parted as friends. Rumor had it Piscary planned for them to get together and have a passel of children to carry on his living-vamp line before one of them died. I was no expert in relationships, but even I could tell that wasnt going to happen. Kisten cared deeply for Ivy, and she for him, but seeing them together always gave me the feeling of a close brother/sister relationship. Even so, this breakfast in bed thing was unusual.
Watch the coffee! Kisten exclaimed, shortly followed by Ivys yelp.
You arent helping. Get out of my room! she snarled, her gray-silk voice harsh.
Shall I lay out your clothes, love? Kisten said, his fake British accent on full and laughter in his voice. I adore that pink skirt you wore all last fall. Why dont you wear that anymore?
Get out! she exclaimed, and I heard something hit the wall.
Pancakes tomorrow?
Get the hell out of my room!
The door clicked shut, and I met Kistens grin with my own when he came in and went to the coffeemaker. Lose a bet? I guessed, and he nodded, his thin eyebrows high. I pushed out a chair kitty-corner from me with my foot and he settled in with his mug, his long legs going out to encircle mine under the corner of the table.
I said you could go on a run with David and come home without turning it into a slugfest. She said you couldnt. He reached for the sugar bowl and dumped two spoonfuls in.
Thanks, I said, glad he had bet against her.
I lost on purpose, he said, crushing my vindication before it had taken its first breath.
Thanks a lot, I amended, pulling my feet from between his.
Setting his mug down, he leaned forward and took my hands in his. Stop it, Rachel. How else could I find an excuse to come over here every morning for a week?
I couldnt be mad at him now, so I smiled, dropping my gaze to our twined hands, mine thin and pale beside his tan, masculine fingers. It was nice seeing them there together like that. The past four months he had not lavished attention on me, but rather was there and available whenever the mood struck either of us.
He was incredibly busy running Piscarys affairs now that the undead master vampire was in jailthanks to meand I was occupied with my end of Ivys and my runner firm, Vampiric Charms. As a result, Kisten and I spent spontaneous snips of intense time together that I found both extremely satisfying and curiously freeing. Our brief, nearly daily conversations over coffee or dinner were more enjoyable and reassuring than a three-day weekend backpacking in the Adirondacks dodging weekend-warrior Weres and slapping mosquitoes.
He felt no jealousy about the time I spent pursuing my career, and I felt only relief that he slaked his blood lust elsewhereit was a part of him I was ignoring until I found a way to deal with it. There were problems brewing in our future, as blood-chaste witches and living vampires were not known for making long-term commitments. But I was tired of being alone, and Kisten met every emotional need I had raised and I met all of his but one, allowing someone else to do that with no distrust on my part. Our relationship was too good to be true, and I wondered again how I could find comfort with a vampire when Id never been able to hold onto it with a witch.