For A Few Demons More. Kim Harrison
I asked, cocking my hip. Maybe it was mean, but I was mean.
Ivy took a bite of her muffin, crossing her legs and leaning forward. “I’ll be in and out,” she said, wiping the corner of her mouth with a pinkie. “But I’ll be here about midnight.”
“Okay,” I said lightly. “I’ll see you later.” I beamed at Skimmer, now sitting primly but obviously torn between seething and sulking. “’Bye, Skimmer. Thanks for breakfast.”
“You’re welcome.”
Translation: Choke on it, bitch.
The doorbell rang a third time, and I hustled down the hallway, my good mood restored. “Coming!” I shouted, fussing with my hair. I looked okay. It was only a bunch of teenagers.
I plucked Jenks’s aviator jacket from the post in the foyer and shrugged into it just for looks. The coat was a remnant from his stint at being people-size. I’d gotten his jacket, Ivy had gotten his silk robe, and we’d thrown out his two dozen toothbrushes. Shoving the door open, I found Kisten waiting, his Corvette at the curb. He didn’t work much until after sunset, and his usual trendy suit had been replaced with jeans and a black T-shirt, tucked in to show off his waist. Smiling with his mouth closed to hide his sharp canines, he rocked from heel to toe in his boots with his fingers jammed in his front pockets, tossing his dyed-blond hair out of his blue eyes with a practiced motion that said he was most assuredly “all that.” What made it work was that he was.
“You look good,” I said, my free hand slipping between his trim waist and his arm, using him for balance as I leaned up and in for an early-afternoon kiss hello right there at the threshold.
Eyes closing, I breathed deeply as his lips met mine, intentionally bringing in the scent of leather and the incense that clung to vampires as if it were a second skin. He was like a drug, throwing off pheromones to relax and soothe potential blood sources. We weren’t sharing blood, but who was I to not take advantage of a thousand years of evolution?
“You look dirty,” he said when our lips parted. I fell back to my heels, my smile growing to meet his when he added, “I like dirty. You’ve been in the garden.” Eyebrows rising, he tugged me back into him, angling us into the darker foyer. “Am I early?” he said, the richness of his voice under my ear sending a shiver through me.
“Yes, thank God,” I replied, enjoying the mild rush. I liked kissing vampires in the dark. The only thing better was being in an elevator descending to certain death.
I was blocking his way into the sanctuary, and when he realized I wasn’t going to invite him in, his grip on my upper arms hesitated. “Your class isn’t until one-thirty. You have time to take a shower,” he said, clearly wanting to know why I was rushing out the door.
Maybe if you help me, I thought wickedly, unable to stop my grin. He caught my look, and as a spark of titillation zinged through me, his nostrils widened to take in my mood. He couldn’t hear my thought, but he could read my pulse, my temperature, and considering the randy look I knew I had, it wasn’t hard to figure out what was on my mind.
His fingers tightened, and from the hallway came Ivy’s voice, “Hi, Kist.”
Not dropping his gaze, Kisten answered, “Morning, love,” not bothering to take out the heat rebounding between us.
She snorted, the soft sound of her bathroom door closing a clear indication that she was all right with the relationship Kisten and I had, despite their old boyfriend/girlfriend status. If he touched my blood, things would get nasty, which was why Kisten wore caps on his teeth when we slept together. But if I was going to be sharing my body with someone other than Ivy, she’d rather it be with Kisten. And that’s … where we were.
Ivy and Kisten’s relationship was more platonic these days, with a little blood thrown in to keep things close. Our situation had become a balancing act since she had tasted my blood and swore never to touch it again, but she didn’t want Kisten touching it either, unable to give up the hope we could find a way to make it work, even as she denied it was possible. Defying his usual submissive role, Kisten had told Ivy he’d risk it if I succumbed to temptation and let him break my skin. But until then we could all pretend that everything was normal. Or whatever passed for normal these days.
“Let’s just go?” I said, my ardor cooling at the reminder that this screwed-up situation would hold steady as long as the status quo didn’t change.
Chuckling, he let me push him to the door, but Skimmer’s obvious throat clearing turned him from pliable vampire to immovable rock, and I slumped in defeat when her sultry voice echoed in the sanctuary. “Good morning, Kisten.”
Kisten’s smile widened as his gaze flicked between the two of us, clearly sensing my exasperation. “Can we go?” I whispered.
Eyebrows high, he turned me to the door. “Hi, Dorothy. You look nice today.”
“Don’t call me that, you S.O.B.,” she said, her voice scathing across my back as I slipped out before Kisten. Apparently Skimmer felt about Kisten the same way she did about me. I wasn’t surprised. We were both threats to her subordinate claim on Ivy. Neither of us was a true obstacle—me stymied by Ivy, and Kist because of their past—but try telling her that. Multiple blood and bed partners were the norm for vampires, but so was jealousy.
I took a deep breath as the door shut behind us, squinting in the sun and feeling my shoulders ease. It lasted all of three seconds until Kisten asked, “Skimmer sleep over?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grumbled.
“That bad, eh?” he added, taking the steps lightly beside me.
I glanced longingly at my convertible, then back to his Corvette. “She’s not being nice anymore,” I complained, and Kisten picked up his pace to gallantly open the door before I could reach for the handle. Giving him a smile of thanks, I slipped in, settling myself in the familiar confines of his leather-scented, incense-rich car. God, it smelled good in here, and I closed my eyes and leaned back while Kisten went around to his side. I kept them shut even as he buckled himself in and started his car, willing myself to relax.
“Talk to me,” he said when he started into motion and I was still silent.
A hundred thoughts sifted through me, but what came out was, “Skimmer …” I hesitated. “She found out that Ivy’s the one not allowing a blood balance between us, not me.”
His soft sigh drew my attention. The sun glinted on his stubble, and I stifled an urge to touch it. I watched his gaze flick behind us to the church through the rearview mirror. Depressed, I rolled my window down and let the morning breeze shift my hair.
“And?” he prompted as he gunned it, pulling out ahead of a blue Buick trailing smoke.
Holding my hair away from my eyes, I frowned. “She’s gotten nasty. Trying to drive me away. I told her Ivy’s just scared and that I’m waiting until she isn’t, so Skimmer’s gone from ‘I want to be your friend because Ivy’s your friend’ to ‘suck my toes and die.’”
Kisten’s grip on the wheel tightened, and he hit the brakes a little too hard at the stoplight. Realizing what I’d said, I flushed. I knew he’d rather have me lusting after a bite from him. But if I let him bite me, Ivy would snap. “I’m sorry, Kisten,” I whispered.
He was silent, staring at the red light.
Reaching out, I touched his hand. “I love you,” I whispered. “But letting you bite me would tear everything apart. Ivy couldn’t take it.” Jenks would say that my saying no to Kisten had more to do with the threat of his biting me being a bigger turn-on than the actual bite might be. Whatever. But if Kisten found a closer relationship with me when Ivy couldn’t, it would hurt her, and he loved her, too, with the fanatical loyalty shared abuse often engenders; Piscary had warped them both.
From my bag came the trill of my phone, but I let it ring. This was more important. The light changed, and Kisten pulled into traffic, his