“Yes, but you’re out of his influence, and he doesn’t—” My words cut off when she rolled her fingertips across the table in a soft threat. “He doesn’t like that,” I boldly finished, pulse quickening. Here, surrounded by humans, was probably the only place I’d dare push her like this. She was on her best behavior, and I was going to use it for all it was worth.

Ivy bowed her head, the black sheet of her shorter hair not hiding her face. The dusky scent of incense became obvious, and a soft tickle shivered through me. “It will be okay,” she said, but I wasn’t convinced. She lifted her head, and a faint blush of worry, or perhaps fear, colored her. “Kisten is there,” she said. “If I leave, no one cares but the higher-ups—who aren’t going to do anything anyway. Kisten is the one who can’t leave. If he does, it will be noticed, talked about, and acted upon by idiots who haven’t had their fangs for a month. We’re fine.”

This really wasn’t what I had been worried about. Part of me wanted to take her explanation at face value and drop it, but the other part, the wiser, stupider half of me, wanted her to be honest so there would be no surprises. I turned when the front door opened and a woman came in, talking loudly to Becky as she shrugged out of her coat and headed for the back.

“Ivy,” I said softly, “what about your hunger? You don’t have your usual…” I stopped, not sure what to call the people she tapped for blood. Donors? Special friends? Significant others? I settled on, “Support net?”

Ivy froze, sending a jolt of adrenaline through me. Crap. Maybe I should keep my mouth shut. “Sorry,” I said, meaning it. “It’s not my business.”

“Your timing sucks,” she said, and the tension eased. I hadn’t overstepped the friendship boundaries.

“Well…” I said, wincing. “I don’t know what you do.”

“I can’t go out and knock up a streetwalker,” she said bitterly. Her eyes were hard, and I could tell she wasn’t responding to me but to a deeper guilt. “If I let it be a savage act that I can satisfy with anyone, I’ll be a monster. What kind of a person do you think I am?”

“That’s not what I said,” I protested. “Cut me some slack, will you? I don’t know how you take care of yourself, and I was too afraid to ask until now. All I know is you go out anxious and jittery and come home calm and hating yourself.”

My admission of fear seemed to penetrate, and the creases in her forehead smoothed. She uncrossed her legs, then crossed them under the table. “Sorry. It surprised me you asked. I should be good for a few days more, but the stress—” Ivy cut her thought short and took a breath. “I have a few people. We help each other and go our separate ways. I don’t ask anything from them, and they don’t ask anything from me. They’re vamps, in case you’re interested. I don’t make ties with anyone else…anymore.”