She continued to look at me, hiding her emotions again behind her black eyes.

“So you almost killed me,” I said. “I let you do it! The point is, I saw you. For one instant you were the person you want to be, strong and comfortable with who she is and what she needs, with no guilt and at peace with herself!”

Ivy went pale in the streetlight. Terrified. Embarrassed, I looked away to give her time to cover her raw emotions.

“I liked being able to put you there,” I said softly. “It’s a hell of a good feeling. Better than the euphoria. I want to put you there again. I…liked seeing you like that.”

Ivy stared at me, her hope so fragile, it hurt to see it. There was a sheen of moisture to her eyes, and she didn’t say anything, just sat with a stiff, frightened posture.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I admitted, talking because she wasn’t. “But I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. Can we just agree that it did and play it day by day?”

Taking a breath, Ivy broke out of her stance. “It happened,” she said, voice shaking. “It’s not going to happen again.” I leaned forward to protest, but she interrupted me with a quick, “Why didn’t you use your magic to stop me?”

Surprised, I sat back. “I—I didn’t want to hurt you.”

She blinked fast, and I knew she was trying not to cry. “You trusted that I wouldn’t kill you, even by accident?” she asked. Her perfect face was again blank of emotion, but I knew it was the only way she had to protect herself.

Remembering what Kisten had once said about living vampires craving trust nearly as much as they craved blood, I nodded. But the memory was followed by fear. He also said Piscary had warped her into something capable of mindlessly killing what she loved so he could lap up her despair when she came to him, shamed and broken. But she was not that same person. Not anymore. “I trusted you,” I whispered. “I still do.”

A truck was approaching, the headlights shining on her face to show a shiny track of moisture. “That’s why we can’t do this, Rachel,” she said, and I was afraid that Piscary might own her still.

The approaching panel truck drove past too slowly. A sliver of warning brought me still, and I watched it without appearing to, taking the cold night air smelling of diesel fuel deep into me. The truck braked too long and was hesitant when it made the turn.

“Yes, I saw it,” Ivy said when my shoes scraped the cement. “We should get back to the room. Peter will be here by sunup.”

She was ending the conversation, but I wasn’t going to let her go that easy. “Ivy,” I said as I rose, gathering my bag from beside hers, wanting to try again. “I—”

She jerked to her feet, shocking me to silence. “Don’t,” she said, eyes black in the streetlight. “Just don’t. I made a mistake. I just want everything to be the way it was.”