“No.” Ivy dropped back out of his touch. “I wanted to ask you something, is all.”

He nodded once, his thin lips falling into a resigned disappointment. I felt a slight tingle from my demon scar as he poured the steaming water into a second teapot. The clanking of the porcelain was loud. Arms crossed before me, I leaned to rest against the table to distance myself. I hoped the tingle was a lingering sensation from Skimmer and didn’t stem from Ivy’s dad. I didn’t think it was him. He looked too calm to be fighting a need to slack his hunger.

“Dad,” Ivy said, seeing my unease. “This is Rachel. Rachel, this is my dad.”

As if aware my scar was tingling, Ivy’s dad stayed at the other end of the kitchen, taking the cookies from Erica and putting them back into the cookie jar. The girl huffed, then grimaced at her dad’s raised eyebrow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his attention returning to me.

“Hello, Mr. Randal,” I said, not liking the way he was eyeing Ivy and me standing beside each other. I suddenly felt as if I was on a date, meeting the parents, and I flushed. I didn’t like his knowing smile. Apparently neither did Ivy.

“Stop it, Dad.” Ivy pulled out a chair and sat. “Rachel is my roommate, not my live-in.”

“You’d better make sure Skimmer knows that.” His narrow chest moved as he breathed deeply to take in the emotions on the air. “She came out here for you. Left everything. Think hard before you walk away from that. She has good breeding behind her. An unbroken millennium line is hard to find.”

Tension slammed back into me and I felt myself stiffen.

“Oh God,” Erica moaned, her hand back in the cookie jar. “Don’t start, Daddy. We just had an ugly in the hallway.”

Smiling to show teeth, he reached across to take the cookie from her and ate a bite. “Don’t you have to be to work soon?” he said when he swallowed.

The young vampire jiggled. “Daddy, I want to go to the concert. All my friends are.”

My eyebrows rose. Ivy shook her head with the smallest of movements, a private answer to my question as to whether we should tell him we were going and that we’d keep an eye on her.

“No,” her father said, brushing the crumbs from himself as he finished his cookie.

“But, Daddy…”

Opening the jar, he took out three more. “You don’t have enough control—”

Erica puffed, slumping against the counter. “My control is fine,” she said sulkily.