“Fine.” I glanced at it as I came up from snapping the latches on the toolbox. “I hate it when I do stuff like that.”

Ivy propped the broom against the wall by the door and came closer. “Let me see.”

Eager for some sympathy, I held it out, and she took my hand.

A shiver went through me, and, feeling it, Ivy glanced from under her short bangs, iced in gold. “Stop it,” she said darkly. Pissed almost.

“Why?” I said, pulling my hand away. “You did bite me. I know how it feels, and how it makes you feel. I want to find a blood balance. Why don’t you?”

Ivy’s face turned to a shocked surprise. Hell, I had surprised myself, and a stirring of adrenaline tingled under my skin as my pulse quickened.

“I bit you?” she said, anger coloring her words. “You practically seduced me. Played on every instinct I had.”

“Well…you gave me the book,” I shot back. “You expect me to believe you didn’t want me to?”

For a moment she said nothing, eyes slowly dilating as she stood in the sun. I held my breath, not knowing what might happen. If she had to be mad to talk to me, then she had to be mad. But instead of coming back with more anger, she retreated a step. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. I started to protest, and she turned, vanishing past the archway.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, knowing it was a bad idea to follow a fleeing vampire, but when had I ever done the smart thing?

“Ivy,” I complained, finding her at the kitchen sink, scrubbing furiously. The sharp scent of cleanser was thick, and a cloud of it hung over her, glittering in the sun. She must have dumped half the canister. “I want to talk about it,” I said, and she shot me a look that struck me cold. “I know what to expect now,” I added doggedly from the hallway. “It won’t be as bad.”

“You don’t know what bad is,” she said, then turned on the tap. Her motions were rough, edging into a vampire quickness. Realizing I was blocking her exit, I sidled into the kitchen and pretended to get a bottle of water. My pulse was fast, and I shut the fridge door, cracking the cap and taking a swig.

“How often do you need blood?” I asked, then jumped when she whipped around, her hands tangled in a dish towel.

“That’s putting it ugly, Rachel,” she accused, hurt showing in the slant of her eyebrows.