Ivy’s voice went soft, persuasive. “Piscary said this is the only way to keep you. To keep you alive. I would be kind, Rachel. I wouldn’t ask anything you didn’t want to give. You wouldn’t be like those pathetic shadows at Piscary’s, but strong, an equal. He showed me when he bespelled you that it wouldn’t hurt.” Her voice went little girl soft. “The demon already broke you. The pain is over. It will never hurt again. He said you would respond, and my God, Rachel, you did. It’s as if a master broke you. And you’re mine.”

Fear flashed through me at her hard, possessive tone. She turned her head, her hair falling back to show her face. Her black eyes were an ancient hunger, faultless in their innocence. “I saw what happened under Piscary, what you felt with no more than a finger touching your skin.”

I was too frightened and enraptured by the waves of feeling coming off my neck in time with my pulse to move. “Imagine,” she whispered, “what it’s like when it’s not your finger but my teeth—slicing clean and pure through you.”

The thought sent a pulse of heat through me. I went slack in her grip, my body rebelling against my railing thoughts. Tears slipped down my face, warm on my cheeks to fall on my collarbone. I couldn’t tell if they were tears of fear or need.

“Don’t cry, Rachel,” she said, tilting her head to brush her lips upon my neck in time with her words. I almost passed out from the ache of desire. “I didn’t want it to be like this, either. But for you,” she whispered, “I’d break my fast.”

Her teeth grazed my neck, taunting. I heard a soft moan, shocked to realize it came from me. My body cried out for it, but my soul screamed no. The eager, pliant faces at Piscary’s intruded. Lost dreams. Wasted lives. Existence turned to serve someone else’s need. I tried to push her away, but failed. My will was a ribbon of cotton, falling apart with the slightest tug. “Ivy,” I protested, hearing my whisper. “Wait.” I couldn’t say no. But I could say wait.

She heard, pulling away to look at me. She was lost in a haze of anticipation and rapture. Numb terror struck through me. “No,” I said, panting as I fought the pheromone-induced high. I had said it. Somehow I had said it.

Wonder and hurt crossed her face, a breath of awareness returning to her black eyes. “No?” She sounded like a hurt child.

My eyes closed in the ripples of ecstasy that flowed from my neck as her fingernails continued to trace the scars where her lips had let off. “No…” I managed, feeling unreal and disconnected as I weakly tried to push her away. “No.”