Show me, Rachel, I felt his voice chime through me. Wrapped in the thought was compulsion. Beautiful, beautiful thoughtless compulsion. My need shifted to anticipation. I would have it all and more…soon. Warm and content, I traced a fingernail from my ear to my collarbone, poised on the brink of a shudder as my fingernail bumped over each and every scar. The hum of conversation was gone. We were alone, wrapped in a muzzy swirl of expectation. He had be-spelled me. I didn’t care. God help me; it felt so good.

“Rachel?” Ivy whispered, and I blinked.

My hand was resting against my neck. I could feel my pulse lifting rhythmically against it. The room and the loud noise snapped back into existence with a painful rush of adrenaline. Piscary was kneeling before me, one hand upon mine as he looked up. His pupil-black gaze was sharp and clear as he inhaled, tasting my breath as it flowed back through him.

“Yes,” he said as I pulled my hand from his, my stomach in knots. “My Ivy girl has been most careless.”

Almost panting, I stared at my knees, pushing my sudden fear down to mix with my fading craving for his touch. The demon scar on my neck gave a final pulse and faded. My held breath escaped me in soft sound. It carried a hint of longing, and I hated myself for it.

In a motion of smooth grace, he stood. I stared at him, seeing and loathing his understanding of what he had done to me. Piscary’s power was so intimate and certain that the thought I could stand against it rightly never occurred to him. Beside him, Kist looked like a child, even when borrowing his master’s abilities. How could I ever be afraid of Kisten again?

Glenn’s eyes were wide and uncertain. I wondered if everyone knew what had happened.

Ivy’s fingers gripped the stem of her empty wineglass, her knuckles white with pressure. The old vamp leaned close to her. “This isn’t working, Ivy girl. You either get control of your pet or I will.”

Ivy didn’t answer, sitting with that same frightened, desperate expression.

Still shaking, I was in no position to remind them that I wasn’t a possession.

Piscary sighed, looking like a tired father.

Jenks flitted erratically to our table with a faint whine. “What the hell am I here for?” he snarled as he landed on the salt shaker and started brushing himself off. What smelled like cheese dust sifted down to the table, and there was sauce on his wings. “I could be home in bed. Pixies sleep at night, you know. But no-o-o-o,” he drawled. “I had to volunteer for baby-sitting. Rachel, give me some of your wine. Do you know how hard it is to get tomato sauce out of silk? My wife is gonna kill me.”