It was a very small voice, vulnerable and afraid, and Jenks watched me, not her. “Why are you trying to hide what you are?” he said softly, his words for both of us. “Do you think seeing your hunger shocked her? Do you think she’s so shallow that she’d condemn you for it? That she didn’t know it was in you and loved you anyway?”

Ivy shook with her head on her knees, and tears slipped from me. My head hurt and my neck throbbed, but it was nothing compared to my heartache.

“She loves you, Ivy. God knows why. She made a mistake in asking you to separate the love from the hunger, and you made a mistake thinking you could.”

“I wanted what she could give me,” Ivy said, curled up into herself. “Just that much would have been enough. Never again,” she said. “Never, never, Jenks. She’s safe. You’re right. I destroy everything I touch.”

I struggled to keep from passing out. She wasn’t a monster. “Ivy?”

Her head jerked up. Her face was white and tracked with tears. “I thought you were unconscious,” she said, scrambling to her feet and wiping her face.

Blinking, I wavered where I sat. Guilt lay thick on me, and Jenks sat cross-legged by the open door in a patch of sun, a faint, sad smile on him.

She stood in a frozen quandary. “Are you okay?” she asked, clearly wanting to rush over but afraid to. Between the blood loss and the absurdity of the question, I almost laughed.

“Uh-huh,” I said, giving up on trying to have this make sense. “Can I have some water?” I whispered, then tipped over.

My neck sent a stab of pain to shock me and I couldn’t breathe; my face was buried in the covers. I tried to cry out but was helpless. Damn it, even my arms wouldn’t work.

“Oh God,” Ivy said, her hands cold as she pulled me up. I took a grateful breath, trying to focus through the hurt. Jenks was at my feet, and he tugged them down until I was flat on my back and looking up at them with wide eyes, teetering on unconsciousness again now that the adrenaline had played itself out. The asinine relief that I had shaved my legs lifted through me and was gone.

“Here, Dad,” Jax offered, that red straw in his two-fisted grip.

Jenks grabbed that absurdly small cup of water, never sloshing it as he retrieved it from the nightstand. “She’s bleeding again,” he said, his voice and face grim. “Dust her.”

“Don’t give her the water yet.” Ivy was a confusing blur as I tried to focus. “I’ve got something to put in it.”