I was a pet. I was a dangerous pet to be tamed. That’s what Piscary thought I was.

“He said he understood my want for a friend instead of a pet, but that it wasn’t safe to let you stay as you were. He said I had lost control and people were talking. I started to cry then, because he was so kind and I had disappointed him.” Her words came in short bursts as she struggled to get the words out. “And he made me sit beside him, holding me as he whispered how proud he was of me and that he loved my great-grandmother almost as much as he loved me. That was all I ever wanted,” she said. “Him to be proud of me.”

She made a short gasp of pained laugher. “He said he understood about wanting a friend,” she said to the wall, her face hidden behind her hair. “He told me he had been looking for centuries for someone strong enough to survive with him, that my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother were all too weak but that I had the will to survive. I told him I didn’t want to live forever, and he shushed me, telling me I was his chosen, that I would stay with him forever.”

Her shoulders shook under the coverlet. “He held me, soothing my fears of the future. He said he loved me and was proud of me. And then he took my finger and drew blood from himself.”

Stomach acid bubbled up, and I swallowed it down.

Her voice had gone wispy, her hunger and need a hidden ribbon of steel. “Oh God, Rachel. He’s so old. It was like liquid electricity, welling up from him. I tried to leave. I wanted it, and I tried to leave, but he wouldn’t let me. I said no, and then I ran. But he caught me. I tried to fight, but it didn’t matter. Then I begged him no, but he held me and forced me to taste him.”

Her voice was husky and her body shook. I moved to sit on the edge of the bed, horrified. Ivy went still, and I waited, unable to see her face, afraid to.

“And then I didn’t have to think anymore,” she said, the flat sound of her voice shocking. “I think I passed out for a moment. I wanted it. The power, the passion. He’s so old. I pulled him to the floor and straddled him. I took everything he had as he clutched me to him, urging me to go deeper, to draw more. And I took it, Rachel. I took more than I should have. He should have stopped me, but he let me take it all.”

I couldn’t move, riveted by the terror of it.

“Kist tried to stop us. He tried to get between us, to stop Piscary from letting me take too much, but with every swallow, I lost more of myself. I think I—hurt Kist. I think I broke him. All I know is he went away, and Piscary …” A soft, pleasure-filled sound escaped her as she said his name again. “… Piscary drew me back.” She moved languorously beneath the black sheets, suggestively. “He gentled my head against him and pressed me closer until I was sure he wanted me and I found he had more to give.”