I opened the dishwasher, and Kisten stacked the cups in the top rack. “Are you sure?” I asked softly, wanting to believe.

“Yes.” His knowing smile made him a bad boy in an expensive suit again. “Ivy takes pride in denying herself. She values her independence more than I do, which is why she fights him. It’d be easier if she’d give it up. He’d stop forcing his dominance then. It’s not degrading to let Piscary see through your eyes, channel your emotions and desires. I found it uplifting.”

“Uplifting.” I leaned against the counter in disbelief. “Piscary exerting his will over her and making her do things she doesn’t want to is ‘uplifting’?”

“Not when you put it like that.” He opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the dish detergent. I briefly wondered how he knew it was there. “But Piscary is being a pain in the ass only because she’s resisting him. He likes her fighting him.”

I took the bottle from him and filled the little cup in the door of the dishwasher.

“I keep telling her that being Piscary’s scion doesn’t make her less, but more,” he said. “She doesn’t lose any of herself, and gains so much. Like the vampire track, and having almost the full strength of an undead without any of the drawbacks.”

“Like a soul to tell you it’s wrong to view people as walking snack bars,” I said tartly, snapping the door shut.

A sigh slipped from him, the fine fabric of his suit bunching at his shoulders when he took the bottle of soap from me and set it on the counter. “It’s not like that,” he said. “Sheep are treated like sheep, users are used, and those who deserve more receive everything.”

Arms crossed over my chest, I said, “And who are you to make that decision?”

“Rachel.” He sounded weary as he cupped my elbows in his hands. “They make the decision themselves.”

“I don’t believe that.” But I didn’t pull away, and I didn’t push his hands off me. “And even if they do, you take advantage of it.”

Kisten’s eyes went distant, falling from mine as he gently pulled my arms into a less aggressive posture. “Most people,” he said, “are desperate to be needed. And if they don’t feel good about themselves or think they’re undeserving of love, some will fasten upon the worst possible way to satisfy that need to punish themselves. They’re the addicts, the shadows both claimed and unclaimed, passed like the fawning sheep they make themselves into as they search for a glimmer of worth, knowing it’s false even as they beg for it. Yes, it is ugly. And yes, we take advantage of those who let us. But which is worse, taking from someone who wants you to, knowing in your soul that you’re a monster, or taking from an unwilling person and proving it?”

My heart pounded. I wanted to argue with him, but everything he had said, I agreed with.