“I know.”

His solemn eyes took on a shade of pity. “Nick is human. No matter how he tries, he’ll never understand you entirely.”

“I know.” I swallowed hard. There was a wet warmth in my eyes. My jaw tightened until my head hurt. I will not cry.

“He can’t give you what you need.” Kisten’s hands slipped to my waist. “He’ll always be just a little afraid.”

I know. My eyes closed, opening as I let him pull me closer.

“And even if Nick learns to live with his fear,” he said earnestly, his eyes asking me to listen, “he won’t ever forgive you for being stronger than he is.”

A lump formed in my throat. “I … I have to go,” I said. “Excuse me.”

His hands fell from me, and I pushed past him and into the hall. Confused and wanting to scream at the world, I strode into the kitchen. I stopped, seeing among the pots and flour a huge aching emptiness that had never been there before. Arms wrapped about myself, I lurched into the living room. I had to get the music off. It was beautiful. I hated it. I hated everything.

Snatching up the remote, I pointed it at the player. Jeff Buckley. I couldn’t handle Jeff in the state I was in. Who in hell put Jeff Buckley in my player? Clicking it off, I tossed the remote to the couch. Adrenaline jerked me straight as the remote hit, not the suede of Ivy’s couch, but someone’s hand.

“Kisten!” I stammered as he turned the music back on, watching me with half-lidded eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Listening to music.”

He was calm and wire-tight, and panic struck me at his calculating surety. “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I said, my breath coming short. “Ivy never sneaks up on me.”

“Ivy doesn’t like who she is.” His eyes were unblinking. “I do.”

He reached out. Breath coming in a quick surge, I knocked his arm aside. Tension sang through me as he jerked me forward, holding me to him. Panic, then anger, flashed. There wasn’t a twinge from my scar. “Kisten!” I exclaimed, trying to move. “Let me go!”

“I’m not trying to bite you,” he said softly, his lips brushing my ear. “Stop it.”

His voice was firm, soothing. There was no blood lust in it. My thoughts flashed back to waking up in his car to the sound of singing monks. “Let go!” I demanded, strung out and feeling like I was either going to hit him or start to cry.

“I don’t want to. You’re hurting too much. How long has it been since someone held you? Touched you?”

A tear leaked out and I hated that he saw it. Hated he knew I was holding my breath.

“You need to feel, Rachel.” His voice grew soft, pleading. “This is killing you slowly.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. He was seducing me. I wasn’t such an innocent that I knew he wouldn’t try. But his hands upon my arms were warm. And he was right. I needed another’s touch, ached for it, damn me to hell. I had almost forgotten how it felt to be needed. Nick had given that back to me, that tiny thrill of excitement knowing someone was wanting to touch you, wanting you and you alone to touch him.