“Back off, Ivy!” I exclaimed, trying not to fall into a defensive crouch. “He didn’t bite me!” But I didn’t have time to breathe before she was on me, jerking the collar of my sweater.

“Where did he bite you?” she said, her gray voice trembling. “I’ll kill him. I’ll freaking kill him! I can smell him all over you!”

Her hand jerked to the hem of my sweater.

It tripped me over the panic line, and instinct took over. “Ivy! Stop!” I shouted. Frightened, I tapped the line. She reached for me, face twisted in anger. The line filled my chi, wild and out of control. A burst of energy flamed from my hands, burning them, as I hadn’t harnessed it with a charm.

We both cried out as a black and gold sheet of ever-after expanded from me, knocking Ivy back into the plywood door. She slid to the floor in an awkward heap, her arms over her head and her legs askew. The windows shook at the boom. I rocked back, then caught my balance. Anger replaced my fear. I didn’t care if she was all right or not.

“He didn’t bite me!” I shouted, spitting my hair out of my mouth as I stood over her. “Okay? We had sex. All right? God help you, Ivy. It was only sex!”

Ivy coughed. Red-faced and gasping, she found her breath. The plywood sheet behind her was cracked. Shaking her head, she peered up at me, clearly not focusing yet. She didn’t get up. “He didn’t bite you?” she rasped, her face shadowy in the candlelight.

My legs trembled from adrenaline. “No!” I exclaimed. “You think I’m stupid?”

Clearly shaken, she looked askance at me. Taking a slow breath, she wiped her lower lip with the back of her hand. My gut tightened as it came away red with blood. Ivy stared at it, then gathered her legs under her and got to her feet. I breathed easier when she reached for a tissue, wiping her hand off and crumpling it into a ball.

She reached out, and I sprang back. “Don’t touch me!” I said, and she raised a hand in acquiescence.

“Sorry.” She looked at the cracked plywood, then winced as she felt her back. Carefully she tugged her coat down. Eyes going to mine, she took a slow breath. My heart pounded in time to the pain in my head. “You slept with Kisten and he didn’t bite you?” she asked.

“Yes. And no, he didn’t bite me. And if you ever touch me again, I’m walking out the front door, forever. Damn it, Ivy. I thought we were clear on this!”

I expected an apology or something, but all she did was eye me speculatively and ask, “Are you sure? You might not even notice if he cut your inner lip.”

Goose bumps rose, and I ran my tongue across the inside of my mouth. “He wore caps,” I said, feeling ill for how easily he could have tricked me. But he hadn’t.