Cold, I clutched the collar of my coat closed and backed up until I was in the threshold.

“Rachel,” Ivy said dryly. “This is Kisten. He’s leaving. Aren’t you, Kist.”

It wasn’t a question, and my breath caught as he got to his feet with a fluid, animal grace. Kist stretched, his hands reaching for the ceiling. His lean body moved like a cord to show every gorgeous curve of muscle on him. I couldn’t look away. His arms fell and our eyes met. They were brown. His lips parted in a soft smile as he knew I had been watching him. His teeth were sharp like Ivy’s. He wasn’t a ghoul. He was a living vamp. I looked away even though living vamps couldn’t bespell the wary. “You have a taste for vamps, little witch?” he whispered.

His voice was like wind over water, and my knees went loose at the compulsion he put in it. “You can’t touch me,” I said, unable to resist looking at him as he tried to bespell me. My voice sounded like it was coming from inside my head. “I haven’t signed any papers.”

“No?” he whispered. His eyebrows were raised in sultry confidence. He eased close, his steps soundless. Heart pounding, I looked at the floor. I felt behind me to touch the doorframe. He was stronger than me, and faster. But a knee in the groin would drop him like any man.

“The courts won’t care,” he breathed as he drifted to a stop. “You’re already dead.”

My eyes widened as he reached for me. His scent washed over me, the musty scent of black earth. My pulse pounded, and I stepped forward. His hand cupped my chin, warm. A shock went through me, buckling my knees. He gripped my elbow, supporting me against his chest. Anticipation of an unknown promise made my blood race. I leaned into him, waiting. His lips parted. A whisper of words I couldn’t understand came from him, beautiful and dark.

“Kist!” Ivy shouted, startling both of us. A flash of ire filmed his eyes, then vanished.

My will flowed back with a painful swiftness. I tried to jerk away, finding myself held. I could smell blood. “Let go,” I said, almost panicking when he didn’t. “Let go!”

His hand dropped. He turned to Ivy, completely dismissing me. I fell back to the archway, shaking, but unable to voluntarily leave until I knew he was gone.

Kist stood before Ivy calm and collected, a study in opposites to Ivy’s agitation. “Ivy, love,” he persuaded. “Why do you torment yourself? Your scent covers her, but her blood still smells pure. How can you resist? She’s asking for it. She’s screaming for it. She’ll bitch and moan the first time, but she’ll thank you for it in the end.”

Expression going coy, he gently bit his lip. Crimson ran, wiped away with a slow, taunting, deliberate tongue. My breath sounded harsh even to me, and I held it.