Every Which Way But Dead (28 page)

But it was Kisten's voice that answered.

“
I
t's me, Rachel,” Kisten called, his voice faint over the music blaring from the living room. I froze, the memory of the kiss he'd given me keeping me where I stood. I must have looked like an idiot when he turned the corner and stopped in the threshold.

“Ivy's not here?” he said, his eyes giving me the onceover. “Shoot.”

I took a breath to settle myself. “Shoot?” I questioned, sliding the cracked egg off the counter and into the bowl.
I didn't think anyone said shoot anymore
.

“Can I say shit?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Shit, then.” His gaze went from me to the kitchen, lacing his hands behind his back as I picked the bigger chunks of shell out.

“Hey, would you, ah, turn the music down for me?” I said, sneaking a glance at him when he nodded and walked out. It was Saturday, and he was dressed casually in leather boots and faded jeans that were nice and tight. His short leather coat was open, and a burgundy silk shirt showed a wisp of chest hair.
Just enough
, I thought as the music softened. I could smell his coat. I was a sucker for the scent of leather.
This might be a problem.

“Are you sure Ivy didn't send you over to baby-sit?” I questioned as he returned and I wiped the egg slime off on a damp dishcloth.

He chuckled and sat in Ivy's chair. “No.” He hesitated. “Is she going to be gone for a while, or can I wait?”

I didn't look up from the recipe, not liking how he had said that. There had been more inquiry in his voice than the question warranted. “Ivy went to talk to Jenks.” I ran my finger down the page without looking at the words. “Then she's having dinner with her folks.”

“Sunup,” he murmured, and I felt my warning flags go up. All of them.

The clock above the sink ticked, and I took the melted chocolate off the stove. I wasn't about to stand with my back to him, so I set it on the counter between us, crossing my arms in front of me and putting my backside against the sink. Watching me, he tossed his hair out of his eyes. I took a breath to tell him to go, but he interrupted.

“Are you all right?”

I stared blankly at him, then remembered. “Oh! The demon—thing,” I muttered, embarrassed as I touched the pain charms about my neck. “You heard about that, huh?”

He smiled with half his mouth. “You made the news. And I had to listen to Ivy for three solid hours while she bitched about not being here at the time.”

Going back to my recipe, I rolled my eyes. “Sorry. Yeah. I'm okay. A few scrapes and bruises. Nothing major. But I can't tap a line after sundown anymore.” I didn't want to tell him I wasn't entirely safe after dark either, unless I was on holy ground…which the kitchen and living room weren't. “It's really going to put a crimp in my runs,” I said sourly, wondering how I was going to get around this latest mountain. Oh well. It wasn't as if I relied on ley line magic. I was an earth witch after all.

Kisten didn't seem to think it mattered much either, if his casual shrug meant anything. “I'm sorry to hear Jenks left,” he said, stretching his legs out and crossing his boots at his ankles. “He was more than an asset to your company. He's a good friend.”

My face screwed up into an unpleasant expression. “I should have told him what Trent was when I figured it out.”

Surprise cascaded over him. “You know what Trent Kalamack is? No shit?”

Jaw clenched, I dropped my eyes to the recipe book and nodded, waiting for him to ask it.

“What is he?”

I stayed silent, my eyes fixed on the page. The soft sound of him moving pulled my gaze up.

“Never mind,” he said. “It doesn't matter.”

Relieved, I gave the chocolate a clockwise stir. “It matters to Jenks. I should have trusted him.”

“Not everyone needs to know everything.”

“You do if you're four inches tall with wings.”

He got up, drawing my attention as he stretched. With a soft, satisfied sound, his shoulders eased and he collapsed in on himself. Taking his coat off, he headed to the fridge.

I tapped the spoon on the side to flick most of the chocolate off. My brow furrowed. Sometimes it was easier to talk to a stranger. “What am I doing wrong, Kisten?” I said, frustrated. “Why do I drive the people I like away?”

He came out from behind the fridge door with the bag of almonds I'd bought last week. “Ivy's not leaving.”

“Those are mine,” I said, and he paused until I gestured sourly that he could have them.

“I'm not leaving,” he added, mouth gently moving as he ate one.

I exhaled noisily, dumping the measured sugar into the chocolate. He looked really good over there, and memories kept intruding: thoughts of us dressed up and enjoying ourselves, the spark his black eyes drew through me when Saladan's heavies lay broken in the street, Piscary's elevator with me wrapped around him wanting to feel him taking everything I had….

The crunch of the sugar against the pan was loud as I stirred.
Damn vamp pheromones.

“I'm glad Nick left,” Kisten said. “He wasn't good for you.”

I kept my head down, but my shoulders tensed. “What do you know about it?” I said, tucking a long red curl behind my ear. I looked up, finding him calmly eating my almonds. “Nick made me feel good. I made him feel good. We had fun together. We liked the same movies, the same places to eat. He could keep up with me when we ran at the zoo. Nick was a good person, and you have no right to pass judgment on him.” I snatched a damp dishcloth, wiping up my spilled sugar and shaking it into the sink.

“You may be right,” he said as he jiggled a handful of nuts into his palm and rolled the bag shut. “But I find one thing fascinating.” He put a nut between his teeth and crunched through it noisily. “You put him in the past tense.”

My mouth dropped open. Torn between anger and shock, my face went cold. In the living room, the music changed to something fast and bouncy—and totally inappropriate.

Kisten cracked the fridge open, set the nuts back into the door, and closed it. “I'll wait for Ivy for a while. She might come back with Jenks—if you're lucky. You have a tendency to demand more of a person than most are willing to give.” He shook the nuts still left in his hand as I sputtered. “Kind of like a vampire,” he added as he picked up his coat and walked out.

My hand was dripping, and I realized I was squeezing the dishcloth so hard that water was seeping out. I threw it into the sink, furious and depressed. Not a good combination. From the living room, happy pop music bounced and skittered. “Will you turn that off!” I shouted. My jaw ached where I was clenching it, and I forced my teeth to part when the music stopped. Fuming, I measured out the sugar and dumped it in. I reached for the spoon, a sound of frustration coming from me as I remembered I had already added the sugar. “Damn it back to the Turn,” I muttered. Now I'd have to make a double batch.

Spoon held tightly, I tried to stir it in. Sugar went everywhere, spilling over the edge. My teeth gritted, and I stomped back to the sink for the dishcloth.

“You don't know squat,” I whispered as I scraped the spilled sugar into a little pile. “Nick might come back. He said he was. I have his key.”

I pushed the gathered sugar into the cup of my hand, hesitating before I dumped it into the bowl with the rest. Brushing the last of the grit from my fingers, I looked at the dark hallway. Nick wouldn't give me his key if he wasn't coming back.

Music started up, soft with a steady beat. My eyes narrowed. I never said he could put something else in. Angry, I took a step toward the living room, then jerked to a halt. Kisten had left in the middle of a conversation. He had taken food with him. Crunchy food. According to Ivy's dating book, that was a vampiric invitation. And following him would be saying I was interested. Even worse, he knew I knew.

I was still staring at the hallway when Kisten walked past. He backpedaled to a stop as he saw me there with a blank look on my face.

“I'll wait in the sanctuary,” he said. “Is that okay with you?”

“Sure,” I whispered.

His eyebrows rose, and with that same little smile, he ate an almond. “Okay.” Kisten vanished down the dark hallway, his boots silent on the hardwood floor.

I turned away and stared at the night-blackened window. I counted to ten. I counted to ten again. I counted to ten a third time, finding myself in the hallway by the time I reached seven.
I'll go in, say my piece, and leave,
I promised myself when I found him at the piano, his back to me as he sat on the bench. He pulled himself straight as my feet scuffed to a halt.

“Nick is a good man,” I said, my voice shaking.

“Nick is a good man,” he agreed, not turning around.

“He makes me feel wanted, needed.”

Kisten slowly spun. His stubble caught the faint light filtering in from the street. The outline of his wide shoulders tapered down to his slim waist, and I mentally shook myself at how good he looked. “He used to.” His low, smooth voice sent a shiver through me.

“I don't want you to talk about him anymore,” I said.

He gazed at me for a heartbeat, then said, “Okay.”

“Good.” I took a quick breath, turned and walked out.

My knees were shaking, and listening for any steps behind me, I took a right into my room. Heart pounding, I reached for my perfume. The one that hid my scent.

“Don't.”

Gasping, I turned, finding Kisten behind me. Ivy's bottle slipped from my fingers. His hand darted out, and I jumped as it enfolded mine, imprisoning the precious bottle safe within my grip. I froze. “I like the way you smell,” he whispered, far, far too close.

My stomach clenched. I could risk bringing Al down on me by tapping a line to knock him unconscious, but I didn't want to. “You need to get out of my bedroom,” I said.

His blue eyes looked black in the dim light. The faint glow from the kitchen made him an alluring, dangerous shadow. My shoulders were so tense they hurt as he opened my hand and took the perfume from me. The click as it hit my dresser jerked me straight. “Nick isn't coming back,” he said, unaccusing and blunt.

My breath slipped from me, and I closed my eyes.
Oh God.
“I know.”

My eyes jerked open when he took my elbows. I froze, waiting for my scar to flash into play, but it didn't. He wasn't trying to bespell me. A foolish part of me respected that, and like an idiot, I did nothing instead of telling him to get the hell out of my church and away from me.

“You need to be needed, Rachel,” he said, inches away as his breath shifted my hair. “You live so brightly, so honestly, that you need to be needed. You're hurting. I can feel it.”

“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.