subordinate. Maybe I could survive a submissive vampire.
His weight pressing harder into me, he pulled his lips from mine. I met his eyes—his faultless blue eyes— studying them with the breathless understanding that I didn't know what was going to happen next, but praying that whatever it was, it would happen.
'Let me do this,' he said, his rumbling voice just shy of a growl. His hands were free, and he took my chin and held my head unmoving. I caught a glint of tooth, then he was too close to see anything. Not a shimmer of fear struck me as he kissed me again, pushed out by a sudden realization.
He wasn't after blood. Ivy wanted blood; Kist wanted sex. And the risk that his desire might turn to blood catapulted me past my sensibilities and into a reckless daring.
His lips were soft with a moist warmth. His blond stubble was a striking contrast, adding to my fervor. Heart pounding, I hooked a foot behind his leg and pulled him closer. Feeling it, his breath came and went in a pant. A soft sound of real bliss escaped me. My tongue found the smoothness of his teeth, and his muscles under my hands tensed. I pulled my tongue away, teasing.
Our mouths parted. Heat was in his eyes, black and full of a fervent, unashamed desire. And still there was no fear. 'Give this to me….' he breathed. 'I won't break your skinif…' He took a breath. '…you give this to me.'
'Shut up, Kisten,' I whispered, closing my eyes to block what I could of the confusing swirl of rising tensions.
'Yes, Ms. Morgan.'
It was the softest whisper. I wasn't even sure I had heard it. The need in me swelled, compelling beyond sanity. I knew I shouldn't, but heart quickening, I ran my nails down his neck to leave red pressure trails. Kisten shuddered, his hands falling to find the small of my back, firm and questing. Liquid fire raced from my neck as he angled his head and found my scar. His breath came in strong surges, sending wave after delicious wave through me from his lips alone.
'I will not—I will not,' he panted, and I realized he was balanced on the brink of something more. A tremor passed through me as he traced a path across my neck with his gentle teeth. A whisper of words unrecognized pattered through my thoughts, pinging my sensibilities. 'Say yes…' he urged, a wisp of urgent promise in his low, coaxing voice. 'Say it, love. Please…give me this, too.'
My knees trembled as the coolness of his teeth grazed over my skin again, testing, luring. His hands on my shoulders held me firm.
'You need to hear me say yes?' I breathed, recognizing the passion in my voice. I would rather die here with Kisten then in fear with Piscary.
The ding of the elevator intruded and the doors opened.
A flush of cool air drifted about my ankles. Reality flashed back in a painful rush. It was too late. I had tarried too long. 'Do I have the vial?' I questioned, breathless as my fingers twined among the short hair at the nape of his neck. His weight was heavy against me, and the scent of leather and silk would forever mean Kisten to me. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to get out of this elevator.
I felt Kist's heartbeat and heard him swallow. 'It's in your purse,' he breathed.
'Good.' My jaw clenched and my grip in his hair tightened. Yanking his head back, I brought my knee up.
Kist flung himself away from me. The elevator shook as he hit the opposite wall. I'd missed him. Damn.
Breathless and disheveled, he pulled himself straight and felt his ribs. 'You have to move faster than that, witch.' Flipping the hair from his eyes, he gestured for me to go out before him.
Knees watery and loose, I gathered myself and walked out of the elevator.
Twenty-Seven
Piscary's daytime quarters were not what I had expected. I walked out of the elevator, my head swinging from side to side, taking it all in. The ceilings were high—I guessed ten feet—and were painted white where they weren't covered with warm, primary-colored sheets of fabric draped into soothing folds. Large archways hinted at equally spacious rooms farther in. It had the soft comfort of a playboy mansion mixed with the air of a museum. I spared a moment to try to find a ley line, not surprised to find I was too deep underground.
My boots trod upon a plush off-white carpet. The furniture was tasteful, and there was occasional artwork under spotlights. Floor-to-ceiling curtains at regular intervals gave the illusion of windows behind them. Bookshelves behind glass were between them, every tome looking older than the Turn. Nick would have loved it, and I spared a thought, desperately hoping he had found my note. The first hints of possible success made me walk with more confidence than I deserved. Between Kisten's vial and Nick's note, maybe I could escape with my life.
The doors to the elevator shut. I turned, noticing there was no button to push to make them open up again. The stairway, too, was missing. It must come out somewhere else. My heart gave a pound and settled. Escape with my life?
'Take off your boots,' Kist said.
I cocked my head in disbelief. 'Excuse me?'
'They're dirty.' His attention was on my feet. He was still flushed. 'Take them off.'
I looked at the expanse of white carpet.
But the carpet felt nice on my arches as I followed Kisten, forcing myself to not feel the outside of my bag for the vial he had promised was there. He was tense again, his jaw tight and his manner sullen, far from the domineering vampire that had driven me to the brink of capitulation. He looked jealous and wronged. Just what I would expect from a betrayed lover.
The sound of muted traffic drew my attention from the picture of what looked like Piscary and Lindburgh sharing a pint in a British pub. Steps slow to hid his limp, Kisten led me into a sunken living room. At the end of it was a tiled breakfast nook before what looked like, for all the world, a window overlooking the river from the second story. Piscary was lounging at a small metal-weave table dead center of the circular tiled space, surrounded by carpet. I knew I was underground and that it was only a live video feed, but it sure looked like a window to me.
The sky was brightening with the coming dawn, giving the gray river a soft sheen. Cincinnati's taller buildings were dark silhouettes against the lighter sky. Smoke came from the paddleboats as they stoked their boilers, readying themselves for the first wave of tourists. Sunday traffic was light, and the individual whooshes of cars were lost behind the thousands of clatters, clanks, and unseen calls that make up the background of a city. I watched the water ripple under the breeze, and my hair lifted in a gust in time with a soft hush of wind. Taken aback at the detail, I searched the ceiling and floor until I found a vent. A horn blew in the distance.
'Enjoy yourself, Kist?' Piscary said, pulling my attention away from the jogger and his dog running the footpath beside the river.
Kist's neck went red and he ducked his head. 'I wanted to know what Ivy was talking about,' he mumbled, looking like a child caught kissing the neighbor girl.
Piscary smiled. 'Exciting, isn't it? Leaving her unbound like that is loads of fun until she tries to kill you. But then, that's where the thrill comes from, yes?'
My tension flowed back. Piscary looked relaxed, sitting at one of the table's two wireweave chairs in a lightweight, midnight-blue silk robe. The morning paper sat folded by his hand. The deep color of his robe went nicely with his amber skin. His bare feet were visible through the table. They were long and skinny, the same honey hue as his bare scalp. My anxiety strengthened at his bedroom-casual appearance.
