I wondered why he cared what I thought. Taking the pieces of plastic, I gripped them until my fingers ached. 'Get the gun,' I whispered. 'My fingerprints are on it.'
Not acknowledging he heard me, he tucked my coat in out of the door and shut it.
The sharp tang of blood drew my attention down, and I forced my hand open. The dice were sticky. My gut twisted, and I held a winter-cold fist to my mouth. They were the pair I had used in the casino. The entire room had seen me kiss them; he tried to use them as a focal object. But I hadn't made a link to them and so the black charm swung back to its maker instead.
I stared out the window trying not to hyperventilate. That was supposed to be me there, limbs contorted and sprawled in a smear of blood-melted snow. I had been a wild card in Saladan's game, and he had been prepared to take me out to tip the balance back to his men. And I had done nothing, too frozen by my lack of charms and shock to even make a circle.
There was a flash of brighter light as Kisten stepped in front of the car's headlights, bending to come up with the weapon. His eyes met mine—tired and weary—until a soft movement behind him brought him spinning around. Someone was trying to leave.
I made a small moan as Kisten took incredibly long, fast steps and had him, jerking him upright, feet dangling. A whimper came from the man, going right to my core as he pleaded for his life. I told myself that to pity him was foolish, that they had planned worse for me and Kisten. But all Kisten did was talk to him, faces touching as the vampire whispered into his ear.
In a splurge of motion, Kisten threw him onto the hood of the Cadillac, wiping the weapon off on the hem of the witch's coat. Finished, he dropped the gun and turned away.
Kisten's back was hunched when he stomped back to the car, making him a bad mix of anger and worry. I said nothing as he got in and turned the wipers on. Still silent, he jerked the gearshift back and forth, maneuvering the car to get out of the box the two cars had made.
I held onto the door handle and said nothing as our momentum shifted, stalled, and shifted again. Finally there was only clear road ahead of us, and Kisten floored it. My eyes widened as the wheels spun and we started to drift on the ice to the left, but then the tires caught and we lurched forward. We left the way we had come, in a sliding sound of racing engine.
I kept silent as Kisten drove, his motions quick and sudden. The lights abruptly brightened around us, falling onto his face, lined with stress. My stomach was tense and my back hurt. He knew I was trying to figure out how to react.
Watching him had been both exhilarating and scary as all hell. Living with Ivy had taught me vamps were as changeable as a serial killer, fun and captivating one moment, aggressive and dangerous the next. I knew it, but seeing it had been a shocking reminder.
Swallowing hard, I looked at my posture, seeing I was wound up tighter than a chipmunk on speed. Immediately I forced my clasped hands apart and my shoulders down. I stared at the bloody dice in my hand and Kisten muttered, 'I wouldn't do that to you, Rachel. I wouldn't.'
The rhythm of the wipers was slow and steady. Maybe I should've stayed in the car.
'There're hand wipes in the console.'
His voice carried the softness of an apology. Dropping my eyes before he could meet them, I flipped open the console and found some tissues. My fingers were shaking as I wrapped the dice up and, after a moment of hesitation, dropped them into my clutch purse.
Digging deeper, I found the wipes. Unhappy, I handed Kisten the first, then cleaned my hands with the second. Kisten easily drove the snowy, busy streets and meticulously cleaned his cuticles at the same time. When finished, he held out his hand for my used wipe, and I gave it to him. There was a little trash bag hanging behind my seat, and he effortlessly reached back and threw them both away. His hands were as steady as a surgeon's, and I curled my fingers under my palms to hide their trembling.
Kisten resettled himself, and I could almost see him force the tension from him as he exhaled. We were halfway across the Hollows, the lights of Cincinnati sharp before us.
'Snap, crackle, pop,' he said lightly.
Bewildered, I looked at him. 'I beg your pardon?' I said, glad my voice was even. Yeah, I had watched him down a coven of black art witches with the effortless grace of a predator, but if he wanted to discuss breakfast cereals now, I'd go along with it.
He smiled with his lips closed, a hint of an apology, or perhaps guilt, in the back of his blue eyes. 'Snap, crackle, pop,' he said. 'Bringing them down sounded like a bowl of cereal.'
My eyebrows rose and a wry smile came over me. With a small movement, I stretched my feet to the floor vent. If I didn't laugh, I was going to cry. And I didn't want to cry.
'I haven't done too well tonight, have I?' he said, his eyes back on the road.
I didn't say anything, not sure what I felt.
'Rachel,' he said softly. 'I'm sorry you had to see that.'
'I don't want to talk about it,' I said, recalling the man's terrified, agony-laced screams. I had known Kisten did ugly things because of who he was and who he worked for, but seeing it left me both repelled and fascinated. I was a runner; violence was part of my existence. I couldn't blindly label what happened as bad without casting my own profession into darkness.
Though his eyes had been black and his instincts wound tight, he had acted quickly and decisively, with a grace and succinct movement that I envied. Even more, throughout it all, I had felt Kisten's attention lightly on me, always aware of where I was and who was threatening me.
I had frozen, and he had kept me safe.
Kisten accelerated smoothly into the intersection before us when the light turned green. He sighed, clearly unaware of my thoughts as he took the turn to head to the church. The glowing clock on the dash read three-thirty. Going out didn't sound like fun anymore, but I was still shaking, and if he didn't feed me, I was going to end up eating cheese crackers and leftover rice for dinner. Yuck. 'Mickey-d's?' I prompted. It was just a date, for God's sake. One platonic…date.
Kisten's head jerked up. Lips parted in wonder, he almost rammed the car ahead of us, slamming on the brakes at the last moment. Used to the way Ivy drove, I simply braced myself and rocked forward and back.
'You still want to have dinner?' he asked while the guy before us shouted unheard insults through his rearview mirror.
I shrugged. I was coated in dirty snow slime, my hair was falling down about my ears, my nerves were shot —if I didn't get something in my stomach, I was going to get snippy. Or sick. Or worse.
Kisten settled back, a thoughtful expression smoothing his pinched features. A wisp of his usual, cocky self glimmered in his slumping posture. 'Fast food is all I can afford—now,' he grumbled lightly, but I could see he was relieved I wasn't demanding he take me home. 'I was planning on using some of those winnings to take you up to Carew Tower for a sunrise dinner.'
'The orphans need the money more than I need an over-priced dinner at the top of Cincinnati,' I said. Kisten laughed at that, the sound making it easy to stifle my last thread of lingering caution. He kept me alive when I had frozen. It wasn't going to happen again. Ever.
'Hey, uh, is there any way you might see to not tell Ivy about…that?' he asked.
I smiled at the unease in his voice. 'It'll cost you, fang-boy.'
A small noise escaped him and he turned, his eyes wide in mock concern. 'I'm in the position to offer you a supersized shake for your silence,' he intoned, and I stifled a shiver at the play menace he had put in it. Yeah, color me stupid. But I was alive, and he had kept me safe.
'Make it chocolate,' I said, 'and you've got yourself a deal.'
Kisten's smile widened, and he gripped the wheel with more surety.
I settled back into the heated leather cushions, stifling the small, oh-so-small, thought of concern. What. Like I was going to tell Ivy anyway?
Fifteen
