Chapter Nineteen
Kisten's boat was big enough that the wake from the tourist steamers just smacked into it, never making the sleek cruiser move. I'd been on it before, even spent a couple of weekends learning how well voices carry over dark, still water and to take my shoes off at the dock. It was three decks if you counted the highest where the controls were. Big enough to party on, as Kisten said, but small enough that he didn't feel like he had extended his reach.
Well, it's beyond my reach, I thought as I sopped up the last of the spaghetti sauce off the lightweight china with a corner of grilled bread. But if you were a vampire whose boss ran the uglier parts of Cincinnati's underground, appearances mattered.
The bread had been swiped from Piscary's kitchen nearby. I had a feeling the sauce had been, too. I didn't care if Kisten was trying to pass it off as his own cooking by warming it up on his tiny stove. The point was, we were having a relaxing dinner instead of arguing that I had put my job before his plans to take me out for my birthday.
I looked up and across the candlelit, sunken living room, my plate balanced on my lap. We could have eaten in the kitchen or out on the spacious veranda, but the kitchen was claustrophobic and the veranda too exposed. My encounter with Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong had me uneasy. Add on Tom's shunned invitation and you could color me paranoid.
Being surrounded by four walls was much better. The luxuriously appointed living room stretched from one side of the boat to the other, looking like a movie set, with wide windows showing the city lights and moon shining on water to one side, curtains closed on the other so I didn't have to look at Piscary's parking lot.
Technically Kisten was working - which was why we were here and not at a real restaurant - but when we had slipped into the kitchen to snatch a bottle of wine and the bread, I'd heard him tell Steve that he didn't want to be bothered unless blood was in someone's mouth.
It felt nice to sit that high in his priorities, and with my face still holding the pleasure from that thought, I lifted my eyes, finding Kisten watching me from across the low coffee table between us, the candlelight giving his blue eyes an artificial, dangerous darkness.
"What?" I asked, flushing since he obviously had been watching me for some time.
His contented smile deepened, and a thrill of emotion lifted through me. "Nothing." His voice was soft. "Every thought you have crosses your face. I like watching."
"Mmmm." Embarrassed, I set my plate atop his empty one and leaned into the couch, wineglass in hand. He stood and in a hunched motion shifted to sit beside me. Easing back, he exhaled in satisfaction when our shoulders touched. The stereo changed tracks, and light jazz came on. I wasn't going to say anything about the incongruity of mixing vampires and a soprano saxophone but sighed, enjoying the scent of leather and silk blending with his scent of incense and the lingering odor of pasta sauce. But my smile vanished when my nose started to tickle.
Crap. Minias? I don't have my scrying mirror. In a panic I sat up and out of Kisten's arms. My wineglass hit the coffee table just in time for a sneeze.
"Bless you," Kisten said softly, his hand curving about my waist to draw me back, but when I stiffened, he leaned forward. "You okay?" he added, real concern in his voice.
"I'll let you know in a minute." I took a careful breath, then another. My shoulders eased. Not wanting to worry Ivy or Jenks, I had shut myself in my room before sunset and set my password. Damn it, I should have scribed the glyph on a compact mirror.
Kisten was peering at me, and I said, "I'm fine," deciding it was only a sneeze. Exhaling slowly, I slumped into his warmth. His arm went behind my neck, and I pressed into him, glad he was here, and I was here, and neither of us had to be anywhere.
"You've been quiet tonight," Kisten said. "Are you sure you're okay?" His fingers began tracing a path along my neck, hunting for my demon scar, hidden under my perfect skin, and the light touch tickled.
He was asking after me, but I knew his thoughts were on Ivy's kiss. And with his fingers bringing my scar alight to mix the memory of it with the sensations he was pulling from me, I stifled a shudder of adrenaline. "I've a lot on my mind," I said, not liking how his touch and the memory of Ivy's kiss combined. I was confused enough already.
Turning in his arms to face him, I drew out of his reach, scrambling for something else to focus on. "I'm thinking I've gotten in over my head this time, is all. With the Weres?"
Kisten's blue eyes went soft. "After watching you curb two of Cincinnati's more influential packs, I would say that no, you aren't over your head." His smile widened, taking on a tinge of pride. "It was great watching you work, Rachel. You're good at this."
A puff of disbelief escaped me. It wasn't the Weres that had me worried, but how I'd gotten them to back off. Exasperated, I threw my head back against the top of the couch and closed my eyes. "Couldn't you see me shaking?"
My eyes flew open when Kisten's weight shifted, and I slid into him. Our hair mingled, and with his lips brushing my ear he said, "No." His breath came and went on my shoulder, and I didn't move but for sending my fingers to play with his torn earlobe. "I like a woman who can take care of herself," he added. "Watching you got me all hot."
I couldn't help my smile, but it faded distressingly fast. "Kisten?" I said, feeling vulnerable despite having his arms around me. "Really, I'm scared. But not about the Weres."
Kisten's searching fingers stopped. Removing his encircling arm, he leaned back and took my hands in his. "What is it?" he said, concern heavy in his gaze.
Embarrassed, I looked at our twined fingers and saw the differences. "I had to use the threat of a demon to get them to back off." I lifted my gaze, seeing the worry etching his brow. "It makes me feel like a demon practitioner," I finished. "I'm an idiot for using a demon as a bluff. Or a coward, maybe."
"Love..." Kisten drew my head to rest against his chest. "You aren't a coward or a practitioner. It's a bluff, and a damned good one."
"But what if it isn't a bluff?" I said into his shirt, thinking of all the people I had tagged for practicing black magic. They hadn't intended to become the fanatical, crazed people I threw in the back of a cab and hauled off to the I.S. "Some guy talked to me today," I said, fiddling with the top button of his shirt. "He invited me to join their demon cult."
"Mmmm." His voice rumbled through me. "And what did my badass runner tell him?"
"That he could take his club and shove it." Kisten said nothing, and I added, "What if they call my bluff? If they hurt Ivy or Jenks..."
"Shhhh," he hushed, his hand gentle against my hair. "No one is going to hurt Ivy; she's a Tamwood vampire and Piscary's scion. And why would anyone hurt Jenks? "
"Because they know he's important to me." I lifted my head, taking a breath of the fresher air. "I might do it," I said, frightened. "If anyone hurts Jenks or his family, I might call Minias and trade in my mark."
"Minias." Kisten's surprise showed. "I thought you were supposed to keep their names secret."
There had been more than a hint of jealousy in it, and I felt the beginnings of a smile. "That's his casual name. He has red goat-slitted eyes, a funny purple hat, and a crazy girlfriend."
"Mmmm." Kisten pulled me closer and settled his arms around me. "Maybe I should call this guy. Take him bowling so we can compare crazy-girlfriend notes."
"Stop it," I chided him, but he had managed to shift my mood. "You're jealous."
"Hell yes, I'm jealous." He was silent for a moment, then leaned forward. "I want to give you your present early," he said, reaching around the arm of the couch and to the floor.
Twisting, I put my back against the arm of the couch more firmly. Kisten set the obviously store-wrapped package in my hands, and I beamed. The ribbon about it was imprinted with VALERIA'S CRYPT, an exclusive supplier of clothing where the less fabric there was, the bigger the dent it would make in your checking account.
"What is it?" I asked, giving the shirt-size box a shake, and something thunked.
"Open it and see," he said, his eyes flicking from me to the box.
There was something odd in his behavior. Sort of an embarrassed eagerness. Not one to save paper, I ripped it off and tossed it, running a fingernail under the single piece of tape holding the box shut. Black tissue paper rustled, and I warmed when I saw what was under it.
"Oh, this is nice!" I said, lifting the teddy up. "Just in time for summer nights."
"It's edible," Kisten said, his eyes glinting.