"Like a soul to tell you it's wrong to view people as walking snack bars," I said tartly, snapping the door shut.
A sigh slipped from him, the fine fabric of his suit bunching at his shoulders when he took the bottle of soap from me and set in on the counter. "It's not like that," he said. "Sheep are treated like sheep, users are used, and those who deserve more receive everything."
Arms crossed over my chest, I said, "And who are you to make that decision?"
"Rachel." He sounded weary as he cupped my elbows in his hands. "They make the decision themselves."
"I don't believe that." But I didn't pull away, and I didn't push his hands off me. "And even if they do, you take advantage of it."
Kisten's eyes went distant, falling from mine as he gently pulled my arms into a less aggressive posture. "Most people," he said, "are desperate to be needed. And if they don't feel good about themselves or think they're undeserving of love, some will fasten upon the worst possible way to satisfy that need to punish themselves. They're the addicts, the shadows both claimed and unclaimed, passed like the fawning sheep they make themselves into as they search for a glimmer of worth, knowing it's false even as they beg for it. Yes, it is ugly. And yes, we take advantage of those who let us. But which is worse, taking from someone who wants you to, knowing in your soul that you're a monster, or taking from an unwilling person and proving it?"
My heart pounded. I wanted to argue with him, but everything he had said, I agreed with.
"And then there are those who relish the power they have over us." Kisten's lips thinned from a past anger, and he dropped his hands from me. "The clever ones who know that our need to be accepted and trusted runs so deep it can be crippling. Those who play upon that, knowing we will do almost anything for that invitation to take the blood we desperately crave. The ones who exalt in the hidden domination a lover can exert, feeling it elevates them to an almost godlike status. Those are the ones who want to be us, thinking it will make them powerful. And we use them, too, casting them aside with less regret than the sheep unless we grow to hate them, upon which we make them one of us in cruel restitution."
He cupped my jaw with his hand. It was warm, and I didn't pull away. "And then there are the rare ones who know love, who understand it. Who freely give of themselves, demanding only a return of that love, that trust." His faultless blue eyes never blinked, and I held my breath. "It can be beautiful, Rachel, when there is trust and love. No one is bound. No one loses his or her will. No one becomes less. Both become more than they can be alone. But it is so rare, so beautiful when it happens."
I shivered, wondering if he was lying to me.
The soft touch of his hand down my jaw as he pulled away sent my blood humming. But he didn't notice, his attention on the coming dawn visible out the window. "I feel bad for Ivy," he whispered. "She doesn't want to accept her need for belonging, even as it charts her every move. She wants that perfect love but thinks she isn't deserving of it."
"She doesn't love Piscary," I whispered. "You said there was no beauty without trust and love."
Kisten's eyes met mine. "I wasn't talking about Piscary."
His attention went to the clock above the sink, and when he took a backward step, I knew he was leaving. "It's getting late," he said, his distant voice telling me he was already mentally somewhere else. Then his eyes cleared and he was back. "I enjoyed our date," he said as he drew away. "But next time, there isn't going to be a limit on what I can spend."
"You're assuming there's going to be a next time?" I said, trying to lighten the mood.
He met my smile with his own, the new bristles on his face catching the light. "Maybe."
Kisten started for the front door, and I automatically followed to see him out. In my stockings, my feet were as soundless as his on the hardwood floor. The sanctuary was quiet, not a peep from my desk. Still not having said anything, Kisten shrugged into his wool coat.
"Thank you," I said as I handed him the long leather coat that he had let me borrow.
His teeth were a glimmer in the dark foyer. "My pleasure."
"For the night out, not the coat," I said, feeling my nylons go wet from the snowmelt. "Well, thanks for letting me use your coat, too," I stammered.
He leaned closer. "Again, my pleasure," he said, the faint light a glimmer in his eyes. I stared, trying to tell if his eyes were black from desire or shadow. "I am going to kiss you," he said, his voice dusky, and my muscles tensed. "No shirking."
"No biting," I said, deadly serious. Anticipation bubbled up inside me. But it was from me, not my demon scar, and accepting that was both a relief and a fear—I couldn't pretend it was the scar. Not his time.
His hands enfolded my lower jaw, both rough and warm. I inhaled as he drew closer, his eyes closing. The scent of leather and silk was strong, the hint of something deeper, primal, tugging at my instincts making me not know what to feel. Eyes open, I watched him lean in, my heart pounding with the anticipation of his lips on mine.
His thumbs shifted, following the curve of my jaw. My lips parted. But the angle was wrong for a full kiss, and my shoulders eased when I realized he was going to kiss the corner of my mouth.
Relaxing, I leaned forward to meet him, flashing into a near panic when his fingertips moved farther back, burying themselves in my hair. Adrenaline pounded through me in a cold wash as I realized he wasn't headed for my mouth at all.
He was going to kiss my neck! I thought, freezing.
But he stopped just shy, exhaling when his lips found the soft hollow between my ear and jaw. Relief mixed with fear, making me incapable of anything. The remnants of the adrenaline scouring through me made my pulse thunder. His lips were gentle, but his hands about my face were firm with restrained need.
A cool warmth took the place of his lips when he pulled away, yet he held himself poised for a moment, then another. My heart beat wildly, and I knew he could feel it almost as if it were his own. His breath came in a slow exhalation that I mirrored.
In the sound of rustling wool, Kisten stepped back. His eyes found mine, and I realized my hands had risen and were about his waist. They fell from him reluctantly, and I swallowed hard, shocked. Though he hadn't touched my lips or neck, it had been one of the most exhilarating kisses I'd ever experienced. The thrill of not knowing what he was going to do had put me in a tizzy that a full-mouthed kiss never could have.
"That's the damnedest thing," he said softly, a puzzled arch to his eyebrow.
"What?" I questioned breathily, still not having shaken off the feeling.
He shook his head. "I can't smell you at all. It's kind of a turn-on."
I blinked, unable to say a word.
" 'Night, Rachel." A new smile hovered about him as he shifted another step back.
"Good night," I whispered.
He turned and opened the door. The chill air shocked me out of my daze. My demon scar hadn't made a single twinge, dormant. That, I thought, was frightening. That he could do this to me without even playing upon my scar. What in hell was wrong with me?
Kisten gave me a final smile from the landing, the snowy night a beautiful backdrop. Turning, he walked down the icy steps, his footsteps crunching on the salt.
Bewildered, I shut the door behind him, wondering what had happened. Still feeling unreal, I dropped the locking bar, then reopened it upon remembering Ivy was out.
Arms clasped about myself, I headed for my bedroom. My thoughts were full of what Kisten had told me about how people dictated their own fate when letting a vampire bind them. That people paid for the ecstasy of vampire passion with different levels of dependency ranging from food to equal. What if he was lying? I thought. Lying to trick me into letting him bind me to him? But then a more frightening thought pulled my feet to a halt and made my face go cold.