Behind the hanging slab was a long low bed of boxes, and Kisten laid the woman there, covering the blur of human features with a tablecloth. Ivy had the fleeting memory of seeing a similar bundle there once before. She and Kisten had been ten and playing hide-and-seek while their parents finished their wine and conversation. Piscary had told them she was someone from a fairy tale and to play in the abandoned upstairs. Seemed like they were still playing upstairs, but now the games were more convoluted and less under their control.
Kisten met her eyes, their deep blue full of recollection. "Sleeping Beauty," he said, and Ivy nodded. That was what they had called the corpse. Feeling like a little girl hiding a broken dish, she moved the slab of lamb back to partially hide the body.
Cold from more than the temperature, she followed him out, kicking the box out of the way and leaning against the door when it shut. Her eyes went to the time clock by the door. "I'll get the living room and stairs if you take the elevator," she said, not wanting to chance running into Piscary. He wouldn't be angry with her for helping Kisten. No, he'd be so amused she had put off Art again that he would invite her into his bed, and she would quiver inside and go to him, forgetting all about Kisten and what she had been doing. God, she hated herself.
Kisten reached for the mop and she added, "Use a new mop head, then put the old one back on when you're done. We're going to have to burn it along with the rug."
"Right," he said, his jaw flushing as it clenched. While Kisten filled a bucket, Ivy made a fresh batch of the spray they wiped the restaurant tables down with. Diluted, it removed the residual vamp pheromones, but at full strength, it would break down the blood enzymes that most cleaning detergents left behind. Maybe it was a little overkill, but she was a careful girl.
It would be unlikely to have the woman traced here, but it wasn't so much for eliminating her presence from a snooping I.S. or FIB agent as it was avoiding having the restaurant smell like blood other than hers and Kisten's. That might lead to questions concerning whether the restaurant's mixed public license, or MPL, had been violated. Ivy didn't think her explanation that, no, no one had been bitten on the premises-Piscary had drained a woman in his private apartments-and therefore the MPL was intact, would go over well. From the amount of aggravation Piscary had endured to get his MPL reinstated the last time some fool Were high on Brimstone had drawn blood, she thought he'd prefer a trial and jail to losing his MPL again. But the real reason Ivy was being so thorough was that she didn't want her apartment smelling like anyone but her and Kisten.
Her thoughts brought her gaze back to him. He looked nice with his head bowed over the bucket, his light bangs shifting in the water droplets being flung up as it filled.
Clearly unaware of her scrutiny, he turned the water off. "I am such an ass," he said, watching the ripples settle.
"That's what I like about you," she said, worried she might have made him feel inadequate by taking over.
"I am." He didn't look at her, hands clenching the rim of the plastic bucket. "I froze. I was so damn worried about what you were going to say when you came home and found me with a dead girl, I couldn't think."
Finding a compliment in there, she smiled, digging through a drawer to get a new mop head. "I knew you didn't kill her. She had Piscary all over her."
"Damn it, Ivy!" Kisten exclaimed, lashing the flat of his hand out to hit the spigot, and there was a crack of metal. "I should be better than this! I'm his f**king scion!"
Ivy's shoulders dropped. Sliding the drawer shut, she went to him and put her hands on his shoulders. They were hard with tension, and he did nothing to acknowledge her touch. Tugging into him, she pressed her cheek against his back, smelling the lingering fear on him, and the woman's blood. Eyes closing, she felt her bloodlust assert itself. Death and blood didn't turn on a vampire. Fear and the chance to take blood did. There was a difference.
Her hands eased around his front, fingers slipping past the buttons to find his abs. Only now did Kist bow his head, softening into her touch. Her teeth were inches from an old scar she had given him. The intoxicating smell of their scents mixing hit her, and she swallowed. The headiest lure of all. Her chest pressed into him as she breathed deep, intentionally bringing his scent into her, luring fingers of sexual excitement to stir along her spine. "Don't worry about it," she said, her voice low.
"You'd be a better scion then I am," he said bitterly. "Why did he pick me?"
She didn't think this was about which one of them was his scion but his stress looking for an outlet. Giving in to her urge, she lifted onto her toes to reach his ear. "Because you like people more than I do," she said. "Because you're better at talking to them, getting them to do what you want and having them think it was their idea. I just scare people."
He turned, slowly so he would stay in her arms. "I run a bar," he said, eyes downcast. "You work for the I.S. You tell me which is more valuable."
Ivy's arms slipped to his waist, pressing him back into the edge of the sink. "I'm sorry for the pizza delivery crap," she said, meaning it. "You aren't running a bar, you're learning Cincinnati, what moves who, and who will do anything for whom. Me?" Her attention went to the wisp of hair showing at the V of his shirt. "I'm learning how to kiss ass and suck neck."
His gaze hard with self-recrimination, Kisten shook his head. "Piscary dropped a dead girl in my lap, and I sat over her and wrung my hands. You walked in and things happened. What about the next time when it's something important and I f**k it up?"
Running her hands up the smooth expanse of silk to his shoulders, she closed her eyes at the deliciously erotic sensation growing in her. Guilt mixed with it. She was ugly. All she had wanted to do was console Kisten, but the very act of comforting him was turning her on.
The thought of Art and what had almost happened hit her. Between one breath and the next, the muscles where her jaw hinged tightened and her eyes dilated. Shit. May as well give in. Feeling like a whore, she opened her eyes and fixed them on Kisten's. His were as black as her own, and a spike of anticipation dove to her middle. Warped and twisted. Both of them. Was there any way to show she cared other than this?
"You'll handle it," she whispered, wanting to feel her lips pulling on something, anything. The soft skin under his chin glistened from the thrown-up mist, begging her to taste it. "I save your ass. You save mine," she said. It was all she had to offer.