"You're the one stopping us from finding a blood balance," she said. "Love is pain, Rachel. Figure it out. Get over it."

It wasn't. At least it didn't have to be. I wiggled again. "Ow, ow!" I said, feet scuffling. I was starting to sweat. Her scent poured over me, soothing, enticing, bringing the memory of her teeth sliding into me to the forefront of my thoughts as evolution had intended. And when my eyes closed at a surge of adrenaline pooling in me to set my blood rushing, I realized just what kind of trouble we were in. I didn't want her to let go. "Uh, Ivy?"

"Damn it," she whispered, and the heat in her voice hit me hard.

We were six kinds of stupid. I had only wanted to talk, and she had only wanted to prove how dangerous finding a blood balance would be. And now it was too late for thinking.

Her grip tightened, and I relaxed into it. "God, you smell good," she said, and my pulse thrummed. "I shouldn't have touched you…"

Feeling unreal, I tried to move, finding she'd let me turn to face her. My heart jumped into my throat, and I swallowed as I gazed into her perfect face, flushed with the danger of where we were. Her eyes were black as absolute night, reflecting my image: lips parted, eyes wild. The darkness was colored by the blood lust shimmering in her eyes. And below that, deeper under it all, was her fragile vulnerability.

"I can't hurt you," I said, fear a faint whisper in me.

My neck throbbed with the memory of her lips on me, the glorious feeling of her pulling, drawing what she needed to fill the hurting chasm in her soul. Her eyes closed, and, breathing deeply, I felt myself relax against her as her forehead touched my shoulder. "I'm not going to bite you," she said, her teeth inches from me, and a pulse of need shocked though me. "I'm not going to bite you."

My soul seemed to darken with her words. The question of what she would do had been answered. She was going to walk away. She was going to let go, drop back, and walk away.

A feeling of loss rose to wind around my lungs, crushing my air from me.

"But I want to," she said, and the chained desire in her whisper sent a pulse through me.

I gasped as the unexpected sensation dove to my middle and set me alight, twice as potent since I had given up on it. It was followed by fear, and Ivy's grip clenched. I froze when she tilted her head, her lips brushing just shy of my scar. "Either bite me or let me go," I breathed, dizzy with need. How did this happen? How did it happen so fast?

"Close your eyes," she said, her gray voice holding the emotion she was trying to control.

My pulse hammered, and, lids fluttering, I felt her pull back. In my imagination I could see her black eyes, see the heat in them and the way she got off on self-denial followed by a savage fulfillment when it became too much for her to contain, the guilt coating her soul.

"Don't move," she said, and I trembled at her breath against my cheek. She was going to bite me. Oh, God, I'd do better this time. I wouldn't let her lose control. I could do this.

"Promise me," she said, running a finger across my neck to make my breath catch, "that this won't change anything. That you know it's a taste for you to try, and that I will do nothing to encourage you. I won't ever do it again unless you come to me. If you come to me. And don't come to me unless you want it all, Rachel. I can't do it any other way."

A taste. I had already tasted this, but I nodded, my eyelids closed. My breath came in a pant, and I held it, waiting. Aching for the feel of her teeth in me. "I promise."

"Keep your eyes shut," she breathed, and I almost moaned when her light touch upon my scar lit a path through me to my groin. I gasped, feeling the wall against my back and her grip on me tighten. My heart pounded, and anticipation coiled deeper, tighter.

The softness of her small lips on mine went almost unnoticed until her hand left my scar and crept to the back of my neck to hold me unmoving. I froze. She's kissing me?

My first reaction to jerk away rose and fell, everything confusing as my body still resonated with the wash of endorphins that her playing on my scar had started. A taste, she had said, and adrenaline pounded. She felt the lack of a violent response, and with her lips the barest whisper on mine, she shifted her hand, finding my scar again.

A groan escaped me. She had let up enough to be sure I knew what she was doing, and now she was going to let me have it all.

"Oh, God, Ivy," I moaned, the conflict between knowledge and emotion making me helpless, and she pressed me into the wall, her lips upon mine again becoming more sure, aggressive. The hint of her tongue brought a gasp from me, and I froze, not knowing what to do. It was too much. I couldn't think. Her light touch retreated, and with a suddenness that shocked through me, she pulled away.

Panting, I leaned against the wall, my eyes open and my hand pressing the throbbing pulse of my neck. Ivy stood four feet away, her eyes utterly black and her body clearly hurting from the effort she had exerted to let go.

"All or nothing, Rachel," she said, stumbling backward, looking afraid. "I'm not going to be the one to leave, and I won't ever kiss you again unless you start it. But if you try to manipulate me into biting you again, I'm going to assume you're taking me up on my offer, and I'll meet you." Her eyes went frightened. "With all of me."

My pulse hammered and my knees wobbled. This was going to make our mornings alone a little more uncomfortable—or a hell of a lot more interesting.

"You promised you wouldn't leave," she said, her voice becoming vulnerable. And then she was gone, her steps sharp as she picked up her purse and fled the church and the confusion she had left me in.

My hand dropped, and I held myself as if trying to keep from falling apart. What in hell have I done? Just stood there and let her do? I should have pushed her away, but I hadn't. I had started it, and she had used my scar to manipulate me into seeing what she offered without fear and holding all the passion it might entail. All or nothing, she had said, and now that I had tasted it all without fear, I knew what that meant.

The rumble of Ivy's cycle echoed in through the open transom windows, fading into the distant sound of traffic. I slowly let myself slide down the wall until I hit the floor, knees scrunched and trying to breathe. Okay, I thought, still feeling the promise of her resonating in me. Now what the hell am I going to do?

The dry sifting of wings coming in the high windows drew my attention, and I stood, wiping the sweat from my neck. Jenks? Where had he been five minutes ago, and what in hell was I going to do now? Ivy had said she wouldn't do anything again unless I started it, but could I stay in the church with that kiss resonating between us? Every time she looked at me, I'd be wondering what she was thinking. Maybe that was her intent?

"Hey, Rache," Jenks called cheerfully as he dropped from the ceiling, "where's Ivy going?"

"I don't know." Numb, I headed to the kitchen before he could see my state. Clearly his kid's wings were okay. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" I said, rubbing my sore wrist. Crap, if it bruised, it would look great with my bridesmaid's dress. At least I didn't have a new bite mark to go with it.

"Ah, hell," Jenks said, and I dropped my eyes when I saw his disapproving gaze. "It stinks in here. You pushed her again, didn't you?"

It wasn't a question, and I walked without pause into the kitchen.

"You stupid-ass witch," he said, shedding silver sparkles as he followed. "Is she coming back? You scare her off for good this time? What's wrong with you? Can't you leave it alone?"