The boat hardly moved with my weight, and I half slid to the cockpit door, grasping for handholds. "Ivy?" I called as I went belowdecks, fear winding between my soul and reason when she didn't answer. The silence ate away at my hope like bitter acid, drop by drop, breath by breath. If Kisten was conscious, he would have answered. If he was undead, he would be dead from the sun unless he had made it to the warehouse. Either option was bad.

It was quiet as I passed through the kitchen, only the sounds of my heartbeat and a plane high overhead. Ivy would have said something if she'd found him. The smear of blood on the high window looking out over the far shore shook me. A handprint.

"Kisten?" I whispered, but I knew it wasn't his. And it wasn't mine. It was his killer's.

The tears pricked. I couldn't remember anything. Why in hell had I done this to myself?

The sight of the splintered door between the kitchen and the living room brought me to a breathless halt. My foot started to throb, and my heart raced. I couldn't look away. I knew…

My breath came back in a gasp when Edden's bulk landed outside the window, jarring me. The boat scarcely moved under his weight either. As if in a dream, I stepped to the door, reaching to touch it to make sure it was real. Sharp, smooth slivers brushed my fingertips, and I felt dizzy.

The light was eclipsed, and I didn't turn when I felt Edden and Ford fill the doorway.

"I did this," I whispered, my hand falling. I didn't remember it, but my body did, my foot throbbing and my pulse fast. I stared at the shattered frame. My foot had broken the doorframe.

Gaze unfocused, I leaned against the cupboard for balance as remembered panic took me. I remembered crying. I remembered my hair in my mouth, and trying to escape. My arm had hurt so badly I couldn't manage the door, so I'd kicked it open. My eyes closed, and I felt it all over again. Scattered images were all that was left. I had kicked the door in, and then the back of my head had met a wall.

I touched the back of my head as it began to throb. There had been someone else here. And at the faint hint of unfamiliar, vampiric incense that still lingered, I knew it had to have been Kisten's killer. It had happened here, and I had been a part of it.

"I did this," I said, turning to the two men. "I remember doing this."

Edden's face was tight, and he held a drawn pistol pointed at the ceiling. Ford was behind him looking like the professional psychiatrist he was, out of place and gathering information I wouldn't want his opinion on.

The soft sound of dragonfly wings brought my tear-streaked face around to see Jenks, his wings sparkling in the light coming in the low windows.

"Rache, you better come in here."

Oh, God.

"Ivy?" I called out, and Edden shoved his way into the cramped space.

"Get behind me," he said, face grim, and I pushed through the broken frame before him, desperate to find her. Either Kisten was dead and no threat or he was undead and destroyed from the sun, or his killer was still here, or Ivy had found Kisten and she needed me.

The living room was clean and empty, smelling of water and sunshine through the open windows. Pulse fast, I followed Jenks into the hall, past the bathroom, and to the back bedroom. The rasp of Ivy's ragged breath sent a chill through me, and I jerked from Edden's grasp only to stop dead just inside the door.

Ivy stood alone with her back to the dresser, arms over her middle, and her head bowed. Before her, on the floor slumped upright against the bed, was Kisten.

My eyes closed, and a lump filled my throat. Grief slammed into me, and I staggered to stand against the doorframe. He was dead. And it hadn't been easy.

Edden's soft curse behind me cut through my awareness, and I took a gasping breath. "You son of a bitch," I whispered to no one. "You son of a bitch bastard." I was far too late.

Kisten's barefoot body was dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a shirt I'd never seen. His neck and body had been savaged, and his arms and torso were torn as if he had tried to defend himself. Silvered blue eyes told me he had died undead, but the blood pooled in his legs and heels said that he hadn't been drained, simply killed twice. Dark blood matted his once-bright hair, and his smile was gone.

I took another breath, trying to keep upright, though the room was starting to waver.

"I'm sorry, Rachel," Edden said softly, his hand landing on my shoulder in a show of comfort. "I know he meant a lot to you. This wasn't your fault."

At that the tears started to dribble out, one by one. "Kisten?" I warbled, not wanting to believe he was gone. I had been here. I had tried to keep him alive. I must have. But I hadn't been able to, and the guilt must have been why I'd tried to forget.

I took a helpless step closer, wanting to fall on my knees and pull him to me. "I'm sorry, Kisten." I started to cry in earnest. "I must have tried. I must have."

From behind me in the hall, Ford said, "You did."

Both Ivy and I turned. He looked ragged as both of our personal hells resonated in him. "It's in your thoughts," he said, and I just about lost it. Giving up, I sank to my knees before Kisten, the tears flowing unchecked as I tried to arrange his shirt collar to hide his ravaged skin.

"I don't remember," I gushed. "I don't remember any of it. Tell me what happened."

Ford's voice was strained. "I don't know. But you're feeling guilt and remorse. There's hatred, but not at him. Someone made you forget."

I looked up, wanting to believe. Everything was blurry, unreal.

"You didn't forget because you couldn't handle it," he said, guilt in his voice for having labeled me weak. "Someone made you forget against your will. It's all there in your emotions."

Blinking fast, I tried to clear my sight. The pain in my chest wouldn't go away and let me think. Someone had been here besides me. Someone else knew what had happened. Someone had forced me to forget? Why?

A new fear, pulled my attention to Ivy, still standing apart and miserable as Kisten lay cold and dead between us. She hadn't wanted Ford to help me to remember. Had she… had she killed him because he'd bitten me?

"I don't remember," Ivy whispered as if knowing my thoughts, her head bowed and arms wrapped around herself to keep from falling apart. "I could have. I don't remember."

Edden put his weapon back in the holster, snapping it shut. Arms crossed aggressively, he took a firm stance. I stood, torn between anger at him and fear for Ivy.

"She wouldn't do it," I said, frightened, and I went to give her a shake. "You wouldn't do that, Ivy. Look at me! You loved him!"

She shook her head, her black hair hiding her face.

"She was Piscary's scion," Edden said. "She would if he told her to."

"She loved Kisten!" I exclaimed, appalled and scared. "She wouldn't do it!"

Edden took a harder line. "Word on the street is she'd kill him if he touched your blood. Did he?"

Guilt seemed to stop my heart, and I looked frantically for a way out. Jenks stood on the dresser, miserable. We were in the same room where I'd bitten Kisten in a blood passion I scarcely knew how to comprehend. He hadn't bitten me, but it didn't seem to matter now.

Ivy brought her head up at my silence. Her beautiful face was twisted in pain. "I might have done it," she whispered. "I don't remember. Everything up to Piscary attacking you is a… a jumbled nightmare. I think someone told me you tasted Kisten. I can't remember if someone told me or if I made it up." Tear-wet eyes rose to mine, framed by black hair iced in gold. A terrible fear lay in her gaze. "I might have. I might have done it, Rachel!"

My stomach was in knots, but the terror was gone, and in a sudden surge I understood. She hadn't wanted to come out here, afraid she might find she'd killed him. She hadn't wanted Ford to help me remember for the same reason. Someone had killed Kisten, but I knew to the bottom of my soul that it hadn't been Ivy, though centuries of evolution and conditioning made her want to.