I've never felt more helpless than I did at that moment. It was terrifying to me that my hands were tied while my fledgling lay defenseless on the street. My frustration exploded from me in a series of cruel accusations—that Nathan didn't care for me, that he was incapable of caring for anyone, that he would let Cyrus die the way he'd let Ziggy die, the way he'd let Marianne die.

Though I knew the effect my words would have on both of us, I couldn't stop them from coming. I couldn't even summon the strength to apologize for them. Until that moment, I'd thought I understood the power of the blood tie. I'd grossly underestimated it, and found myself destroying my relationship with my own sire in an effort to protect my fledgling. And there was no doubt in my mind that destruction was absolute.

Nathan remained silent on the other side of the door, but I could feel his rage as I gave one final, futile shove. There was no strength left in me, so I lay on the floor, drifting in and out of sleep, until I woke enough to realize time had passed. The door was open. Nathan was gone.

It was still dark out. I checked the clock in the kitchen and saw it wasn't long until sunup. There was still time for Cyrus. I jerked the door open and was about to tear down the stairs when I saw the note taped there for me to find: "Check your room."

There were no other words, no explanation of where Nathan was or what his intentions were. I went to my room and stood in the doorway. Cyrus lay on the bed, on top of the tangled covers, his bloodstained clothes twisted on his body. His face was wiped clean, but the damage Nathan had inflicted would take more than a day to heal.

Nathan had done this. He'd done it to hurt me, to hurt Cyrus. He'd done it to ease some murderous need for vengeance in himself, without thought for how it would affect anyone else. I was torn between rage and admiration. I'd been waiting for so long to see Nathan act on his volatile emotions after repressing them for so long. My only regret was that he'd acted out on my fledgling.

My only regret is that he isn't waiting on the corner for the sun to come out and burn him to a crisp. He has no moral compass. Cyrus opened one swollen eye in an attempt to punctuate his thought with a matching sarcastic expression, but the motion made him whimper. He was so pathetic, I couldn't help but pity him.