"Why did she do it?" I asked, though I knew what the answer would be.

"Because my father asked it of her." Cyrus sounded miserable, and lost. "I've no doubt of that."

"But she did it before the Vampire New Year," I reminded him.

He shook his head sadly. "I wouldn't be surprised at all if my father had arranged my meeting her from the start. He has that kind of power. He can make anyone do anything."

It was true. Cyrus had been so desperate for the Soul Eater's love and approval he'd killed his own brother to become their father's fledgling. He'd sacrificed his own happiness, his humanity. He'd even admitted he would have given Jacob Seymour his very soul if he'd required it. But why? I'd seen the Soul Eater. It certainly wasn't his good looks and charming demeanor that commanded such suicidal loyalty.

Sensing my thoughts, Cyrus tensed beside me. "He wasn't always like that, Carrie. You saw him at the end of a yearlong fast. He's little more than a glorified corpse at that time. My father… my father is selfish, but he tricks you into thinking he deserves all you do for him. And he acts grateful. That gratitude is like a drug for people like Dahlia and me. For anyone who's lived a life like mine."

Cyrus seemed to straggle with something. His confusion and pain were evident through the blood tie. Images of Mouse, interlaced with images of a time long ago, flashed in his thoughts.

I took his hand in mine. "Tell me."

With a sad, quirked smile, he lifted my hand to his lips.

"I'll show you."

It was an intimate thing between us, the sharing of memories. We'd done it before, when he was the sire and I was the fledgling. Though our roles had reversed, it felt as natural as before, and comfortingly familiar. It was something I'd never dared to do with Nathan. He'd seen flashes of memories through the blood tie, and the few times he'd tasted my blood, but I'd never invited him into my head the way I had Cyrus. Maybe I didn't trust him. Maybe I thought he would judge me for what he saw. Maybe I was trying to protect him from seeing something that might hurt him.

With Cyrus, I didn't care. Nothing I had ever done had been more shameful than the things I knew from his past. And nothing he saw could hurt him. He knew the extent of my betrayal. He knew me better than Nathan did. Probably better than I knew myself, since he'd seen and reveled in the dark side of my personality that I denied.

We lay together on my tiny bed, our hands still twisted together. "Are you sure?"

"What do I have to lose?" he asked, drawing in a shaking breath. And then I was rushing forward, through absolute blackness, through emotions too numerous to feel, let alone name.