Dahlia swept into the room, clad in a diaphanous black gown. Her sleeves fluttered behind her as she stalked toward the study. I froze, holding absolutely still to keep from making a sound. My palms grew damp. It became a little more difficult to keep my grip on the slick stone, my only camouflage.

She paused, turned her head slightly. Then, without warning, she spun and held out both hands. "Illuminate!"

The room flared with bright, white light. It penetrated the space where I stood and destroyed any shadow on the floor. Her eyes narrowed. She knew someone was in the room with her, she just couldn't see me.

"Let the guards handle it, my darling," a deep, cultured voice called from the study. It sounded almost like…

A visible tremor racked Dahlia at the sound of his voice. An almost identical reaction to what Nathan had experienced in the presence of his sire.

Oh, God. Dahlia was the Soul Eater's fledgling.

It made sense, now. Why Dahlia had been feeding Cyrus information. She knew that eventually, she would find herself on the Soul Eater's dinner table. If she played both sides, someone might rescue her.

She'd lied to me. I was outraged, but not surprised. Dahlia was clever in ways that continued to mystify me. If I'd thought I'd had her—or her motives—completely figured out, I'd been a fool. No one would ever really know what she was up to. My mistake had been believing that she'd been sired by one of the Fangs, as she'd told me. She'd been in relentless pursuit of Cyrus's blood. Why would she have settled for a lesser prize? She could have had my blood the night I'd fed from her and she'd stabbed me. But she'd wanted power.

I followed her to the door of the study, timing my steps to echo hers. She tried to trip me up, once. I'd been counting on it. She'd have noticed by now that her spell book was missing. I'm sure she had a clue as to why the guards hadn't—and hopefully wouldn't—find the intruder.

In the study, a fire burned in the fireplace. All of the lamps, delicate art nouveau creations, lit the room cheerfully. Seated at the desk, his long, white hair bound in a single braid that coiled on the floor, was the Soul Eater.

He turned at the sound of Dahlia's entrance, and smiled. He looked so much like Cyrus, but with the added mystery and elegance of age. My heart lurched in my chest.

But he's not me, Cyrus reminded me through the blood tie. He's so much worse than I ever was.

"You look lovely tonight," Jacob Seymour said, inclining his head in Dahlia's direction. "Is there some occasion?"