"He's the same. He's exactly the same." I looked hopelessly to Nathan, but any trace of pity was gone from his face.

With cold resolve, he stood. "This isn't real, Carrie. But it's real enough that I won't sympathize with you over your bad choices."

"Not real?" I asked, hating the plaintive whine in my voice. But he stalked from the room.

I stood to follow him, but I couldn't find the door. That's when I realized I was dreaming. I stumbled, my legs twisting, and fell. Unable to catch myself, I hit the bare wood floor head-on, my face shattering like glass.

Then I woke up.

I gingerly felt my face. Still there, but I was alone. I eased out of bed, every muscle in my body protesting, and stumbled to the dresser for support.

"I packed your bags." Nathan stood in the doorway. His clothes were rumpled and dark circles ringed his eyes.

"Why were you in my dream?" I asked, hating the tremor in my voice.

"I could talk to you there without… Well, it was just safer to discuss what we had to in here." He tapped his temple with his forefinger, stopping midmotion. "I'm your sire. I have a duty to help you when you need it. And you're going to need it. But I didn't trust myself with you. I' in too angry."

My throat constricted. There were so many things I wanted to say, but there was no point. I'd known, I must have known, that Nathan wouldn't just blindly accept this. Cyrus had been a monster. The extent of his cruelty toward Nathan was such that even he didn't know the whole of it.

But I loved Nathan. Things had just become right between us, or at least close to right.

"You fucked it up, Carrie." He read my thoughts as easily as I'd heard Cyrus's in my dream.

Nathan jerked his thumb toward the hallway. "When you're ready, he's in there."

I looked toward my old bedroom. "Is he awake?"

"Has been for a while. I've got him tied down. He's been out of control." Nathan's tone implied he hadn't exactly appreciated having to deal with my problem.

"Thank you." I took a few, wobbling steps forward, forcing myself to ignore the shakiness in my limbs. My clothes, stiff with dried blood, rustled as I moved. I knew Nathan was behind me, and I made a conscious decision not to react when I saw Cyrus. That decision flew right out the window the second I stepped into my room.

Sometime in the night, Nathan had moved my bed up from storage. With the new bookshelves in place, the bed took up the entire floor space, except for a small square near the doorway. It was like a mausoleum crypt, and Cyrus lay on the bed, wide-awake, bungee cords and loops of duct tape securing him there like Hannibal Lecter on his little cart. All he needed was the muzzle.