I gave Nathan a brief, openmouthed look of dismay before rushing to my fledgling's side.

I'd heard that new mothers, after enduring the prolonged pain and exertion of labor, feel oddly detached from their offspring. I'd always thought there must be something profoundly screwed up in these people that they didn't feel an instant connection with the child they'd brought into the world. I could definitely sympathize with them as I knelt beside the bed. All my former notions of Cyrus—John Doe, my sire, a wounded, grieving human—fled. Though the blood tie connected us, he was a stranger. When his cold blue eyes raked over me, I shuddered.

"Why?" His demand scraped from an obviously dry throat.

Rather than answer Cyrus's accusation, I turned to Nathan with one of my own. "You didn't feed him?"

"You're lucky I didn't stake him."

"It's true," Cyrus stated in a voice that was at once chillingly familiar and repulsively alien. "He stood in the doorway for a good twenty minutes, trying to work up the nerve."

He's the same. He's exactly the same. My dream words mocked me with their truth.

"What did you expect, Carrie?" Nathan turned from me, disgusted. "I'll get him some blood. Stay clear of him, in case he breaks free."

"I can get it," I offered, backing away from the bed. Nathan's tone warned me against arguing. "Stay clear of him."

Stay clear? There wasn't enough room to stay clear of anything. But his warning proved unnecessary. Cyrus didn't struggle. He lay perfectly docile, fixing me with an accusing stare.

I could remain silent only so long. "Listen, Cyrus, I'm—"

"Spare me your self-serving apologies." His voice was flat, emotionless.

Stunned and hurt, I brushed away unexpected tears. "If I hadn't done it, you would have died."

"That crossed my mind, yes." He looked away, up at the ceiling. "If I had died, I could have been with her again. I think I tried to tell you that. In fact, I distinctly remember trying to fight you off."

My stomach churned at the memory of his dying words "I had to. Not for me. Only you can tell us where your father is." It sounded as lame as it had when I'd said it in my dreams. Was that really the reason I'd forced my blood down his throat?

"A brothel in Nevada. Now give me my mortal self back," he snarled, baring his fangs.

I'd never really been afraid of Cyrus before now. When he'd been my sire, I'd feared my reactions to him and what he might manipulate me to do, but I'd never considered he'd physically harm me. He was different now. This Cyrus wouldn't seductively lead me to a destruction of my own making. He'd destroy me outright.

"You know I can't do that," I whispered, my tongue like lead in my mouth. I moved toward the bed, drawn by some strange instinct to be near him.

"Get away from him."