I wanted to say, Can you refrain from embedding more projectiles in my fledgling? Instead, I folded my arms across my chest, tightening them to hold in my anger. "Do you have a needle driver?"

Nathan made a sustained suspense noise as he dug through the tool kit, then pulled out the shiny, scissorslike implement. "This?"

"Yes. I need to go wash my hands." When he rolled his eyes, I threw up my arms helplessly. "It's a habit. My parents didn't spend the better part of their stock earnings putting me through med school for me to just forget simple sanitary precautions."

It would also give me some time to get my head together. I'd expected Nathan to be difficult about this whole situation. I loved him, but I wasn't living under the delusion that he was abnormally selfless and cooperative. Still, a part of me had held out hope that this wouldn't destroy any slim chance we had together.

It couldn't be over. Not because of this.

And yet, did I really care? I had Cyrus.

I knew it.

Firmly, I shoved the thought—mine and his—from my mind. I didn't have Cyrus. He was my fledgling, and I had a duty to do by him, and that was it. At least I thought I had a duty toward him. I wasn't exactly sure what a sire was supposed to do. Cyrus had manipulated and tortured me. Nathan had given me a place to live and protection from the numerous dangers of an undead life. It seemed as if I should try and do the latter, not the former.

At the same time, I understood the seductive power I held. Cyrus had abused the blood tie, and now I had the opportunity for the sweetest kind of revenge—to give him a taste of what he'd done to me. And I understood, too, why he'd done it. Because he could. Because the ability was there.

I dried my hands and returned. Nathan stood silently outside the door: Cyrus lay on the bed, seemingly unaffected by the fact that he was bleeding all over the place. Nathan had a dark look on his face, but I ignored it and set to my task, still able to go on autopilot months after abandoning my medical career.

And oddly, as I worked, Nathan's feelings of anger subsided, giving way to… pity?

You pity him? What, I'm the big, mean sire and you're on his side now? I made a face and blocked the resentment I felt from flowing through our tie.

I'm not on his side. There aren't any sides.

I looked up at Nathan. He stepped into the room, his arms crossed as he watched me repair Cyrus's wounds.

Pursing my lips, I looked back to my work. You act like you're more worried about him than I am.