“You killed my mother.” I shouldn’t say it. I shouldn’t show just how much I hate him—that I’ll never be his. Not yet. But I can’t stand the thought of him not knowing for one more second. It’s one illusion I just can’t do.

The words stop him cold. He turns. I don’t know what I expect to see on his face. Part of me wants to see shock. I want him to deny it, to give me an explanation, something that will let me look at him like a father and not the cruel person who ripped my entire life from me. For a moment I imagine him opening his arms to me so we can both grieve what was taken from us. But he did the taking. And now he wants to take more.

I get nothing from him. No emotion. “How did you find out?”

My chest squeezes so tightly that it feels like my ribs will cave in. He doesn’t even care enough to put on a show for me—to pretend like he didn’t have anything to do with it.

“I found her stuff in your rooms.”

“Ahhh, I thought it was you. I knew someone had been in, and it would take so much power to break through my security spells.” A gleam lights his eyes. “How’d you do it? Never mind. Doesn’t matter. We’re on the same side now. I was going to leave you alone in your humdrum little life, but that was silly of me. You’re full of power. My power.”

This is a test—one last chance to bow to him.

“My mother’s power,” I spit.

He looks like he wants to hit me, but he rocks back on his heels. “Either way, it’s mine now.”

“Why?” It’s the question that’s been haunting me for years.

He shrugs. “She left me. Nobody gets to leave me.” His voice goes hard. “Ever.”

I know what he means: I’m not leaving either—not unless I want to end up like her.

“But she had too many allies here to kill her outright. I made sure our mutual enemies found her.”

He got everything he wanted: revenge on my mother for leaving and more proof that vampires are a threat to magicians.

“I regret that part, though. I shouldn’t have given the bloodsucker the honor of your mother’s blood. It should have been my hands.” He pauses, the corners of his mouth tilting up like he’s reminiscing. “Like it was for Joseph.”

His grin widens at the shock on my face, and he holds up his hand. Thin blades of ice sprout from the tips of his fingers, and even though he makes no move toward me, I can feel them tearing into me with the truth. Dad died in a mugging, they said. He died from multiple stab wounds.