“When I lived with him, Cyrus played so many mind games I had a hard time sorting out what feelings were mine and what ones he manipulated me into feeling.” I took a deep breath. I didn’t like talking about personal matters to anyone, even Nathan. At least with him, he knew what I was feeling before I did, and our “conversations” were little more than telepathic exchanges of emotion. “I didn’t get it quite sorted out before he died, and now that he’s back, some of those feelings are back, too.”

“Do you love him?” The question was so blunt and naked, it sounded perverse.

“No. I don’t love him. Not in a romantic sense.” At least I could deny that much.

“What about other senses?” Max’s tone implied his bullshit detector was reading off the charts.

That was one of the main problems with men. They couldn’t accept the concept of love unless it applied to sex.

“I don’t love him. But I see the potential in him to become a good person, and I have a lot of admiration and yes, affection, for the man he is when he lets his guard down. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to run off with him or anything.” I thought of Nathan lying in the other room, and what might happen if we couldn’t save him. Was I ready to live a lifetime alone?

“But I didn’t ask you to go easy on him because of any feelings I might have for him.” It seemed almost cruel to betray such private information about my old sire, but Max needed to understand my pleas for sensitivity where Cyrus was concerned. “Something happened in the desert. Not between him and me, but it was my fault. He wasn’t the only human being held by the Fangs. There was a girl—I guess they were keeping her alive to watch him or care for him. But they were…intimate. And I made a stupid mistake and got her killed. Max, I think he really loved her. She managed to reach some place inside of him I knew existed but had no clue how to unlock. Now that she’s gone, I’m afraid he’s closed that part of himself off again, and that’s going to make him susceptible to anything the Soul Eater might offer. I don’t want him to be a monster again.”

Max didn’t speak. What could he have possibly said? Of course, before we could say any more, my bedroom door opened and Cyrus, clad only in the black slacks he’d worn on the trip, stepped out. “Whispering sweet nothings in the hallway? How romantic.”

Max straightened instantly, looking a little disturbed by the implication. “No.”