Cyrus had never felt self-conscious. It had been easy to be sure of himself when he’d known he was adored. At this moment, he would have done anything to feel so confident again. He reached to touch his shorter strands, realizing too late he still held the scissors in his hand.

Her smile faltered. Though she regained it, the expression was forced. Pained. “What’s that for?”

Lying was not something he’d lost in the transition from immortal to dead to mortal. He casually juggled the scissors from one hand to the other. “I thought they’d serve us better in the kitchen.”

“Good idea.” She rose slowly, and though his back was to her, he knew she followed him.

So, she does still fear me. The thought sickened him. He had actually planned to kill her.

Suddenly, and with shocking clarity, a vision of her slashed throat and bloody dress shot through his mind. The scissors, before a simple, common tool, seemed evil, as though his intent had somehow infused them with malice.

I can’t do it. He didn’t want to think of why. No matter what the reason, it pointed to the same harsh truth. He was as weak as his father believed him to be.

He slid the scissors into a drawer and closed it, resisting the urge to slam it tight. Was it possible his captors had imagined he would try to kill her, think of killing himself? Was this a planned torture?

Behind him, the Mouse made a small sound of relief. Cyrus turned, not sure if he was angered at her for not trusting him, or ashamed of himself for deserving mistrust. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t do it.”

“Did you?” He wanted to grab a knife from the block on the counter and prove her wrong, but the rage died in him. Despair took its place, and he sat at the table, cradling his head in his hands. “Because I wasn’t sure, myself.”

Chapter 7
Consequences

“How on earth could you be so irresponsible?” Breton paced back and forth behind his desk, reminding me, in his self-righteous anger, of Nathan. I wondered if all Movement vampires were this uptight, or just the ones from the U.K.

“In Max’s defense, General, it was Anne who took me to the Oracle,” I interjected, only to be met with a steely look from Breton.

“Yes, I know. And for that, she’ll be penalized. As for you, you’re lucky I don’t call a team in here to stake you, or do it myself!” Breton threw down the sheaf of papers he’d been clutching. They hit the desk with a loud smack and skidded toward us. “Your travel information. It’s all in order.”

“Whoa, what’s this?” Max reached for a pink, carbon-copy sheet.