I look at his hands, remembering the way those fingers felt on the bare skin of my waist. “I could have checked out the last place we saw each other, too, but I sort of figured that wasn’t the best idea.”

Jude actually flinches. “Listen, August, I’m sorry.”

When he doesn’t add anything more, I almost laugh. My friend is dead, my parents are missing, my surrogate grandmother might have accidentally joined a Corrupter cult, and my time is running out. “You’re gonna have to be way more specific.”

“I’m sorry that I kissed you,” he answers, and he seems so sincere that I’m at a loss for words. “Given the circumstances, it was inappropriate. I know humans think all vampires are louche, amoral sociopaths who only care about satisfying our various needs, but that’s not the case. At least, it’s not for me. I should have shown better sense.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I finally manage. “I was…” My throat catches, the truth hidden by a scab that doesn’t want to come off. “This thing, the Corrupter … it’s getting closer to the surface—I can feel it now. And last night, when I had some of Gunnar’s blood, I…” Focusing on the tabletop so he can’t see the embarrassment in my eyes, I blurt, “I don’t know how I did what I did, but I just wanted to feel happy. I wanted everyone to be happy, and I … made you feel that way. You wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been messing with your brain. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“It’s very noble of you to apologize,” Jude says, tilting his head, “but you didn’t make me feel anything. The Corrupter isn’t known to plant thoughts in people’s heads; he merely … calls forth what’s already there. And even with you tugging at my desire to kiss you, as a vampire, I do have the ability to resist compulsion.”

This is something I didn’t know before, and I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that this thing inside me is the source of his talent for mesmerism—for plucking at people’s memories and emotions, and guiding their will. But I don’t know how many of the undead are even aware of their true origins. The Syndicate has officially written Azazel off as a myth, and if Ximena’s witches are even remotely on the level, they are quite possibly the only beings on the planet old enough to know the truth.

Setting the coffee cup aside, Jude clears his throat. “I could have resisted, but I didn’t want to.”