He reached out his hands again, but I dodged them.

“If that’s what you believe, I can’t change your mind,” he said, gesturing to the door.

I stood and headed for it, but Cyrus called after me.

“Dahlia is useful. She’s only alive because she amuses me. Not because I love her. And she doesn’t love me.” His voice was quiet and sad.

“I’m sorry if you’re unhappy.” And I was. I could feel his desperation, his hurt, his anger. But I could also feel the cool edge of manipulation. He was confident I would cave in.

He continued, and his sorrow sounded genuine. “I only want to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection, Cyrus. I need time to think.” I walked away. “If I go through that door, will the guards stop me?”

Cyrus shook his head. “Will you return?”

I thought of Nathan and his undying loyalty to the Movement. Would I ever become so indoctrinated to their rhetoric? Was I even susceptible to such brainwashing? “I don’t know. Maybe.”

His sorrow instantly changed to anger. “I’m your sire, Carrie. You belong to me.”

So this was the true nature of his game. He would coerce me into staying.

“I don’t belong to anyone.” The words gave me courage as I spoke them. “I don’t belong to my job, I don’t belong to a man, I don’t belong to the Movement, and I sure as hell don’t belong to you. I have five days left to make a decision. If I choose to return to you, I will. But I’m not stupid, Cyrus. You didn’t make me on purpose. You didn’t make me out of love. You meant to kill me in the morgue. I was an accident. And I don’t owe you anything.”

I walked out the door and didn’t look back.

Seven

June 23, 1924

Cyrus’s word was good. No guards accosted me as I left the house.

My head swam with a tremendous mix of emotions. The rage came from Cyrus. I could still hear his screams of fury and the crash of things breaking inside the house as I crossed the lawn.

My sadness weighed heavy on me as my feet hit the sidewalk. I didn’t know what I’d expected to find in Cyrus. A mentor? A friend? An ally against the shadowy threat of the Movement, which demanded I live for them or not live at all?

What I’d found was another dead end. Cyrus would rule me as surely as the Movement would, and that wasn’t something I could accept. My whole life, I’d been ruled by one thing or another. First, my father, who’d been so busy planning my future career, I’d wondered how he’d found time for his own.

“You’re my job, Carrie. It’s my duty to see you do well in life.”

How disappointed he’d be in me now. But then, I’d been just as bad as him, pushing aside adolescent dreams of romance for study and determination, until medicine consumed my life and any relationship that wasn’t a calculated career move seemed like a waste of time. I’d let so many trivial things get in the way of my own happiness that I couldn’t remember what the things that might have made me happy were anymore.