I sat up, gasping for air.

A large, steady male hand gripped my shoulder and the same person held a cup of something hot to my lips.

"Drink, child." The man ordered.

I fought it at first, until a second male wound around the first.

Christian.

A familiar face, finally.

"Don't think about it, just drink. Focus on me if you need to."

I gripped the mug, forcing my imagination not to run wild with what might be in its contents.

A bitter, metallic taste slithered down my throat followed by a sweet, sweet nectar, mixed with a hint of what I was sure had to be ginger.

I gulped down the last of the drink and ran an arm across the back of my mouth. My eyes were immediately drawn to the crimson coating my sleeve and I nearly fainted.

"Was that blood?" I breathed. "You gave me blood?"

"Actually, that was a healing potion. Faerie magic, but yes, mixed with blood given your soulsucker genes."

My stomach turned while my eyes drifted up to the source of the voice to the aged face of the man I'd seen before, in the vision of a crumbling sky.

He was an older vampire, with a long braid hanging down his back. His eyes were blue and clouded over, as if some type of disease had claimed them. A long, brown robe clung to his lean frame, fastened at the waste by a purple rope.

Christian's words about how vampires aged came to me and I wondered what century this particular man was from.

Because looking at him was like looking into the past.

Dizzy, I looked away, taking in the room.

It was in the form of a circle, walls lined with bookcases with red velvet wallpaper sticking out between shelves. Leather bound books, thick and weathered, with spines in a foreign language dotted the many bookcases. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its arms like the horns of a ram, curling up toward the sky, each holding a slow burning candle that lit up the room.

A soft orange glow cast onto the face of the man who knelt in front of me.

"Are you okay?" Christian asked.

I saw him swallow and found his eyes pinched at the corners, something I'd come to realize only happened when he was stressed or angry.

His hair was messy, the collar of his shirt stretched as if he'd been tugging at it.

Nodding my head, I asked, "What happened?"

Christian looked up to the older man in the room, the one who had fed me blood.

I was still reeling about that, halfway about to vomit, halfway ready to bolt from the room.

"Grandfather Nandru, perhaps you can better explain."

"Yes," The grandfather said. "As I'm sure you've come to realize by now, as a hybrid, you have the power to heal." His words came out melodiously, as if he were crafting a song with the baritone of his voice.

"Your power to heal comes from spirits. Use too much spirit, and eventually you will begin using your own. Use enough to bring someone back from the edge of death, as is my understanding that you tried to do, will certainly cause you to become trapped in the place where restless spirits go."

"The in-between." I muttered.

"So, you know of the in-between?" The grandfather asked, curiosity piqued.

I rubbed the last of the bloody concoction from my arm while Christian rose to sit on the chaise beside me. I dug my fingernails into the soft velvet velour under my fingers to steady myself.

Christian's hand rested beside mine, not quite touching me, yet I could somehow feel the warmth radiating from him.

It was silly to think that he was warm. Vampires, as I imagined them, were cold statues made of marble, possibly unfeeling.

But in his worried eyes, the way they flashed at me every few seconds, I could tell Christian was not unfeeling.

A liar maybe, but not without emotions.

"Not really. I just, um..." I trailed.

"A spirit told you, I presume." The grandfather stated knowingly.

Ignoring his question, I stood.

"Thank you, um, Grandfather Nandru, for everything but I really should be on my way. I have a family to find and—"

"Aimee, wait—" Christian said as he stood and caught my arm. He pulled me to the edge of the room where the candlelight was scarce, bathing us in shadow.

I glanced down at his hold on my arm.

"Christian, I'm not in the mood." I snapped. This constant war between kind protector and hostile jerk was starting to make me dizzy.

"We have to stay here, at least overnight."

"Where is here? Your father's kingdom?"

Christian looked away.

Grandfather Nandru fiddled with something on a desk, whistling cheerily.

Maybe it was to pretend he could not hear us.

Finally, Christian looked back to my face. "Yes, my father's kingdom."

"Great. Then let's go find him so he can relieve you of your duties and I can get on with finding my family."

"No, wait—"

"You said your father wanted to protect me. Isn't that why you brought me here?"

Don't trust Henric, Liana had said.

I was starting to think that not trusting his son would be in my best interest also. After all, Christian was playing two sides of the same coin, and although I didn't know what two sides those were, what I did know was that it had something to do with me.

"Come with me and I'll explain everything."

"I'm not sure I trust you enough to go anywhere with you. You were ready to hand me over to Stefan," I hissed.

He visibly flinched.

He ran his hand over his face and sighed.

"If I wanted to harm you do you think I would have brought you here to be healed? Try to think rationally for once instead of with all these, these emotions you always have."

"These emotions," I snapped. "Are not the ones telling me you're untrustworthy. That's my gut. You told me your father had vowed to protect me, yet you were ready to hand me to Stefan before bringing me here. I heard all of it. So why was Stefan the better choice? Tell me."

He opened his mouth and clamped it shut.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I heard what Brandon said to you about playing both sides. So, whose side are you really on, Christian?"

Surprise flashed in his ice blue eyes, quickly tempered by the clenching of his jaw, the poker face he was so good at displaying.

"You're being ridiculous, there are no sides. I'm simply doing my job."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem for me to walk right out this door and find your King, would it? Since you refuse to answer any of my questions."

"No. No problem at all."

"Okay then show me where he is."

Christian opened the door and motioned for me to go through.

"Grandson..." Grandfather Nandru warned quietly.

I glanced over my shoulder then back at Christian.

He looked away out into the hall, jaw set.

"Fine. I'll find him myself." I snapped as I stormed out of the room.

With no clue where I was going, I walked blindly until a few seconds later I heard, "Aimee--wait."

Then he was there in front of me, cutting off my path.

"What? Unless you're planning on finally telling me the truth, get out of my way."

"Damn it," He cursed.

Grabbing me by the shoulders, he flung a nearby door open and pushed me inside before I could realize what was happening.

"What are—"

"I won't have you running off in one of your temper tantrums here. It isn't safe."

"Why, Christian? Why isn't it safe?"

The door closed with a click. It wasn't a particularly loud click but something about it felt like the locks of a vault turning, sealing me in.

I scanned the room frantically, trying to find a way to free myself.

We stood in a sparsely decorated room with a four-poster bed done up perfectly like that of a hotel room. Bright red pillows lay arranged on it, two dark oak nightstands on either side. To the left, a desk with a candelabra, with spikes, made to easily sink into wax, that might make a good weapon should I need one.

The room had old furniture that looked too uncomfortable to sit in. A red lounge chair with a stiff back, and finally a tray on a table with a teapot and silverware.

My eyes zeroed in on the silver butter knife.

That would also do.

I gazed back up at Christian, only a few seconds gone by. His fingers gripped my wrists though he was not vicious about it.

"Why isn't it safe?" I repeated, pretending that the fight had left me.

Automatically his fingers relaxed over my wrists.

Christian sighed and shook his head. He pulled away and turned his back on me, pacing back and forth near the door.

He stopped and ran a hand along the length of his face and something about this gesture made him look older, tired.

Finally, he spun to face me, fixing me with a steady blue gaze.

"Aimee, my father isn't as noble as I led you to believe. He, like all the others, he--he only wants what your powers can give him."

"You don't think I figured that out already?"

"What?" He asked, surprised. His eyes, the same color as the ocean, met mine and I could see my reflection in them.

My hair hung in tangled clumps around my shoulders, my face was calm, but my mouth was twisted with disdain.

Could he see it, my anger?

Could he feel it pounding in the veins of my wrists against his smooth, pianist fingers?

"I'm not stupid, Christian and I'm offended that you think I'm such an idiot. Of course, I know your father wants me for my powers. What makes him any different from any of these other kings that hunt me? What's shocking to me really is that knowing all of this you still brought me here. I thought you were my friend, but I realize now you are just a liar and a coward."