desperation

I stood serenely in the far corner, leaning casually against the wall, as I watched the others fidget and pace in obvious agitation. Tiam wore a hole in the floor as he alternated between glancing with fear at his mate and coven sister, terrified for their safety, and glaring ferociously at me. Brena's fingers twisted in odd patterns in the air, making the flames of the torches rise and fall with nerves, as her thoughts cycled through all the stories she had ever heard of the Romanians, all the sick horrors they had perpetrated.

Demia had sunk back down onto her couch, and now stared serenely off into space. By all appearances, she seemed the most relaxed, unconcerned—only I could hear her thoughts, which churned with even more turmoil than the others of what may be to come. Of what may happen, once an alliance with such a coven was forged.

"We can take them," Brena said suddenly into the silence. "Demi, you said there were just four, the two Romanians and two guards. The three of us—we could take them down. It's not like Amun would try to fight us. The Volturi would probably be glad."

Demia blinked, and her eyes refocused on her sister. She started to open her mouth to respond—then her gaze shifted to me.

I pushed up from the wall, stepping forward. "Indeed, Demia," I said softly, in answer to her thoughts. "You are correct."

My eyes returned to Brena. "The three of you may be able to overcome the Romanians," I said. "I would not underestimate them in terms of their brute strength—that is their specialty, after all—but your power, Brena, may tip the balance in your favor." I tapped a finger against my forearm. "However, you are forgetting—you would have me to contend with as well. I don't care for these people anymore than any of you, but they are trying to find a way to fight the Volturi. And so, they are exactly what I need right now."

Brena scowled at me, and the flames of the torches flared once again, spitting with her frustration.

"What did your mate do?" she asked with sudden spite. "To get himself taken by Sulpicia. He must be a criminal."

I was strangely, almost supernaturally calm, knowing the steps I had to take to hope to save Beau. So much so that I didn't even react to the insult.

"I do not know for certain," I began slowly, feeling they deserved some kind of answer after what I may be about to put them through—had already put them through. "But I believe it is his gift that has attracted her notice. The one that protects him from tracking, and other gifts of the mind." I added softly, bitterly, "The Volturi can take whatever they want."

Demia regarded me for a long moment. Sulpicia can take what she wants, she silently agreed, but that doesn't mean she does. I met her once, and she asked me if I would join her. And I'm still here. Did you consider that your mate might have chosen to go with her?

I turned my eyes to regard her evenly, though I couldn't quite suppress a flicker of surprise. It was true, the fact that Sulpicia knew of Demia's power and she was now not of the guard was rather remarkable. I only had to observe Demia's power in action for a few moments to know that her abilities as a tracker far surpassed those of even Tacita and Cato working in tandem. If Demia could not be persuaded, Mele the thief would have been alive at the time of that meeting—but perhaps Sulpicia had feared stealing the gifts of vampires without cause would turn public sentiment against her.

As for Demia's speculation on Beau, she was right in a way—if our theory was correct, he had chosen to go to Sulpicia. If under the duress of blackmail could count as a choice.

I made no reply to Demia's thoughts, only letting my gaze slide to the others, first to Tiam, then to Brena. Tiam was watching my every move, tense, as though ready for another attack. Brena was taking a different tact now—the flames of the torches had once again died down, now so low the room was oddly dim. She was focusing her mind, imagining the Romanians, what they might do, the terrible things they might ask for in the course of some bargain or alliance. Her eyes met mine, and they seemed to spark as she almost threw the thoughts at me.

Of course, I didn't need her imagination to tell me all the ways this could go wrong, the terrible things that may happen, or may be asked of me. I could imagine them all well myself.

Still, I didn't flinch away, I simply gazed back at her.

"How far?" she whispered at last. "How far are you willing to go, Edythe Cullen?"

I didn't reply. The answer was in my unyielding eyes.

As far as I have to.

That was when we heard the deliberately loud clump of boots hitting a stone floor in the tunnels above, so loud I would have heard them even I couldn't also hear the rancid horror that was their accompanying thoughts—the Romanians were announcing their arrival.

Demia and I both followed the progress of the group. However, rather than all proceeding to the room in which we waited, Amun stopped them all in the throne room, and obsequiously explained how he would bring the rest of his coven out to introduce them.

The paranoid Romanians were immediately suspicious, which Amun seemed to sense, because he asked his mate to remain with them in case they needed anything. Kebi raised no objection, as usual, and stood compliantly off to one side as Amun left the throne room and started down the long corridor in our direction.

"He caught my scent on the way in," I murmured. "He had already told the Romanians there were only three more members of his coven. He's not pleased."

"Meaning, he'll probably try to kill you and hide you were ever here," Brena said, arms folded. She gave me a sideways look, mouth twisted. "Maybe we should let him."

She would have had more than ample right to think so, but I knew she didn't really mean it. However, she wasn't wrong about the trajectory of her coven leader's current thoughts.

We all heard the quiet tamp of feet as he approached, and there didn't come so much as a knock when the door burst open.

Amun was one of the ancients, who made the likes of Sulpicia seem a fresh-eyed newborn by comparison. However, it would have been impossible to tell by looking at him. Though he wore beads and gold jewelry of a distinctly Egyptian cast, his clothes were modern and sleek, all blacks and steel grays, in contrast to what he must have worn back in the days when he was worshiped by the Egyptians as a god. Except for the slightly fragile, papery quality to his skin, which had an olive cast to it, nothing about him would have stuck out as unusual in a human crowd, except for his crimson eyes. And even they were oddly clear, without the distinctive milk-white film of the Volturi.

Amun stood there a moment, glaring ferociously around the room, though I thought looking more like a petulant boy than a wrathful god. At last his eyes settled on me.

"What is this?" he seethed through his teeth, keeping his voice deliberately low, so there would be no chance their visitors in the far throne room would overhear. "What is this?"

Brena waved a hand vaguely in my direction, still looking sour. "She's a vampire."

Amun scowled. He shot a quick look back over his shoulder down the hall, as though to make sure no one had heard that. Then he quickly stepped inside, and quietly closed the door behind him.

"I can see that," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "My question is—why, when I have repeatedly told you not to invite in strange visitors—"

"You're one to talk," Brena retorted, talking over him. "What is that you've got waiting for us out there? You're the one who told us what animals they are, yet you brought them right here."

Amun's eyes narrowed slightly, gaze flickering once to Demia, then back to Brena. There was not a hint of shame at his own hypocrisy as he said, lowering his voice still further, as though that might balance out Brena's overly loud one, "This is an opportunity. They will act, regardless of whether we help them or not, but it will be better for us all if we have clearly sided with the victors. And you may finally taste the glory of the old days."

"We like things as they are now," Brena answered, arms folded stubbornly across her chest. "You're the only one obsessed with the past, Amun."

Amun glared back at her with baleful eyes. "There is no choice," he snapped in a hiss. He glanced at me, then made a sharp gesture, like an axeman ready to fell a tree. "She'll have to go," he said abruptly. "The Romanians cannot see we have more here than I told them there would be. They are—of a delicate temperament. Inconsistencies put them on edge."

Brena snorted. "They're crazy, paranoid psychopaths, you mean."

She glanced at me, then back at Amun. Brena didn't like me, with good reason. It occurred to her then that if the four of them all attacked me at once, they might succeed in taking me down—and if I was out of the equation, then she, Demia and Tiam might have a chance against the Romanians.

However, the thought came and went—no matter what I had done, helping Amun kill me just to satisfy the Romanians didn't sit right. And she always trusted her instincts when it came to right and wrong.

Instead she said, almost aggressively, "She's a member of your friend Carine's coven, Amun. You're really just going to put her away like that? What will Carine think?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but an unexpected flicker of discomfort passed across his face. Frowning deeply, he glanced away, and, to my surprise, for the first time a hint of uncertainty crept into his mind.

It seemed Amun really did count Carine as one of the few vampires in the world who he respected and almost liked, and he regretted the idea of turning her against him. However, his instinct toward self-preservation and pragmatism was absolute, and always won out over all other feelings.

He turned back toward me again, and opened his mouth to repeat what he had said, more vehemently than before.

Deciding I had let this conversation wind on long enough, I stepped forward, offering my hand to shake.

"Master Amun?" I said politely. "My name is Edythe Cullen. As Brena says I am a member of Carine's coven. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. If you don't mind, I would be happy to help your coven welcome your guests—as it happens, I have business with them as well."

Amun blinked, then eyed my hand suspiciously, as though it might be a trap. Most of our kind recoiled at the mere mention of the name of the Romanians, and in such a situation would attempt to flee, perhaps even try to report it to Sulpicia. Was this somehow a ploy? A member of Carine's coven who wanted to meet the Romanians—it seemed like a paradox.

I could feel the Romanians growing restless back in the throne room and, deciding that perhaps directness might help move things along a bit quicker, I added candidly, "Of course, Master Amun, you could try to subdue and destroy me, and the four of you together could probably do so eventually—but as your coven can attest, it would likely be a longer, more difficult struggle than you might expect. I am not one to ever be taken unawares, and your new friends would no doubt hear the struggle, and wonder that you can't keep your home well in order."

Amun looked startled for a moment, briefly unnerved as he looked into my still politely smiling face. He glanced to the others for some sign of confirmation.

"She has a gift as well," Demia admitted in a neutral voice.

Amun's gaze returned to me, as he appraised me with new eyes. "What sort of gift?"

My smile widened slightly. "Let's just say, the Romanians may be as happy to meet me as your other gifted coven members." I added, with careless arrogance, "Your covenmates here might have already departed, if I hadn't made it clear how much I wanted us all to meet your guests."

Amun took a moment to digest the implications of all this. He didn't nod in agreement—he did not like presenting to the Romanians someone who he didn't know, whose motivations were still unclear, and he didn't trust I wouldn't turn on them in a moment for whatever it might be I was after. However, he was beginning to come around to the fact he wasn't going to have much choice.

Meanwhile, the others knew they would have to go out and meet the Romanians as well, much as they might resist it. Brena still wasn't sure she had made the right choice, not moving to help Amun dispatch me. She couldn't imagine trying to destroy a member of Carine's coven—the Carine she had heard so much about that even Amun didn't have a bad word to say against—especially when I was clearly driven to desperation by separation from a mate.

And yet—dealing with the Romanians in a possible coup against the Volturi, that was potentially world changing. It was impossible to tell where this might all be leading, if it would all eventually end up with everything going entirely to hell. And so, Brena's thoughts continued to stew.

The impatient Romanians were already considering taking Kebi as a hostage to get Amun to hurry it up. Hoping to get things moving before they could get out of hand, I gestured toward the exit. "Shall we?" I said.

Scowling at me, Amun opened the door, and they all filed through, though not before each shooting me dirty looks as they passed. My polite smile didn't waver, but the moment they turned their backs to me, I felt a sliver of guilt slip past my defenses. I should be on their side. I would be, under different circumstances. The Romanians were vile beyond description, no one in the room knew that better than I did. Joining forces with the likes of them was madness, and could lead no where good.

But I couldn't afford to back down now. This was my way forward, my only hope. If I failed to impress the Romanians, likely they would destroy me—but that was a risk I had to take. Because if I failed to act, to take the chance offered to me, there would be no one to save Beau.

Making sure my easy, pleasant expression hadn't changed, I stepped after the procession of Egyptians, closing the door to the clean, light, modern room behind me. Proceeding instead toward the dark, unfamiliar world of the past.

The throne room was, as it had been the first time, breathtaking in its design and sheer vastness. The ancient writings and images that covered every inch of the massive walls, which would have taken thousands of hours of human labor, was a marvel, and the grand pillars leading back to the wide stone plinth on which sat the throne gave the place an indescribable aura of power, of majesty.

However, if the Romanians had had any interest in their exquisite surroundings upon their arrival, they took no notice now. Four figures were congregated around the elevated throne, all scowling menacingly. Two stood a little in front of the others, their bulky shoulders half obscuring the others from view, clearly the bodyguards.

I wouldn't have been surprised to see at least one of the figures had taken up the throne, perhaps as an insult to Amun for keeping them waiting so long, to show him who were the masters here. However, both had opted to remain standing, just behind their guards—sitting around on thrones was only for the most indolent of their kind, like Amun and the Volturi.

One of the figures had been pacing in obvious agitation, but at our arrival, he stopped and looked up.

His hair, a dull ash-blond, hung in curtains down to his chin, and his surprisingly short, thin frame was clad entirely in black, a black leather coat over a black high-necked shirt. There seemed nothing particularly intimidating or striking about him—until one looked at his eyes. His sharp, narrow eyes were a clear, deep burgundy, and though his expression might have initially been taken as placid, there seemed to be something burning in those eyes. Like festering, acid poison, a dark bitterness that would swallow any light like a black hole.

Just a few paces over from him stood a woman. She was built the same as he, on the shorter side, with a slight frame. She also wore the same type of nondescript black clothing, which would make her almost invisible in the night to human eyes, with a high-collared overcoat which extended down almost to her calves. Unlike the man, she stood motionless beside the throne, and looked as though she hadn't moved from that spot the moment she entered. Her long dark hair flowed freely down her back, with a single gray streak extending from her temple—no doubt she must have begun graying early as a human, for she couldn't have been beyond her early twenties when turned.

Her eyes were the same deep clear burgundy as the man's, just as sharp and narrow. But unlike the man, there would have been no mistaking her expression as one of tranquility. Her eyes glared at the entering procession like twin daggers, mouth pressed in a thin line. Though she stood still, a quiver ran over her face now and again, barely containing an inborn ferocity.

I remembered what Demia had said, about the Romanians being beasts. She had been talking about the bloody past when the Romanians ruled, their ravenous appetites which they believed it was their right not to be forced to suppress—but it was a truer description of this woman than I had seen in any of our kind, including Victor. She was a wild animal, barely under control. Or so, that was how she appeared.

Her furious, blazing eyes focused first on Amun, like a hawk ready to dive for its prey, before darting to each of his coven in turn, before at last coming to rest on me. Her gaze lingered on me a long moment, almost as though she could smell me as an outsider—and she could. She saw immediately that there was an extra body among our number, and mine had been the freshest scent in entering Amun's underground home. Unlike the others, my scent did not permeate the place.

There was a sharpness to the woman's wildness, a keen, calculating mind—even if much of it came on pure instinct.

Amun brought his coven to stand before the dais, and seemed to realize for the first time it may not have been a good idea to leave the Romanians in such an elevated position—he knew he couldn't lead his coven up to equal ground without appearing threatening, especially with the two guards standing in front of the small series of steps leading up to the throne. But he knew there was nothing to be done about it now.

Amun's mouth split into a wide, welcoming smile. While sullenness was his default, from his days as an Egyptian overlord he still knew how to play the charming host.

"Mighty Vladimir, glorious Rahela, my friends," he began. "My deepest apologies for the delay. Let me introduce you to the spectacular talents of my coven, as I was telling you of. First is—"

Rahela let out a vicious snarl, cutting Amun off. She glared down at me, jabbing an accusing finger in my direction.

"What is this, Amun?" she demanded, in an ancient voice that hissed and rasped like a nest of snakes. "Treachery? You said there were only three more of your coven—what is this?"

"Ah," said Amun, still managing to smile though straining to keep his voice easy and pleasant. "Yes, I was about to get to that. It seems we had an unexpected visitor while Kebi and I were out. A covenmate of an old friend of mine. Quite unexpected, I assure you, we don't normally have company here. But excellent timing, as I assume you could use all the forces you can—"

Rahela let loose another snarl, bending her shoulders and curling her lips back from her teeth like a wild dog, and Amun once again fell instantly silent.

"We will tell you what you are allowed to assume," she spat. Her blazing eyes wheeled to him briefly, just in time to see his meek nod, before returning to me.

"This," she said, gesturing to me as though I were a sack of refuse, "is undoubtedly a spy for Sulpicia. You are a fool, Amun—but since you possess such potentially valuable assets, we will let you live in spite of your idiocy, for the time being. We will take care of this problem for you." She nodded at the two guards. "Kill her," she ordered.

The two, who had been sweeping their gazes over Amun and the others of the Egyptian coven, looking for any signs of hostility or threat, suddenly focused their harsh gazes on me. They both bent forward, baring their teeth in a ferocity that mirrored that of their mistress.

They were obviously well experienced, yet their movements didn't have the perfect, almost eery synchronicity of Sulpicia's forces. They were enforcers of a street gang, not the rigorously disciplined soldiers of an army.

If they had been Sulpicia's people, I would have been done screaming my final moments before any of the Egyptian coven could think about interfering. As it was, the guards rolled their shoulders, and took their time as they advanced. One split from the other, to come at me from another direction. Less because they were afraid I might actually put up a fight, than simply to make the hunt, short as it would be, a bit more fun. Their master and mistress preferred killings to be a drawn out if possible, for their entertainment.

Their mistake—because it gave me time to talk.

I sighed, long and deep, as though in disappointment, before turning my eyes back up to Rahela. Technically, Vladimir and Rahela were partners, with neither claiming leadership over the other, but Rahela tended to be the one to give the orders and take charge, while Vladimir preferred to fade to the background and provide counsel. She tended to be the Romanians' face. So I turned my attention to her.

"Are you really going to kill me, Rahela?" I asked, in a tone that dripped with condescension, even as the hulking figures closed in, readying to tear me apart. "Will you kill a fellow enemy of Sulpicia, and your only true chance of finally defeating her?"

I locked my eyes with hers, making sure she would see and take note of the unusual yellow of my irises. I added softly, "You know as well as I do, Rahela. You know even with this opportunity, you cannot overcome Sulpicia as your forces stand now. You need one more thing—something I just happen to have."

Rahela stared back at me, her crimson eyes burning like red flames. Pieces of thought blazed through her mind at dizzying speeds. Her mind was not like Sulpicia's—it was not methodical and precise, weighing and considering a thousand details until it reached the most logical conclusion. Rather the bits and pieces spun in a rage of chaos, anchored from below more by primal instinct than logic.

However, strangely, her instincts were sharper than knives, an intelligent force all their own, and two clues stood out to her to make this situation unusual—unusual enough that perhaps it might just be worth the risk.

"Guards!" she demanded, in her rasping hiss of a voice.

No other command seemed necessary, as both hesitated where they were. Both stared at me with eyes slightly wider than usual—halting an execution was clearly not something they did often, and they both eyed me with a kind of disappointed frustration. Neither moved from their positions of their two-pronged attack.

I didn't even turn to look at the guard now glaring at my back as I smiled, while Rahela stared down at me with ferocious loathing.

Vladimir watched the scene silently, glancing at Rahela, then at me. He trusted Rahela's instincts, too. Her instincts, which picked up on my curious lack of fear, and couldn't help but feel that surely Sulpicia would never fall so low as to select me, with my contemptible gold eyes, as her representative.

Rahela's laser-like gaze focused on me, and while it felt like she might bore a hole right through my skull, I didn't stop smiling. Somewhere, in the far, far back of my mind, in a place where I forgot that Beau was Sulpicia's prisoner, forgot that I had just threatened and forced the hand of good people, and that I was talking to vicious monsters with minds filled with memories of decadence and savagery as rancid as a festering corpse—I thought I might almost be enjoying myself.

Rahela was waiting for me to speak, and I bowed my head slightly. "Two thousand years ago, yours was the most powerful coven of this world," I began.

Even as I said it, I could see the images from that time in their minds, clear as though they had happened moments ago—the crimson of fresh flowing blood, the drained bodies piled high. I had to swallow back my revulsion. These two were truly an evil beyond comprehension—they reveled in dreams of a return to excess, to escape Sulpicia's duplicitous world where our kind skulked in the shadows, curbing their appetites while the humans did as they pleased. They longed to take the world back to what it had once been, where they ruled as gods over the humans slaves, free to gorge themselves on seas of human blood whenever they wished.

I thought I might be sick with the stench of my mind touching theirs, but I didn't let it show on my face, instead letting it wash past me, like the distant, unreal images of an old movie reel, locking it away.

I continued, "The Volturi stole that power from you, and you lost many." My eyes wandered briefly to Vladimir, whose expression hadn't changed, but for a slight darkening in his deep red eyes. The mental image of his vanquished mate flashed briefly through his thoughts, the battle against the rebel Volturi forces that had taken her from him.

"Centuries past," I went on, "and you prepared yourselves for retribution, to put the temporary Volturi usurpers in their place. But by that time, the Volturi had gained new power, the power of two in particular—and you lost even more."

My gaze had gone back to Rahela now, and her wild features blazed, lips drawn back from her teeth. She knew what I meant—three centuries after the Volturi took power, the Romanians had built up a newborn force of a hundred strong, to topple the Volturi regime, and annihilate its members so thoroughly even the memory of them would be burned to ash. But by that time, Sulpicia had discovered Jonathan and Alexa—and all the Romanian forces were wiped out, all but Vladimir and Stefan, who had been in charge of springing a trap on what was supposed to be the fleeing Volturi. Or so Rahela, who alone had barely managed to escape the carnage of the battle by the skin of her teeth, had thought—except that Sulpicia sent forces to eliminate them as well. Vladimir escaped—Stefan, Rahela's most beloved mate, did not.

In reading the thoughts of the Romanians, I had gleaned a bit of new information, something that had finally answered the question that had been in the back of my mind from the beginning. Now I put that information to use.

"Now Sulpicia no longer wields that power—Jonathan and Alexa are lost to her. Which is why you have chosen now to strike." From the beginning, it had been unclear precisely why Sulpicia would want Beau in particular to fight for her in the rebellion—the loss of Jonathan and Alexa, known to Rahela and Vladimir through spies they kept among the enemy rebel forces, explained it. Beau alone had ever shown the capacity to block their talents.

However, this knowledge only registered as a dull blip on the edge of my radar. When it came down to it, the why wasn't really that important. The chances Beau's power could really be used successfully the way Sulpicia hoped was unlikely at best, and if anything, without the protection of Jonathan and Alexa among the Volturi, his being counted among the Volturi guards' numbers would be more dangerous than ever. If not from Sulpicia herself, then her enemies.

"Only you have forgotten a key detail," I said, keeping my head slightly bowed, though speaking without an ounce of apology. "And that is that Sulpicia and the Volturi defeated you the first time without the help of Jonathan and Alexa. Do you know why that was?"

Rahela snarled viciously, bending her head once again like a tiger about to charge. "Deception!" she spat. "Duplicity! Sulpicia weaves her webs in the shadows like a coward."

"Her forces took yours by surprise," I supplied. "Again and again. Strategy. But how did she accomplish that? It was her knowledge—the information she accumulated through a network, and through capturing those among your own forces. It was Sulpicia's power to delve into the minds of all she touched that allowed her to keep a step ahead of you, to catch you at your most vulnerable and avoid any traps you might set. Even now, you cannot completely escape Sulpicia's all-seeing eye. From the moment you approach her, she will anticipate your plans, and thwart you."

Rahela's eyes narrowed to slits, lips curling back so far from her teeth I could see the points of her canines, so sharp they glinted in the torchlight. "Have you come here merely to sing the praises of that vile usurper then?" Impudent wretch, I will burn each of the fingers from your hands. I will show you pain as you never knew could have existed...

I shook my head. "Hardly. Rather—to defeat Sulpicia, she cannot be underestimated. Jonathan and Alexa's powers are great, but it is her power that has made the Volturi invulnerable. When she can see every plan of her enemies, she will always react just as she needs to—she will always be the one to catch you unawares, not the other way around."

"So what would you suggest, little arrogant fool?" Rahela said, lip curling in a sneer that held not a trace of humor. "Run and take cover from her all-seeing eye like rabbits?"

I smiled again, finally fully raising my head from my bow. "No," I said. "I suggest evening the playing field—if you know her moves before she makes them, then she cannot control the chess board the way she always has. Take away her advantage by seizing the same advantage for yourself."

Rahela eyed me skeptically. "And how would you propose we do that?" She is only talking to save herself. The child has nothing to offer. Those pathetic yellow eyes—I should burn them out, along with that silver tongue.

I wrinkled my nose slightly. The time had come to play my hand. "I suppose such brutish tactics are befitting the Romanian way," I said. "But if you are trying to inflict the greatest punishment on those who deserve it, I've always considered it a mistake to focus so much on physical torture as to neglect the psychological."

Silence, for a beat. I could feel Amun and Kebi looking on in confusion, while Vladimir eyed Rahela, then me with curiosity. Of course, Brena, Demi and Tiam had all known where this was building up to from the beginning—and their thoughts were not so far from what Archie's probably would have been if he had been here. Wanting to shake their heads at my unnecessary theatrics.

I put a hand to my mouth as I stared up at Rahela, though my smile had only broadened. "Oops," I said softly. "I'm sorry, did you not say that out loud?"

"Are you..." she began, narrowed eyes fixed on me. ...A mind-reader?

"I am," I said, without hesitation.

You are reading my thoughts now?

"Yes," I said, wishing she would come up with something more original to better prove my point. "My power is not exactly like Sulpicia's—I can't flip back through your entire life like a book. But I don't need to touch you. I don't even need to see you. I can hear you all, all at once, whatever you're thinking right now. And when I'm close enough, I can hear Sulpicia, too. And she's not nearly as invincible as she would like to appear."

Rahela's intense, feral expression had slackened slightly for once as she digested this. Her instinctual calculations churned, not immediately identifying all the ways my power might be used, but now seeing its usefulness all the same. Level the playing field—for years they had wondered if there might be a way to block out Sulpicia's power, but never found one. But perhaps this was the best solution. Meet offense with offense, attack with attack—that was the Romanian way.

I didn't let my expression change, but I felt a chill down my spine all the same. Sulpicia had been interested in Beau's power from the beginning, had seen the potential of it. The Romanians would also certainly have reason to value Beau's power very highly if they ever came to know of it. That would be a nightmare even beyond how things stood now.

I see, she thought—she seemed to take to communicating by thought alone very quickly, as though the formality of speaking aloud had always been an unnatural inconvenience. Before you called yourself an enemy of the Volturi. What is your grievance with the cowards?

This time, it took all my willpower not to let my smile flicker, to stop my face from contorting, the pain burning in my eyes for all to see. My smile remained as it was—and strangely, a single image of Sulpicia's smile, back in the Volturi's lair, flickered through my thoughts. Sulpicia rarely betrayed her emotions, except perhaps to achieve some deliberate effect. Because emotion could be used to control, to manipulate. Rahela was like a wild dog, and if she smelled any weakness in me, she would pounce on it, and I would lose control of this situation. If I wanted to get what I wanted, I had to be like Sulpicia, in more than simply mind reading—I had to be unshakeable, invulnerable.

"Sulpicia took my mate from me," I said simply, matter-of-factly. "I would like him back."

Rahela scrutinized me, the wheels turning in her head. And what would she want with your mate?

I hesitated. This was the tricky part. I could feel the eyes of Brena, Demi, and Tiam on me, and I cursed myself now for being so free with my words. I could only hope their dislike of the Romanians would prevent them saying anything—though they could not hear Rahela's questions, they were already piecing them together from my replies.

"I don't know for certain," I said slowly, carefully. "I did not have a chance to attempt to read her thoughts, she is too far away. However, from thoughts I gleaned before, I do believe...perhaps..." I took a short breath. "Sulpicia saw me as a threat. A minor one, perhaps, but she knew that if I were ever so inclined to overthrow her, I would be one of the best equipped to do so. I wonder if she took my mate as leverage—or in hopes of brainwashing him to her side so that he might sway me if I ever did consider rebellion."

I anticipated Rahela's question even before she mentally formed the words, and I said, "Sulpicia could not destroy me without a justifiable reason, lest she make the members of her guard question her justness. Not to mention I am a member of a coven who is a great friend of Sulpicia's, and she would be reluctant to lose that friendship unless absolutely necessary."

I could sense the looks from the Egyptian coven, perfectly aware of my lies, and only hoped that neither Rahela nor Vladimir noticed. "Of course," I continued, "if she did take my mate to use as leverage to prevent me striking when her powers are reduced, her strategy has backfired. It wouldn't be the first time. Sulpicia, murderer of her own mate, does not always have a proper understanding of the bonds of mated pairs."

This was a blatant lie—no one understood others and the depth of shared bonds as Sulpicia did. But Rahela was always delighted at any insult to Sulpicia.

Rahela studied me critically for a long moment. A captured mate—an unlikely story at best, she thought. If her mate was truly at stake, she would not take such a risk. She must mean to take the usurper's place herself, and betray us at the first opportunity. But either way—if she has the power to help us annihilate the enemy, that will be a first step out of the way. This green child would be easy to subdue and remove by comparison.

Beneath the churning of Rahela's almost instinctual thoughts, I couldn't fully tell if she had forgotten I would be able to hear these thoughts, or if she didn't care. In any event, she hadn't the slightest fear of me—but she had already come around to seeing the tool I might make. Already she was jumping ahead, making up her mind what to do with me first.

"You make a compelling argument," she said at last, speaking aloud again. "And your power seems... useful. You would make a helpful lieutenant—we have a great force assembled, as you must already know. Unfortunately, there is currently no one into whose ear you might whisper your information. For all their training, they are without a general."

Very suddenly, Rahela's thin lips curved upward into a wicked, almost cruel smile. "We have been looking for someone," she almost purred. "Someone with the right charisma, the gift for persuasion. Vladimir and I are far too old and important to be leading troops into battle, which is why we have been looking for young blood. Perhaps you have pictured yourself as a kind of informant, an adviser—but it may be we can offer you something even better than that. I think, if you are properly to make use of your power to its fullest extent to rival the usurper, then you must have direct decision-making power, as she does. Wouldn't you agree?"

Rahela's smile was far from kind, and as I stared back into it, I saw flashes of images play through her mind. General after appointed general, lured in at the prospect of leading such a force that may just one day overthrow the great Volturi. Torn to bits by the vicious rabble the Romanians had assembled.

Rahela knew the value of my power. But at the same time, there was nothing she relished more than watching the drama play out, first the posturing attempt at securing leadership, followed by violence of the most intense kind, the deposing of a hated leader. If I somehow, by some miracle, succeeded where no one else had, she would have a general with powers to rival Sulpicia's. If I failed, then it would still temporarily unite the forces in their shared hatred of being forced to follow a general's commands. And she would get to enjoy the spectacle.

I was more use to Rahela alive than dead, but she didn't care. More than anything, her instincts craved the rush and satisfaction of brutal violence—and I knew she wasn't going to do anything to protect me from her assembled pack of wild dogs.

I stared back up at Rahela, the wild joy flickering in her clear burgundy eyes. I didn't let myself flinch—didn't let myself stop even for a moment to fear or consider the possibility of failure. This was an opportunity, an opportunity beyond what I had been expecting. Even if Rahela only offered it mainly to enjoy watching my destruction, I could gain powers I never could have expected. And with that power, I might just have a chance to save Beau after all.

I felt again the Egyptian coven's gazes on me. Amun was torn between sullen for the way I had taken over this meeting, and relieved that Rahela's bent for cruelty and shows of power were focused on me, and not him. The others just wondered how I would respond.

At long last, I bowed my head slightly. "I'm honored—you will not be disappointed."

"No," Rahela said, grin widening, her black-painted lips stretching until all her teeth gleamed once again in the flickering torchlight, the streak of gray in her hair seeming to glow almost as red as the dark crimson of her human-fed eyes. "I will not."

I wondered how this would all play out. If I succeeded, and took over the Romanians' forces. Would I be able to save Beau in time to doublecross these beasts and stop them from destroying the only thing keeping this world at peace? Or, having joined forces with the Romanians, even if only for a short time, would saving Sulpicia at the last minute only ensure Beau and I would be forever criminals on the run, until she executed us as she had so many other traitors?

I wished now I had Archie's power to see into the various strands of the future. But now it was all murky and clouded. However—there was still one thing that was clear, that had always been clear.

If I could just get to Beau, make sure he was safe, then everything else would be all right. Then we could decide what to do. Until then, I just had to keep following that strand, the strand that would lead me back to him, where I could once again stand at his side, however I could. I'd keep living the nightmare until it finally led me back where I belonged—or so I hoped.