Jules couldn't believe what she was hearing. She backed away, shaking her head.
"I'm telling you, Jules—you're making a mistake."
There was only one answer: she had to confront Silas. Before Lucian could say another word, Jules was gone.
A dark velvet hood pulled low over her hair, Jules wandered into the swamps, ready to hear the truth. When she neared the swamphouse, she paused, then pulled the hood from her face. Her curls settled around her shoulders as she climbed the steps and sat beside Silas on the edge of the porch.
"Showing up unannounced, huh?" Silas grinned, smoke pouring between his teeth.
Jules rested her chin on her knees. "How did you turn?" She didn't look at him—only at the pond stretched out before them.
Silas laughed, muttering something under his breath. "So, you think you've got me pegged, huh? That everything Lucian told you is gospel."
Jules blinked. "Do you want to tell me what really happened, then?"
Silas sighed, pulling another cigarette from his pocket. With it halfway to his mouth, he struggled to light it before turning to her. "Lucian wants you to think he's your savior, right? That he's protecting you from the others?" He leaned closer. "What if I told you your biggest threat lives with you?"
Jules frowned. She didn't understand.
"I was cast out because I refused to kiss the ground he walked on," Silas continued. "He's a dictator, and he'll do anything in his power to keep you away from me. Do you know why?"
Jules tilted her head as Silas cupped her face in both hands.
"Because I can show you how to truly live."
Jules bit her lip. "Silas, I—"
"Come on, Jules. It's always been you and me. You know that."
His fingers brushed her hand. Then she felt his lips press against her neck, sending shivers down her spine. His hands slid from her face to her hips.
"Silas, wait—"
He shushed her, pulling her closer. His lips grazed her cheek before he turned her face toward his and kissed her. His hands slipped beneath her dress, searching for bare skin.
She'd only felt like this once before.
She remembered her vow to herself.
Never again.
Jules pressed her hands against his chest and shoved him away with all her strength. "Stop!" she shouted.
Silas staggered, fighting to keep his balance on the porch. He looked down at her, his feet perched on the railing.
"I've been wanting to see how well Cassius has done with you," he whispered.
Then Silas lunged.
His fists collided with her face. He reached into his pants and pulled out a silver bracelet, pressing it against her skin. Pain exploded through her arm, as if it had caught fire. The burning sensation surged through her veins, and she screamed.
Kicking with everything she had, Jules shoved him off and hunched forward. Her sharp, petite fangs slipped past her lips.
Silas looked entertained.
She realized then how weak she was. She'd trained to hunt—not to fight.
Jules rushed him, sweeping his legs out from under him. As he fell, she slammed her fist into his forearm, driving it hard into the wood. He groaned, clutching his head.
Now he was angry.
His eyes darkened into something she'd never seen before—like a void swallowing him whole. And yet, even in pain, he smiled. Not just enjoying the violence—feeding on it.
Silas snapped.
He lifted Jules by the throat, pinning her to the wall the same way he had years ago. This time, his grip was stronger. His fists drove into her ribs as he held her arms above her head. His forearm crushed her throat, stealing her breath.
As her vision dimmed, she felt him begin to lift her dress.
The silver traced her stomach and sides before pressing deep into her flesh.
Jules felt herself slipping.
When Silas saw it—the helplessness in her eyes—he released her. She collapsed onto the porch.
"Don't forget," he said calmly, stepping back into the dark, "you've made yourself an enemy now, too."
Jules lay there, bleeding and broken.
Then arms scooped her up—strong, familiar. A scent she knew instantly.
Cassius.
Her vision blurred, but she saw his expressionless face as he carried her away, toward safety.