Julien woke to utter darkness.

    He blinked into the blackness, trying to piece together his consciousness, slowly remembering where he was. Satin pillow underneath his head, the sound of sirens wailing distantly somewhere outside, the metallic tang of blood floating in his nostrils. And beside him—cold skin, the soft whisper of sleepy breathing.

    He pulled himself to a sitting position, stunned for a moment by the searing headache that tore at his temples, the wrenching in his stomach. Oh, but he knew this feeling; he knew it well. It was hunger, craving, the undying need to feed.

    He splayed a mindless hand across his bare chest. He was wearing only his boxers; he couldn't remember where his clothes were, or even the last time he'd worn them. His eyes adjusted, the night clearing. Sera was curled on her side beside him, comforter pulled up sloppily over her shoulders, partially revealing a clean slope of pale skin that Julien had the faint memory of kissing the night before. He was locked in a constant dream state, conscious fading in and out, the last few weeks a collage of images that made no sense together. A brand on his stomach, like hot coals pressed against his skin. A young boy brought to him, trembling, wide-eyed, When do I get to go home? Sera's smile. Purple wallpaper, all the rooms dark.

    Julien swung his legs over the side of the bed, nearly tripping over something as he stood. When he gathered himself, he stopped and turned around.

    There were two bodies curled half-dressed on the floor, one a woman, one an older man—a couple, perhaps. Lying still, but breathing, Julien thought—he could hear their pulses thumping slowly in the back of his head.

    His stomach wrenched again; before his mind registered what he was doing, he was kneeling on the ground, lifting the man's neck to his mouth and sinking in his fangs. The skin gave underneath his teeth like a pencil pushed through paper. For a moment, Julien was alive again.

    "Jule?" Brittle voice, still heavy with sleep.

    Julien lowered the man to the ground again with a quiet thunk as Sera sat up, peering at him. "Seraphine."

    "You're still hungry?" she said, smoothing her hair down again, fixing her bangs. Julien's frozen heart did a reluctant flip in his chest. "You should have said something."

    "I—" He looked down at the couple, their ashen skin, the fresh puncture marks all over their necks and wrists. "I don't know. I didn't really know I was hungry until..."

    "Oh, Jule," Sera said, only her voice was behind him, and suddenly her hands were around him, sliding over his shoulders and down his chest. "You've starved yourself an awful long time. You'll get used to it again. I promise."

    "Sera—"

    "I can call Vanya," she said, as if he'd said nothing. "He can bring you another, if you like."

    "Sera," Julien said, getting to his feet, throwing Sera's arms off of him. He licked his lips, the blood sticky on his chin. He frowned, sure there was something he was forgetting. There was someone he was supposed to call, someone he was supposed to check on... "I have to go."

    Silence was her only reply. She looked at him from the floor, her expression a delicate mix of confusion and betrayal, silken strap of her nightgown slipping down one ivory shoulder. "You do?"

    Julien nodded, letting his fangs slide once again into their sheaths. He faced the window, moon a pure white crescent in the sky: the outline of a sleeping eye. "I don't know why, but it feels like...I'm missing something?" he hesitated, then turned, galvanized. "How long have I been here with you? In this house? How long has it been?"

    Sera shut her eyes, leaning back against the side of the bed. "Julien..."

    "No, really. My head feels so foggy. Why does it—Sera?"

    "This is what you wanted," she insisted, opening her eyes again. The woman at her feet writhed around slightly, as if she was coming to. Sera sighed as if asked to do a tedious task and leaned down, subduing her once more with a brisk sip from her wrist. "You want to meet the one who made you?" she said, raising her head again, bloodstained lips and fierce red eyes. "Don't you? So this is what you wanted."

    "I didn't give you permission to—" He shook his head, searching around the wood floors, which were littered with heaps of clothes and heaps of what he thought were people. His head was fogged, but the rest of him felt the best it had in centuries, like some strange electricity ran through him that made him all-powerful, invulnerable.

    Somewhere in the back of his head, it registered precisely where this feeling was coming from, but he shoved the thought away.

    He found his pants and his shirt, tugging them on. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter. I'm going now. Iman—"

    Everything of him went still, the name like a knife in his chest. Iman. He remembered—suddenly, like a splash of gelid water in his face—the last time he had seen her, the shock in her face as she placed the phone down and said, It's my father. The look on her face had terrified him, but what terrified him more was the fact he didn't know how long ago that moment had happened.

    Fully clothed, he glared at Sera. She was standing now, arms folded across her chest, mouth twisted in a frown. "How could you?" he said. "I would have listened to you. I would have done what you asked. You didn't have to—to control me."

    "But I didn't," Sera said. "I didn't, Julien. Everything that happened here? Everything that happened over the past two months—"

    Julien's eyes flew wide. "Two months—"

    "—was all because you wanted it to happen, Jule," Sera said with a shrug. "All I did was give you a push."

    Julien did not have the energy, the time, to waste on her anymore. He slipped on his shoes, running a few hands through his hair, and headed for the door. "Goodbye, Seraphine."

    Her voice followed him down the hall, the echo of a ghost: "Goodbye, Julien. I'll see you when you get back."

It took him an hour to get back to the townhouse. Not because it was an hour away, but because it took him an hour to remember the right roads to take.

    The further he got away from Sera's place, the more the eerie murk within his head cleared away. Julien remembered Iman and her sick father; he wanted badly to call her, but with one glance at the time decided it would have to wait.

    What would he say to her, anyway? How could he tell her he had fed from humans again, slept with Sera again, gone right back to square one? He didn't want to see the disappointment that would doubtless cross her face. He didn't think he could bear it—no, he knew he couldn't.

    Maybe it was better off if they didn't speak again, not until he met his maker, not until he figured everything out.

    Julien parked his Cherokee on the street and practically bounded up the front stoop, too excited to be back again.

    The first thing he saw when he put the key in the lock and nudged the door open was Ringo—chubbier, albeit, than when Julien had seen him last—and the second thing he saw was Fritz, sitting on the staircase, regarding him with a cool stare that was more frightening than his angry stare.

    The door clicked shut behind Julien. "Fritz!" he said. "Buddy. Boy, am I glad to see you. It's been a while. ¿Qué tal?"

    Fritz was silent.

    Julien's face fell. "Fritz?"

    Still silent, Fritz got to his feet, Ringo hopping from his lap and slinking across the floor to nuzzle against Julien's ankle. Julien stooped, petting him, stroking his thumb back and forth across his forehead.

    "What the fuck, Julien."

    Julien stayed where he was, petting Ringo's back now, the cat letting out a delightful purr and stretching long across the welcome mat. "Yes, Fritz?"

    "No. What the fuck. I did everything I could for you. Showed you the blood bank, told you again and again not to go anywhere near Sera. And what do you do?" Fritz said. Though his words were vexed, his voice was not—it was utterly calm, a low tide amidst a storm. More than anything, he sounded tired, like his body was here but the rest of him was not. "You realize it, don't you? That fucking brand you've got under there. You're under her spell now and there's no getting out of it."

    Julien straightened, brushing his stomach, where Sera had pressed the clan's brand into his skin while the rest of the vampires watched in awe. It was a vague recollection, more dream than memory. "I know what I'm doing, Fritz."

    He scoffed. "Oh, you do, do you?"

    "This is the way it has to be. It's the only way I'm going to get answers—"

    "Iman's dad is dead," said Fritz, and instead of waiting for Julien to register the words, simply went on. "I only know it because you left your phone here and it was blowing up. She was calling you, texting you, over and over again. Her dad died and you weren't there to comfort her. You know what you're doing? Bullshit. You're abandoning us. That's what you're doing."

    Ringo mewled and stalked off into the dark hallway. Julien watched him go, everything of him frozen still, maybe just for now, maybe forever, what did it even matter. He tasted guilt on his tongue, bitter against the sweetness of the blood he'd consumed; terror wrestled about in his stomach.

    The fog lifted, finally.

    He was crushed.

    "I waited for you long enough," said Fritz, brushing by him on his way towards the front door, pressing something small and rectangular—a cell phone—against Julien's chest. "I'll be back in Baltimore. Let me know when you're done being in Sera's puppet show—when you feel like being yourself again."

    "Fritz," Julien started, but Fritz was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

    For a long while, Julien stood and listened to the strange almost-silence around him. The heat clicking on and off again, cars rolling by on the road, a TV on somewhere upstairs. His legs were lead, his hands like rubber. He glanced down at the cell phone screen: 6 voicemails from Iman. She'd last called him a week ago.

    Lifting the phone to his ear, he listened to every one of them.

    Dad just died, said one. I'm okay, I'm dealing with it, but God, I really wish I could talk to you.

    Hey, just wanted to tell you the news? said another. Beck and I are engaged. I know, it's really sudden. Can you call me?

    The words barely registered, for it was the last voicemail that haunted him the most.

    Where did you go, Julien? Iman said, her voice staticky. I need you.

    Julien switched the phone off and placed it into his pocket. He lifted his eyes towards the chandelier, blinking, and he wept.