There aren't many moments in life that you truly remember. In reality, we just think we remember things. We believe that everything was once better than it is now. That's called memory distortion.

Of all things, this thought crossed my mind as I still heard the blood pounding in my ears, while my first great love stood there, calmly telling Eric to sink his teeth into the little girl and drink her blood!

My brain couldn't process the fact that Tom was the one responsible for this.

Instead, images of the Tom I thought I knew, flooded my mind.

I remembered Tom grinning mischievously at me over his book as I sat at the other end of the couch, desperately trying to knit. I remembered Tom holding my hair back on the nights when I'd had a bit too much to drink—nights when the nightmares and memories from my past and the foster homes I'd been through, couldn't be suppressed no matter how much I pretended otherwise. Vividly, I recalled Tom standing protectively in front of me when James had lost his temper, after I failed to bring in the spoils we needed from one of our ridiculous heists. That was my Tom.

And now, I was faced with the image of him wanting to hurt a little child. I felt sick.

Sure, I should've been more worried about the fact that Eric now believed I had played a role in the murder of his maker, but somehow, that seemed irrelevant compared to everything else. Eric didn't look like he was capable of moving an inch – All he did was kneel there, growling. Besides, I was fairly certain that if he eventually succumbed to whatever was happening to him, my future would no longer matter anyway.

There was no way out for me.

As I slowly regained some strength, I could feel the weight of everything pressing against my bones—the pain caused by betrayal, the fear for the little girl, for myself, and yes, even for Eric. And, to my shame, still for Tom. He was a tangled mess of emotions that I didn't want to examine too closely. Instead, I carefully rebuilt the walls I'd spent years constructing around my battered heart. Brick by brick, I shut down every feeling until I could think clearly again.

I tried to block out the loud voices of the men echoing across the room, who had begun arguing amongst themselves.

"You said she was a descendant of the Arsinnians," Monroe snarled, grabbing Tom by the throat. "But it seems the only thing she's good for is dinner."

I felt my heart—buried deep beneath layers of emotional numbness—begin to race, partly out of fear, partly out of some twisted satisfaction that someone was strangling Tom. The part that felt betrayed and was furious at him, revealed at the sight. Apparently, I hadn't quite gotten control of the emotions flooding through me. Maybe I needed to strengthen that wall a bit more... "Dinner and a good screw, I assume."

Both Tom and, to my surprise, James growled.

Judging by their reactions, Monroe's suggestion wasn't an empty threat but a real possibility.

Not good. Soooo not good. 

I quickly shoved my emotions down again. You've got this, Ash. Just don't feel anything, I coached myself.

"Freya, the goddess of seduction and war!" Tom assured, as Monroes grip tightened on Tom's throat. Tom gasped for breath—not because he was actual suffocating, I reminded myself, since he wasn't human anymore—but more from discomfort. I forced myself to shake off the fear that gripped me on his behalf.

Monroe snorted. "I can see she's got you all wrapped around her little finger." His voice dripped with disdain, his fangs glinting in the dim light. It hit me then—I had been spending too much time around civilized vampires. They never hissed at me, never manhandled me, unless I really deserved it. Monroe, on the other hand, was all feral fury, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Your job was supposed to be the exact opposite."

I felt my breath hitch at those words. What did he mean by that?

With a final shake, Monroe threw Tom hard against the nearest wall. Tom sailed through the air, crashing into the expensive paneling with a sickening thud that had my gut churning.

"Maybe I picked the wrong brother to seduce the Johansson girl," Monroe mused aloud. Slowly, too slowly, the meaning of his words began to seep into my mind. I wasn't ready to hear it, not yet. Instead, I focused on the ongoing conversation at the other end of the room, even as the shock made my limbs go cold.

James snorted. "Sure, Ashley's got a nice ass and a fiery attitude, but damn, she's stubborn." He shot a glance at Tom. "I just don't have the patience for that kind of thing. I still think it was for the best that Tom played the role of her boyfriend."

Tom was getting back to his feet, dusting himself off, his expression filled with hatred aimed at both Monroe and James. Then he looked at me, his eyes locking with mine. The truth of James words was written all over Tom's face. I was never anything more than a job to him. Him, seducing me. While I had fallen head over heels for the boy he'd been back at fourteen, he'd been playing the long game to... what. To sell me out to Monroe because of my heritage? 

How had he known? Even I hadn't know who or what I was? How could he have played me, back when he wasn't even grown up himself. I clung to that logic with everything I had, hoping it would keep me sane enough to survive whatever was going on. Because if I let myself believe what I had just overheard, I would give up. Simply lay on the floor and wither away. But the truth seeped through. Every crack, every blow to my armor had fissures for their words to pierce me. That realization—this whole situation—felt like the final blow, breaking my already fragile, patched-together heart into pieces once again.

A sob escaped me, a sound so unlike myself, I clutched at my chest. The pain in my heart wasn't just emotional anymore; it was physical, twisting, suffocating me from the inside. I gasped for air, my hand clawing at my sweater.

In an instant, Tom was at my side, pulling me into his arms. "Ash!"

I couldn't breathe. My lungs were taking in more air than they could release.

"All lies," I whispered, my voice sounding far away, even to myself. It was so obvious now, so painfully clear. How had I been so naive? No one had ever truly loved me—not really. Why would Tom have been any different?

Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, though I hadn't realized I'd started crying. "Why?" I managed to breathe out, my voice breaking.

Tom looked at me with pained eyes, but he didn't answer. He didn't have to. Monroe's laughter filled the room as he sauntered over to us.

"Well, look who's back with us. Finally." He crouched beside me, leaning in with a mocking grin. "I was starting to miss having a lady around in the midst of these brutes." He winked, but his words barely registered as I focused on Tom's face, on the torrent of emotions swirling in his eyes.

"Why?" I asked again, desperate for an answer that would never come.

Monroe filled the silence, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Why? For the money, sweetheart. What else? Isn't it always about money with you humans?"

He plopped down beside me, folding his legs as if we were having a casual picnic, instead of being in the middle of a hostage situation filled with betrayal and murder. "You..." Monroe tapped me on the nose, as if I were a child. "You're something special."

I stared at him, wide-eyed, unsure of how to respond. Monroe tilted his head, examining me like I was some kind of fascinating specimen. Then he clicked his tongue.

"Well, at least your blood is," he added, licking his lips as his eyes drifted down to my neck. "You smell like honey."

His hand traced the curve of my neck, his thumb pressing lightly against my pulsing artery. He pinched the vein through my skin, making me lightheaded, a headache blooming behind my eyes. "I could just take a little sip. An appetizer..." A shudder ran through me.

"Not if you value your free will," Tom growled, his grip on me tightening, his fingers digging painfully into my arm and thigh. For a moment, the weight of everything had left me paralyzed, trapped in disbelief. But feeling Tom's hands on me, squeezing, woke something inside me.

Flashes of our time together—the intimate moments, his touch, the way he'd held me in bed—flooded my mind. My body reacted before my thoughts could catch up. The memory of his touch made me sick. I couldn't bear it. I shoved him away with all my strength. To my surprise, I succeeded, and Tom stumbled back, landing hard on the floor, clearly shocked by my newfound strength.

"Don't touch me!" I snarled, leaping to my feet, a surge of energy pushing me forward. I knew this was my only chance to escape, so I ran, sprinting toward the group ahead. For a brief second, I considered making a break for the door, but my instincts carried me toward Eric and the girl—and, unfortunately, James. I had never wanted Eric's help more than I did in that moment. Having a thousand-year-old vampire on your side was a definite advantage. Even if he wasn't exactly on my side right now, surely he would still protect the girl, which gave me a glimmer of hope.

But for reasons I couldn't fathom, Eric was still down, out of commission.