Just as she was giving in to the worst of it, the air around her stirred. Almost as if someone had cracked the window in the small room.

At first she ignored it, too lost in her tears to care about a stupid cold breeze. But it was insistent. It touched the fresh, pink skin of her exposed back in a cool caress that was surprisingly pleasant. For a moment she relaxed, allowing herself to absorb comfort from the touch.

Touch? She’d told him to wait outside!

Stevie Rae’s head shot up. Her lips were pulled back from her teeth in a snarl she meant to aim at Dallas.

No one was in the room.

She was alone. Absolutely alone.

Stevie Rae dropped her face in her hands. Was shock making her go totally batshit crazy? She didn’t have time for crazy. She had to get up and get dressed. She had to put one foot in front of the other and go out there and deal with the truth about what had happened to Zoey, and her red fledglings, and Kalona, and, eventually, Rephaim.

His name echoed in the air, another cold caress against her skin, wrapping around her. Not just touching her back but skimming down the length of her arms and swirling around her waist and over her legs. And everywhere the coolness touched, it was like a little bit of her grief had been washed away. This time when she looked up she was more controlled in her reaction. She wiped her eyes clear and stared down at her body.

The mist that surrounded her was made of tiny sparkling drops that were the exact color she’d come to recognize in his eyes.

“Rephaim.” Against her will, she whispered his name.

He calls you . . .

“What the hell is going on?” Stevie Rae muttered, anger stirring through despair.

Go to him . . .

“Go to him?” she said, feeling increasingly pissed off. “His dad caused this.”

Go to him . . .

Letting the tide of cool caress and red anger make her decision, Stevie Rae yanked on her clothes. She would go to Rephaim, but only because he might know something that she could use to help Zoey. He was the son of a dangerous and powerful immortal. Obviously, he had abilities she didn’t know about. The red stuff that was floating around her was definitely from him, and it must be made of some kind of spirit.

“Fine,” she said aloud to the mist. “I’ll go to him.”

The instant she spoke the words aloud, the red haze evaporated, leaving only a lingering coolness on her skin and a strange, otherworldly sense of calm.

I’ll go to him, and if he can’t help me, then I think—Imprint or no Imprint—I’m going to have to kill him.

“Seriously, Erce, I’m only going to say this one more time. I don’t care about your stupid rules. Zoey is in there.” Aphrodite paused and pointed one well-manicured fingernail at the closed stone door. “And that means I’m going in there.”

“Aphrodite, you are a human—one who isn’t even the consort of a vampyre. You cannot simply burst into the High Council Chamber with all of your youthful, mortal hysteria, especially during a time of crisis such as this.” The vampyre’s cool look took in Aphrodite’s messed-up hair, tear-stained face, and reddened eyes. “The Council will invite you to join them. Probably. Until then, you must wait.”

“I am not hysterical.” Aphrodite spoke the words slowly, distinctly, and with forced calm, attempting to totally make up for the fact that the reason she’d been left outside the High Council Chamber when Stark, followed by Darius, Damien, the Twins, and even Jack, had carried Zoey’s lifeless body inside was entirely because she had been exactly what Erce had called her—a hysterical human. She hadn’t been able to keep up with the rest of them, especially since she’d been crying so hard the snot and tears had kept her from doing much breathing or seeing. By the time she’d pulled herself together, the door had been closed in her face, with Erce acting as fucking gatekeeper.

But Erce was super wrong if she thought Aphrodite didn’t know how to handle a stick-up-her-ass bossy adult. She’d been raised by a woman who made Erce look like Mary Fucking Poppins.

“So you think I’m just a human kid, do you?” Aphrodite got all into the vamp’s personal space, which made Erce take an automatic step back. “Think again. I’m a prophetess of Nyx. Remember her? Nyx—as in your Goddess who is the boss of you. I do not need to be some guy’s refrigerator to have the right to go before the High Council. Nyx herself gave me the right. Now move the hell out of my way!”

“Though she could have phrased it more politely, the child makes a valid point, Erce. Let her pass. I’ll take responsibility for her presence if the Council disapproves.”

Aphrodite felt the small hairs along her forearms lift as Neferet’s smooth voice came from behind her.

“It is not customary,” Erce said, but her capitulation was already obvious.

“Neither is it customary for the soul of a fledgling to be shattered,” said Neferet.

“I must agree with you, Priestess.” Erce stepped aside and opened the thick stone door. “And you are now responsible for this human’s presence in the Chamber.”

“Thank you, Erce. That is gracious of you. Oh, and I am having a few of the Council Warriors deliver something here. Be quite sure to allow them to pass, too, would you please?”

Aphrodite didn’t so much as glance back as Erce murmured a predictable, “Of course, Priestess.” Instead, she strode into the ancient building.

“Isn’t it odd that once again we are allies, child?” Neferet’s voice followed close behind her.

“We’ll never be allies, and I’m not a child,” Aphrodite said without looking at her or slowing down. The entry foyer opened to a huge stone amphitheater that spread around her in circular row after row. Aphrodite’s eyes were drawn up immediately to the stained-glass window directly before her that depicted Nyx, framed by a brilliant pentagram, graceful arms upraised and cupping a crescent moon.

“It’s really lovely, isn’t it?” Neferet’s voice was easy and conversational. “Vampyres have always been responsible for creating the greatest works of art in the world.”

Aphrodite still refused to look at the ex–High Priestess. Instead, she shrugged. “Vamps have money. Money buys pretty things, whether they’re made by humans or nonhumans. And you don’t know for sure that vamps made that window. I mean, you’re old, but not that old.” As Aphrodite tried to ignore Neferet’s soft, condescending laughter, her gaze moved down to the center of the chamber. At first she didn’t really comprehend what she was seeing, and then when she got it, it was as if someone had punched her in the gut.

There were seven carved marble thrones on the huge raised platform that made up the inner floor of the chamber. Vampyres were seated in the thrones, but they weren’t what caught Aphrodite’s gaze. What she couldn’t stop staring at was Zoey, lying on the dais in front of the thrones like a dead body stretched out on a funeral slab. And then there was Stark. He was on his knees beside Zoey. He was turned just enough so that Aphrodite could see his face. He didn’t make one sound, but tears were falling freely down his cheeks and pooling on his shirt. Darius was standing next to him, and he was saying something she couldn’t quite hear to the brunette sitting in the first throne whose thick hair was streaked with gray. Damien, Jack, and the Twins were huddled together, typically sheeplike, in a nearby row of stone benches. They were bawling, too, but their loud, messy tears were as different from Stark’s silent misery as was the ocean from a babbling brook.

Aphrodite automatically started forward, but Neferet grabbed her wrist. And that finally made her turn to look at her old mentor.