YOU GOTTA FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHT.

"Merit?"

Pulled from my fantasy by the sudden flood of adrenaline, I clenched my hands into fists. I'd heard about the fight-or-flight instinct - the animalistic drive to dig in and fight for survival or to run away, seek shelter or cover. Before tonight, it had always been an abstract construct. Biological trivia. But I felt it after the attack on our house, and as I faced Ethan Sullivan for the first time, I felt it intimately. Some previously absent part of my psyche awoke and began to evaluate surroundings, to debate whether to set heel to the ground and get as far away from him as possible, or face him, stand against him, and even if the effort was doomed, to see what I was made of.

This was one of those moments, I thought, one of those make-or-break moments that set the direction of your life, that remind you about courage and free will.

I felt a nudge at my ribs, and heard a fierce whisper. "Merit!" I looked beside me, where Mallory stood, eying me curiously. "Are you okay? Ethan was just saying hello. Did you have something you wanted to say to him, maybe regarding an eath-day eat-thray?"

I slid my gaze back to Ethan, who watched me cautiously, then let my focus shift to the vampires, who stood at attention in the room. They'd stopped tapping the keys of their PDAs and were outright staring. Without looking at him, I asked, "Can we speak privately?"

He paused, apparently surprised, and then said in a voice smooth enough to send a second chill down my spine, "Of course."

His hand at my elbow, Ethan escorted me through the crowd of gaping vampires, back into the hallway, and then into the room next door. It was an office, masculine and well- appointed. His office. To the right was a sizable oak desk; to the left was a seating area of brown leather furniture. At the end of the room was a long, oval-shaped conference table, which stood just before a bank of windows covered by navy blue velvet curtains. Both side walls were lined with built-in shelves covered in books, trophies, photographs, and memorabilia.

Mallory followed us in, and Ethan closed the door. He waved his hand in invitation at two chairs that sat in front of his desk, but Mallory moved to the shelves at the far end of the room and, hands crossed behind her back, began to peruse the mementos. She gave us privacy without leaving me alone with him. Appreciating the gesture, I remained standing.

Ethan crossed his arms and gazed at me expectantly. "Well? To what do I owe the pleasure, Merit?"

I stared at him blankly for a moment, trying to remember why I thought visiting the Hyde Park office of a Master vampire was a good idea, when my mouth, which apparently wasn't privy to the internal debate, suddenly blurted out, "I didn't give you permission to change me."

Ethan stared at me for a moment before turning his head. He walked away, moving with self-assurance to the leather chair behind his desk. For all the tailored clothes and impeccable looks, his power was obvious. He fairly hummed with it, and while his movements were crisp and elegant, they hinted at something darker, something menacing beneath the surface - a shark arcing below deceptively smooth water.

He shuffled papers on his desk, then crossed his legs and looked up at me with those obscenely emerald eyes. "Frankly, that's not what I expected to hear. I was hoping for something along the lines of 'Thank you, my Liege, for saving my life. I do so enjoy being alive.' "