I looked around the room—I wasn't ready to call it my room after waking up in it so suddenly—with my mouth open. It was bigger than some of the apartments that I had lived in with Renee, and so much prettier. The tall windows let the light in, and everything was decorated in shades of powder blue and white. It was like being trapped in a bowl made of the sky—and that's when I realized that my habit of thinking in similes definitely wasn't useful.

I should have been terrified, not descriptive.

Like the proverbial cat, curiosity got the best of me. Wrapping a sheet around myself, and trying not to think about the being-naked thing, I crept out of bed. The floor was white marble, and very cold beneath my feet.

Little by little, I walked around the room, breathless. The desk in the corner was beautiful, carved into ornate swirls. I guess the Volturi were whimsical or impractical; instead of pens and a computer, an hourglass that looked a few centuries old rested on its surface. The dresser was low, the kind you sat in front of while putting on makeup or brushing your hair. I opened its drawers to find cosmetics in sleek containers, so different from the drugstore brands I bought under duress.

There was a book case too, and I knelt in front of it so fast that I marvelled how I didn't trip while getting there. Some of the books were in Latin and Greek, but the rest looked like first editions of modern classics. I couldn't help but reach for them, although my fingers shook.

You're clumsy, my brain insisted. If anyone can wreck a book, you can.

Just when my hands were about to touch the spine of The Picture of Dorian Gray, I heard a cough behind me. I jumped up, smashing my head against the decorative scrollwork on top of the case, and turned to face my visitor, cursing under my breath.

There'd be a bruise on my hairline in a few minutes.

Marcus was staring at me. He had discarded his heavy black robes, instead wearing dark pants, a neat jacket and a slightly unbuttoned shirt. It was a wonderful look—youthful and commanding in equal parts.

I was admiring his clothes. Oh God, what was wrong with me? But I guess it was better than admiring him.

He looked—confused. I didn't blame him. In three thousand years, he probably hadn't run into many girls wearing bedsheets and giving themselves concussions while trying to say 'good morning'.

"I suppose you did not see the note I left for you," he said. There was an undercurrent of authority running through those words, as though he was used to being obeyed. He probably was, I decided, and tried not to think about the fact that his voice made me blush.

He dazzled me. That was all.

I shook my head.

He breathed an impatient little sigh and I flinched, looking at those bright red eyes. With every instant, I was more aware of the fact that so little separated my body from his—a little fabric, held up by my increasingly sweaty hands. He could probably hear my heartbeat from where he was.

"Bathe and dress," he said curtly. "Your presence is required."

I was going to ask more questions, but those red eyes and the knowledge that I was only alive because he was merciful made me bite my tongue.

"The bath is there," he said, indicating a closed door to my right. "And there are clothes in the wardrobe. You will be receive more—"

It might have been a mistake, but the word hung in the air, followed by an unsaid if you live long enough to need them.

I nodded frantically, wondering whether I should excuse myself.

"I will wait here," he said. "Hurry."

I nearly ran to the closet, plucking a dress at random. There was underwear stacked precariously on the top shelf, and I grabbed panties and a bra before going into the bathroom.

Behind me, I could hear Marcus settling in a chair, long fingers tapping on the armrest.

-oOo-

The bathroom was gorgeous as the other room, a vision of white stone and fluffy blue towels, but I didn't have time to think about that. Instead, I ran the bathwater and picked a few bottles of something that I hoped was shampoo and conditioner.

While I washed, I realized that I couldn't chase Marcus out of mind. His little gestures, the way he had of tangling his fingers together, were beautiful. Elegant. Impossible to forget.

That was strange. He wasn't particularly handsome. Up close, I saw that his skin was powdery and his eyes were covered with a film—like cataracts, I decided, recalling pictures from that biology textbook I was convinced I'd never see again. Even though he probably hadn't been that old when he was turned, grief had left marks on his expressions and the formal way he had of speaking.

But when he looked at me—there was electricity beneath my skin. I could feel my blood rushing through me, and growing heat.

I hadn't felt like this before, not even with Edward. With him, I knew I was safe. With Marcus, there was real danger.

I was an idiot, but I liked it.

-oOo-

When I finished dressing, I looked in the mirror. The midnight blue dress made my skin look dramatically pale, and hid how skinny I had become over the past few months. Still, I wasn't pretty enough to fit in among vampires.

My hair was still wet, and I tied it into a bun, before rushing out of the bathroom to face Marcus.

When he saw me, he stiffened. In an instant, he was by my side, not even bothering to move like a human being. His hands, broad and heavy, landed on my arms. I expected to flinch, but the touch was gently firm. For a while, he stroked the skin of my upper arms before taking my palm into his and tracing the lines almost tenderly.

I was flushed. I could tell that my entire face was pink, that this simple touch was doing things to my heart and my body that I didn't recognize. Reasoning with myself, I tried to remind myself that I loved Edward, that a monster was holding my hand, that he didn't even want me, but a woman who was long dead.

Worst of all, he wasn't touching me as though he desred me. This was just the reacton of a man who hadn't felt someone's skin beneath his fingers for a long time. It was a sensation, not a seduction.

I didn't understand why that upset me.

"That was alarmingly quick," he said, finally dropping my hand. "I did not intend for you to rush as much as you did. From what I have seen, you have a near fatal lack of grace, and I am certain that speed would only exacerbate it."

"I'm—I'm fine," I said, halting.

"You look—" he stumbled, as though unsure what to say. It wasn't my beauty causing that stutter; I knew that immediately. It had probably been a long time since he told a woman she was attractive. "You look presentable," he decided, and I grinned a little.

"Your breakfast is there," he continued, gesturing to a heavy silver tray set on a small table between two chairs.

Not bothering to be courteous, I quickly sat down, picking up a bun and unscrewing the small container of raspberry jam beside it. At this point, I was too hungry for courtesy; my stomach had announced itself by growling loudly.

"Isabella, calm down. You will choke," he said firmly, resuming his seat.

I tried to measure my bites, but the roll and jam were delicious and I hadn't eaten in way too long. I hadn't enjoyed it in an even longer time.

"Where is my presence required...Master Marcus?" It felt strange, referring to him by his title, but I thought it was prudent. He wasn't safe, I reminded myself. The Cullens did me a disservice, teaching me that vampires weren't monsters.

His nod of approval reassured me.

"You will watch Edward's judgement, and that of Alice. I do not think that Aro will ask for your opinion on the matter, but my brothers and I wish to have you present," he said, as though the thought of me watching him condemn someone whom I loved—or maybe still love, I wasn't sure—didn't bother him.

"Why—?" I gasped. "They didn't do anything wrong, especially Alice!"

It came out wrong, undignified, but I didn't care. I couldn't look at them die.

"They threatened our secrecy, the pair of them. The Cullens have been doing so for years, of course. This judgment is overdue," he mused, thin fingers dancing over the armrest once more.

His hands were mesmerizing. I wanted them over my skin again, petting and stroking until I was breathing rapidly, nearly incoherent, and his eyes were as black as they had been in the throne room.

I longed for him so badly, and I could not understand it. It was pathetic. Even accepting that I was only a pale shadow of his Didyme—the mysterious wife whom he loved so much—didn't seem unpleasant for a moment.

But it was lust. Maybe I was looking for a rebound. This was not me.

I couldn't believe that he didn't notice the confusion on my face.

"Edward is not your mate," he said casually, as though the revelation was only a passing comment on the weather. "If he was, I would not ask you to watch his sentencing."

Those two statements made my thought blur. First, I didn't believe him. I violently, viciously rejected the idea that Edward was not my mate. Secondly, the gentleness in his voice touched me. He cared for me, even if it was just a little, it seemed.

"Yes, he is," I insisted. "Mating bonds can't be broken."

For a second, Marcus looked almost amused. "Did the Cullens tell you that?"

"Yes. Vampires mate forever," I said. I bet I sounded like a school girl, proudly parroting an easy answer I had memorized from a book.

"Not quite, Isabella," he corrected. "Certain—ah—actions can weaken a bond, even sever it entirely. I don't imagine Carlisle would tell you about that. He is an idealist."

"What kind of actions?" I demanded.

"Oh, there are many," he sighed, wistful and handsome and lost. "Betrayal. Hurting a partner so excessively that there is no chance of recovery. Growing incompatibility. We are more human in that regard than you would think."

That made sense. Once, before I had completely fallen in love with Edward, the idea of being obsessively devoted to one person with no way out, no matter what they became, had seemed horrifying.

"Nobody talks about that," I murmured.

"We don't like to. There's an unspoken fear in all of us that our deepest loves will fall apart. It is not common, but then, not rare enough for our tastes," he said, calmly.

I liked the fact that he treated me like I was capable of understanding, not a child to be protected.

"But that's not what happened with Edward and me," I insisted. "I can still feel our bond." My love, although not as strong as before, was as fierce as the heartbeat under my skin. I was sure of it, no matter what Marcus' presence was doing to me.

"I can see ties or their absence, Isabella," he said, with an unspoken do not contradict me appended at the end. "In any case, we cannot discuss this further. Now you must come with me."

I rose obediently, and he brushed a hand over my shoulder. Once again, the touch unstitched me, filling me with fire that grew and grew.

"Among my brothers, you will be silent and respectful. You are a mortal, and least among us. Moreover," he paused, his eyes darkening to burgundy, then black, "you are mine. Your conduct reflects upon me. Is this understood?"

I shivered at his use of the term mine, but I nodded.

I had learned one thing about this man—he wore two faces. One was patient, almost gentle, and he didn't mind treating me that way. The other was old and harsh, suitable for a ruler. I wondered which one was the mask.

I followed him, ready to hear Edward's fate.

My lovely readers, thank you for your favourites, story alerts and especially reviews for the previous chapter. Your response helped me write this installment quickly.

Please let me know what you think about Marcus. Is he telling the truth about Bella's bond with Edward being broken? And what consequences should Edward and Alice receive or not receive?