For a moment, I feared this hadn’t worked any better. But then, haltingly— “I like it.”
“Really?” I could barely believe my ears. “Please tell me what you like about it. Honestly.”
Talo contemplated the question. His eyes had the slightly glazed quality I recognized as part of the thrall, but it wasn’t like I’d subsumed all his free will. “I like the flexibility of the role. Another trade would be harder to adjust around my schedule. I work as much or as little as suits while pursuing my studies. I have control of my clients, and most are sincerely appreciative, returning several times to see me. Though we’re small parts in each other’s lives, I like being that connection.”
I’d told myself I wantedthetruth, but I still had to fight the urge to protest it as a lie. I’d been taught that voluntarily letting a vampire feed was not just reprehensible but suicidal. But when the thought came—this is wrong!—I forced myself to sit with it, still holding Talo’s gaze.Whywas it wrong? He was hale and hearty. This washistruth. How could I tell him it wasn’t?
“Tell me about your start?” It came out more like a question than an order.
His words were coming easier, the thrall having taken hold. “I came to Limanos for the university, and asked around for roles. I tried a few positions, but in the end, I liked this best.”
I pried more answers from Talo, with increasing ease. How many hours he worked in a week or a month, what he liked least—apparently, the wardrobe expected could be costly, and he had to manage his diet to ensure sufficient nutrition to give blood—and was struck by how mundane everything was.
The den did seem a bit better run than the one in Damerel. The question was, which was the accurate experience? Could there be no ultimate truth?
Or perhaps the similarities were better hidden.
“When’s the last time someone died from a vampire bite here?”
The glazed expression faded slightly as Talo frowned. “Died? No one’s died since I’ve been here.”
That he knew about.
Our time was coming to a close. I stopped my questions and, as promised, compelled him to forget what we’d discussed. When the door shut, I sagged against the couch.
Because I’d had to hold Talo’s gaze, I hadn’t glanced at Raphael for the past twenty minutes. I had, however, remained acutely aware of his presence. Now I found him contemplating me. He’d shifted, arms folded in front of him. “How was that?”
His nod was approving, the same way it sometimes went when we sparred and I avoided being knocked on my ass for more than two blows. “Better.”
Better. I’d accept it. But then came another rap at the door and a woman, perhaps forty or fifty years behind the cosmetics, gave a slight bow. Not the hostess of before.
I looked at Raphael. We weren’t done?
“I told them to send us three,” Raphael said, answering the question in my gaze.
Very well. I repeated the exchange we’d had with Talo, letting her know the terms we were looking for. Her list of prohibited topics was far longer, but truly, all I wanted to hear about was her experience in the den. She’d worked, I learned, for several and had just as many strong opinions. But while she had criticisms, mostly about the hours and occasional vampires pushing against time limits, I forced myself not to hold them up in triumph that my prejudice was right, and instead weighedthem against everything else she said. The third was the same, another woman whose age was somewhere between the other two donors. She had a sunny disposition even through the veneer of the thrall. She intended to only work as a donor for a few months and had enjoyed her time. Her specialty was fledglings, and said she found it fulfilling to help guide them through their thirst, to provide comfort when some other donors refused them. She told me about others as well, those who worked as donors in Limanos because they craved the bite, though the current blood den didn’t cater to such passersby.
My relief when the door shut behind her was more due to fatigue than anything else. I understood why Raphael had wanted me to practice with multiple people. While I had managed Flo without much consequence, using this much vampiric power was taxing.
“Satisfied?” I asked Raphael, suddenly grateful for whoever had hoisted so many pillows around me as I sank into them.
“The more important question is, are you?” He’d come closer, perched on the single arm around the couch.
I hesitated a beat. Was I? I’d done this just because I needed Raphael’s help breaking the fledgling bond. It was one step closer to being able to leave, perhaps with the added benefit of being able to master my own magical powers over vampires.
But what we’d discussed—perhaps when I left and figured out what Anagenni intended for me, I’d be able to approach it better. I’d be able to control the raw revulsion the grimoire whispered into my veins, and measure what I’d been raised to believe against a reality I hadn’t thought possible.
“Yeah,” I decided. “I am.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Samara
Slivers of light slippedunder the curtain when I awoke the next evening. I was managing earlier already, without the ache of the thirst. I celebrated the quiet triumph by letting myself study Raphael. He was on his side, closest to the window, the barest glow of gray framing him.
His long lashes were fanned out, as peaceful an expression on his face as I’d ever seen. We’d had a quiet evening after returning from the blood den. I’d washed up and read more of his adventure novel, with his blessing, while he replied to some correspondence. Messenger wyverns, winged reptiles with only hind legs and wings, came through with regular frequency, and he sent each back with a tied scroll at their ankle. They didn’t make stops in the Witch Kingdom, apparently, and the underground labyrinth of Damerel was inaccessible to them, so he must have been corresponding with people outside those spaces.
But he didn’t look like a politician now. He just looked like a male at rest. His hair was just past the ear, falling forward overhis sharp cheekbones. Then there was the bare column of his throat, where the sheets had fallen away.
