He let himself muse for a moment what he would have done if he’d had time. Strangled him with his own intestines? Fed the spy his own fingernails as he ripped them off? Perhaps he even would have spared some drops of someone else’s vampire blood to help the witch regenerate so he could truly savor it. There were so many ways to torture someone. Had he the patience toensnare the witch in his thrall, he might have made Titus do several of them to himself.
Then he could’ve deposited the putrid corpse at the witch king’s doorstep. The impertinent monarch deserved a reminder of exactly what lay beyond his borders.
Samara thought him a monster? She had no idea what he would become when he was vengeful.
But by the time Raphael had woken in his bed, skin clammy, palms shaking from the aftereffects of the toxicant, his only thought had been of Samara. Not revenge, not violence. Just the girl he’d permanently tied himself to.
He’d raced through the castle fearing the worst. She was alive—he could feel that, as their mental bond had been wide open, all her fear and anger and inconsolable ache for the true death blaring through his mind.
The half state wouldn’t last forever. The fact she’d lasted so long had been a feat. Even another day might have been too late.
But she had drunk his blood. The transformation was completed, her immortality secured.
Raphael rubbed his neck, pacing. The indents had healed quickly, given his age and strength, but the feeling of her novice fangs drinking from his neck lived on inside him. Fuck, it had been centuries since he’d let someone take from him. And it had nevereverfelt like that.
If he could, he’d have tattooed the spots. Or have her drink so often the spot scarred. It happened—on rare occasions—that one let someone draw so often it scarred over.
His own fangs throbbed anew, this time for a different reason. He threw back a goblet of blood wine, draining it in a few quick swallows, then returned to his bedroom.
His bedroom where Samara had lain. The sheets were askew, as if she’d barely been able to tolerate being in it for a second longer than necessary. Not that he would have let somethinghappen to her while he stood watch, but he wanted her to be comfortable.
She wouldn’t spend another night there. At this rate, he’d be lucky if she didn’t move into Thea’s apartments—which he might only stop if he reminded her that she was, despite the oracle’s gamble, a threat to her friend. Though he was loath to remind his viper that she was now one of the monsters she feared, she would never forgive herself if she hurt her friend. She was loyal. She would see the fact that he’d made her a monster as a betrayal.
It had been. There was a dignity to a mortal death he’d denied her.
And as he’d told her: He could not honestly say he regretted it. Regretted her fear, her anger, her pain, her horror. But not the fact she was alive.
It might take her several years to feel the same. Raphael could be patient. Some centuries, it seemed he had nothing but time.
But now his pillow smelled of honey and hyacinth. He would keep it that way for as long as he could preserve the scent.
And in time, he’d ensure that scent never left again.
Chapter Seven
Samara
Once the door toRaphael’s chambers shut, I felt a little less certain. “Maybe Demos was right. It’s not safe for you to be alone with me.”
Thea rolled her eye and tugged me along. “Don’t you start too. I’m perfectly safe with you, and I won’t hear a word to the contrary.”
If only I felt so certain. I took a few steps then stopped again. “You said I’m hard to see. You can’t know that for sure.”
“Just because I can’t see the future doesn’t mean I don’t knowyou, Sam. You need to have more faith in yourself.” Thea hooked her arm through mine, as she had done dozens of other times since I’d arrived at Damerel.
The motion made my eyes prick.Somethinghadn’t changed. Even though I’d messed up everything. I’d miss this when I left. In a few days once whatever supposed fledgling bond had faded—because I couldn’t let it be longer than that. The moment it was gone, I’d take the grimoire and find my way through the labyrinth of hallways and caves until I was outside. I told myselfI leaned into Thea a little more because I didn’t want her to suspect anything. I could, after all, still lie to myself.
“None of that,” Thea said, catching sight of the tears through the corner of her eye. She always placed me on the side she could see.
“I’m sorry.” I swiped the back of my hand across my face. “It’s just . . . it’s been a lot. I would understand if you’re furious at me over this too.”
“Oh, but I am.”
I stumbled but caught myself quickly.
“It hurts that you felt you needed to go through all this alone,” she said, the tone casual even if the words weren’t. “I thought we were closer than that. But I can tell you regret it. We all make mistakes, and no one really died, except the poisoner. And, er, you,” she amended. “I know we’re taught to think of the vampires as undead abominations, but do youreallyfeel that way? Or do you just feel like you’re supposed to feel like that?”
That wasn’t a conversation I was ready for. Especially since I could no longer tell untruths.
