Chapter Twenty-Five
Samara
“You can’t do that,” I stammered. “She didn’t agree.”
Flo was looking off, paying little mind to us.
“It’s a liability. He’s thralling her to keep you safe,” Demos countered.
“She didn’t agree,” I repeated.
Raphael still held Flo’s gaze. “Would you prefer I simply kill her?”
“Of course not,” I snapped. Anger was rising in me, fierce and raring. How could he think this was okay? Lifting an arm, a leg, was one thing. Tampering with her mind was another altogether. “Besides, Demos would have to step in. Killing someone would surely count as behaving untoward.”
Demos raised his hands. “Technically, I only agreed to intercede based on your thrall.”
Technically. It was a word for cowards, and Demos was no coward. But he was loyal to Raphael, so I focused on the vampire king.
“Be reasonable.” Strategic, analytic. Raging would get me nowhere. “When she regains her wits and sees a stack of silver and the only thing she’s told is that a bunch of vampires, two of whom were male, came to visit her, what do you suppose her conclusion will be?”
I stared at Raphael, willing his mercy to win out over ruthlessness.
Be the male I know you are. The male I couldn’t bring myself to poison.
The change in Raphael was subtle, almost imperceptible. A slight sag of his shoulders, which I hadn’t realized went so stiff at my objection.
“I hadn’t fully considered that angle,” Raphael finally conceded.
My shoulders didn’t sag; they collapsed with relief. “You’ll undo it, then?”
“No. You will.”
“Raphael, she’s too young,” Demos interjected.
His objection was summarily ignored. “Overpower my compulsion so she retains her memories here. But she must be bound not to let anyone know, by word or deed, what we came here for. This is for your safety, as Iademos rather obviously stated. This is a skill that should have been learned weeks ago within the boundaries of my own kingdom, and the fact that it wasn’t is gossip fools will pay handily for. ”
Overpower Raphael’s thrall? Was it possible?
Demos didn’t think so.
But I was the necromancer. Did that give me a power even greater than a vampire king’s?
I hesitated. If I did this, and I wasn’t supposed to be able to—if this was a test of Raphael’s to show me the difference in our power—it might be risking my identity.
If he discovered I was the necromancer, he’d kill me the way he had the last three.
But if I didn’t—if I let Flo’s memories be tampered with, what then? What would her mind conjure to fill in the gaps?
If I chose my potential safety over her terror, did that make me any better?
“Well?” Raphael prodded when I hesitated.
“I’ll… try.”
Raphael stepped aside, and I looked into Flo’s eyes once more. She startled, as if she hadn’t expected to see anyone here.
“Who are you?” she asked, confused.
“Flo, you know me as Samantha. We’ve been in your wagon.”
She frowned. “I do?”
“You do. I came here with two other male vampires. Do you remember?”
She shook her head.
“Try to remember.”
Flo’s brows furrowed, her lips pursed. “I really don’t.”
“Try harder,” I said.
Flo’s face scrunched even more. Her arm began to shake.
“Failing to act on a compulsion is distressing,” Demos said. “If you want to grant her mercy, let Raphael—”
“Patience,” Raphael said. “Remember what you want, Samara.”
What I wanted.
“Flo, I want you to relax and remember the past hour. The way you made a deal to let me thrall you, nothing dangerous, and how we practiced. Can you do that for me?”
Both Flo’s arms were shaking now. But her eyes grew unfocused, the way they looked under thrall, but not distressed. “I remember now. You knocked and offered me silver for discretion.”
I wanted to collapse in relief. “Yes, exactly. I want you to keep those memories, but it’s important that you don’t tell anyone. Just like the discretion you already agreed on—by neither word nor deed will you let anyone know we came here to practice my compulsion abilities. Do you understand?”
Flo nodded and repeated the instructions back.
I’d done it. I turned to check Raphael’s face for a sign I’d just forfeited my life. Demos looked between the two of us, shook his head, and walked out the door.
It was just me and Raphael. A grin spread wide over his face.
“Well done.”
It was oddly intimate to dress in the same room. Something I’d have to get used to quickly, especially since I needed Raphael’s help with the corset sewn into my dress.
It was a stunning gown. Like before, I wore the western kingdom colors to match Raphael.
But the clothing was brilliant, a silver-boned corset holding up a bright violet dress embroidered with tiny crystals throughout.
A sheet of fabric trailed behind me as a cape, my arms encircled in matching silver arm braces.
I tried and tried to pull the ribbons taut, but it was a losing effort. I maneuvered myself over to open the bedroom door.
“Raphael? A hand?”
He met me at the doorway. He now wore a double-breasted doublet in a matching shade, the white undershirt widening at the wrists and leaving his neck open. No crown—but anyone who looked at him would see a king.
I turned away, instead facing the messy sheets of the bed, trying not to think of the fact that I’d slept there, exposed. Raphael had stayed up all night once again, without complaint.
The corset began to tighten as Raphael threaded the ribbon through the eyelets I hadn’t managed. His movements were methodical, but that didn’t ease my awareness. He was right behind me.
“You’re good at this.”
The ribbon stopped moving, and I cringed. I’d sounded a little too surprised.
“Wondering if I have practice?” he teased.
I hadn’t meant to, but suddenly the image of Raphael with his hands on the corset laces of some faceless woman—of unlacing them—flashed in my mind. My jaw clenched at the thought.
Could I actually be jealous? Of the mere thought of Raphael with other women? He was centuries old and attractive. He was obviously more experienced than I was. It stood to reason he’d had the chance to unlace scores of corsets.
More importantly, he wasn’t even with me. We shared a chamber because some vampire custom demanded it, as did his instincts.
I didn’t want him. Couldn’t let myself want him. Because if I let myself want him, if I let myself confide in him, I would mess up and tell him exactly what I was.
“There are spells for this in the Witch Kingdom.” Telekinetic witches weren’t uncommon, but even others had work-arounds. A petramancer, for example, could sew tiny pebbles into the ends of the laces to manipulate them.
“It seems like a waste.”
I frowned. That kind of magic was cheap. “Really? It doesn’t take much magic.” It’s not like magic was a finite source for witches. They got stronger the more they used.
Raphael pulled the top laces tight. My breath caught in my throat as he leaned in to tie it, his breath grazing my shoulder. “Of opportunity.”
Dolor, stop me. There was no mistaking the insinuation. I twisted, a miscalculation that left me even closer to Raphael than I realized as I tilted my head back to see him.
His jaw was freshly shaved and dangerously tempting. But I couldn’t make myself step back.
“You did well today, you know.”
I frowned at the sharp subject change. “With Flo?”
“With learning about your abilities. You let yourself try.”
“We did make a deal.” My gaze dipped to Raphael’s lips automatically, remembering how we’d sealed that bargain. “I imagine it’s intent-based. If I don’t sincerely try, you won’t help break the fledgling bond, will you? At least we’re done with it.”
“Done?” Raphael was blatantly amused. “One day, one human, and you think you’ve mastered the art of compulsion?”
I bit back a groan. Yes, I’d kind of hoped that was the case. Even if I could rationalize why I did it—to break the bond and perhaps figure out how to do the same to vampires—I didn’t relish the thought of needing to practice. “There’s more?”
“Tomorrow, we’ll find someone else and try again. If I only have two weeks of your compliance, we’ll have to make the most of it.”
Delightful. “What if we worked on something else? Like the sleep thing.”
“The sleep thing,” Raphael repeated. “You mean your body’s instincts that work to protect you? Fledglings are bound to the night, keeping them away from the sun. You’ll lose that deep sleep with age.”
Second to blood drinking, that might well have been the most disturbing aspect.
Knowing I was vulnerable while sleeping made every dawn distressing.
But I’d managed to gain some ground there.
The day we’d arrived, I’d stayed up almost twenty minutes past dawn.
“Maybe exposure to the sun would help. Like inoculating myself against it to build resistance faster. It could be part of learning to master my ‘vampire nature.’” It would make it easier to flee if I didn’t have to worry about suddenly passing out.
I could do it by peeling the curtain in the living room back a few minutes before sleep…
“Absolutely not.” Raphael’s refusal was sharp and immediate. I blinked at him. “You make it sound like an experiment. Have you even felt the sunlight since turning?”
“Don’t ask rhetorical questions, not when you know full well I spent the first few months living under a mountain.”
Raphael crossed his arms, dark fabric stretching over the muscles. Unyielding.
I glanced at the window, then back at him. “It wouldn’t kill me, especially not if I used the back of my hand or something. I could even do it right after drinking a glass of blood.”
He flashed his fangs at me, baring his teeth. “If you think I’ll support you willingly burning yourself, you have grievously misunderstood me.”