Chapter Sixteen
Samara
The stinging pain of my throat woke me. Third hell burn me, my head ached. I crawled out from under the bed and headed to the bathroom.
Ten deep divots circled my neck, flesh torn from where I’d clawed at myself. I scrubbed furiously under my nails until the water went from brown to clear. The skin around my throat knit together before my eyes, as it did each morning.
For all the blood mead I’d had last night, all I had was a headache and no reprieve from my thirst. I looked away from my neck, lifting a freshly cleaned hand to my hair with another wince.
I hadn’t bothered to take out any of the braids and pins last night. I was lucky a rat hadn’t taken my hair as invitation to nest in—though that was likely only because there weren’t any rats in Damerel.
I forced myself to work through every white-stranded knot before I let myself seek out the fresh blood I knew would have been delivered outside my door.
In my sleep, I was an animal. Awake, I would subdue this vampire side.
Even if I couldn’t access my magic, even if I could no longer touch the grimoire, I was a witch.
I wouldn’t let them change me completely.
I would be strong so I could defend those who weren’t.
Control. I needed control.
Finally I let myself leave the washroom and grab the blood. Before I opened my door, though, I found an envelope that had been slipped underneath.
Swooping letters formed my name in Thea’s extravagant handwriting. I snatched it up but grabbed the blood from outside before reading. Once I’d choked down an entire carafe of half-congealed blood, I ripped open the letter.
Sam,
I apologize for leaving without saying goodbye, but time is of the essence. I’m leaving to look for something that might help you. If all goes well, we’ll be reunited in a few weeks and able to begin our efforts in earnest. Raphael knows where I’ve gone, but not the true reason.
Always your friend,
Thea
I frowned at the note, reading it thrice over as if it might say more. I lifted it to candlelight next, in case a message was hidden away. But there were only those scant sentences.
Gone where? “Our efforts” must mean my magic. She really was helping me. But what could she be looking for? Was she worried the letter might be intercepted and thus said so little? Could she really not have delayed her trip just a little longer so I could ask her some blasted questions?
I fed the note to the flame, swallowing down my fears. I’d decided to trust Thea when I told her I was the necromancer. So that’s what I would do.
Raphael had said he wasn’t Demos, and he proved it every time we met in the arena. There was no set curriculum, not like Demos had, where we worked on the same sequence of drills over and over. But there was something of a routine.
First, Raphael and I would spar with real blades to see if I’d made any miraculous progress in the time between sessions.
If I had, it was so minuscule compared to his centuries of battle experience that it made no difference.
Thea would call encouragements from the side while I got angrier and angrier at Raphael for being a shit teacher.
When I would get too fed up, he’d set me into a series of calisthenics to build strength.
After five hundred push-ups, a thousand squats, a truly sadistic number of crunches, and the tea break Thea would insist on, he’d invite me up to get beaten again, this time with some more pointers.
Today, Thea wasn’t here to shout encouragements that drowned out the angry voice in my head, nor to give me a break with tea to calm down.
“Where has Thea gone?” I asked when I could speak again after Raphael released me from the requisite crunches.
“Upset she’s not here to insist on a break for you?” he taunted.
Raphael could be a special kind of ass during training. If I had been thinking more calmly, I might have rationalized it as him provoking me to train me for all kinds of battle—physical and mental.
But it usually just worked in provoking me.
“I’m wondering why my only friend left me a letter before dusk and didn’t say goodbye,” I snapped.
Raphael stiffened, just the slightest tightening of his shoulders, only perceptible because the brute was training without a shirt today.
And what a body when it was uncovered. He wasn’t as bulky as Demos, but his body was muscle on muscle covered in flawless pale skin. The muscles of his arm tightened as he lifted his sword once more, and this cursed vampire vision made me track every single part of the movement.
Maybe that was another thing he was training me to do—not just physical fighting, but fighting distraction.
“Your ‘only friend’ is also a diplomat. She’s gone to meet with the northern kingdom.”
“When will she be back?” Her letter said a few weeks, but that was hardly precise. What if the fledgling bond between Raphael and me finally broke, and I had to leave without saying goodbye?
“It’s a long journey.”
“Is she alone? Is it safe?”
“For some, it’s safe. And she’s not alone—she went with one of my best-trained guards in case anyone is foolish enough to strike a member of my court.”
“What do you mean, for some?”
He lifted a blade and offered me the pommel. I took it as carefully as I could, but our skin still brushed in the transfer. Gods curse me, that small second of contact soared through my entire body.
“It’s safe for women. Men aren’t welcome, and the queen there doesn’t kindly warn away any who attempt to trespass,” Raphael explained. “Now, break’s over.”
Confusion cut through my annoyance. “A kingdom just for women?” Who had ever heard of such a thing? A kingdom of vampires was strange enough.
“Enough questions. I’ll tell you more afterward—should you deign to spend any time with me.”
That was all the warning I had before Raphael launched himself at me.
I narrowly blocked the blow, the clang of metal ringing in my ears as the rush of battle returned.
But one block a victory did not make —hells, I’d settle for a stalemate.
Raphael attacked again. And again.
And again.
“You’re slower than usual,” he criticized.
I ground my teeth. “Maybe because you’re a centuries-old”—block—“vampire who has spent”—strike—“hours tormenting me already.”
Raphael’s expression narrowed.
It was hopeless.
I was trying. I was trying so fucking hard. But my blows came slower and slower.
He’s winning. The vampire is winning, something in me snarled. It felt ancient and furious. Before, I’d mistaken the anger for my own, but now I knew it was different.
He’s training me. We’re practicing, I tried to tell myself, blocking another swipe of Raphael’s steel. But the anger in me only saw a vampire attacking. Something was stirring, and I was almost too exhausted to stop it.
My concentration slipped.
Raphael pinned me against the wall, the flat of his blade directly under my chin. He was careful not to draw blood, but that was the only mercy. His gaze had none. His hand snapped to my wrist, prying my sword free and tossing it clear.
“I lose.” I sighed. “What a surprise.”
I waited for Raphael to withdraw, but he didn’t. Instead, he shifted closer, his body so close I couldn’t help but inhale his scent. He hadn’t exactly broken a sweat sparring with me, but his natural scent was thicker, sharper somehow.
“Do you really expect me to believe this is the best you can do?” he snarled.
I clenched my jaw. “Believe what you want.”
“You act like this, you die, Samara.” His voice was low, predatory. “There’s no coming back a second time.”
I was never meant to be like this, I wanted to whine. “Are we done here?”
“Not even close, viper.”
I let out a beleaguered sigh. “There’s no point, Raphael.” Gods, I sounded pathetic even to my own ears. But I was so, so tired. Everything hurt.
So much for supernatural healing.
“Oh, but there is—the point is you’re choosing to be weak.
This pathetic state you’re in? It’s no different from every other time you’ve denied yourself for no reason other than to prove to yourself you could.
” He leaned closer. “Stop fighting what you are, Samara. Fight me, fight the world. But don’t torture yourself just because you can. ”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Blood, little viper. You’re starving. That’s why you’re weak today—exhausted.”
How could that be? Hadn’t I complied, albeit reluctantly? Every drop of blood was foul. I’d begun to assume it was my necromancer nature rejecting the vampirism.
Emotion rose in me, not anger, but something more like fear.
But not of Raphael, not even cornered like this.
“I’ve been drinking that wretched blood every day.
I shouldn’t need any more.” But my fangs already ached and were getting worse every second that Raphael was near.
Why was it always so much worse around him?
I tried to pull away, nearly cutting myself on the blade at my chin.
In a flash, the blade was sheathed at his side, but Raphael didn’t let me go. His hands snapped to my wrists in a second, pinning them by my waist against the wall.
“But you do. It seems you need a more… potent source.”
I pulled helplessly against his grip. “I don’t want to take from an innocent.”
“That’s fine.”
My thrashing momentarily stopped. He’d given in far too easily.
“I’m the furthest thing you can get from an innocent.” He bent over my shoulder to rumble those words in my ear. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, as the movement positioned his neck right in front of me and didn’t withdraw.
“I don’t want to drink from you,” I said, even as my fangs scraped my lip.
“Want is a funny thing. You don’t, but you do. You desperately do. But if you think you want this damned asceticism more, prove it. Push me off. Show me how your denial is your strength, not your downfall.”
It was hard to speak. The outlines of the veins in his neck were highlighted in the torchlight. They called to me, promising a sweetness nothing else could compare to. I tried to pull away once again, but I was weak.