Chapter Twenty-One
Samara
After another fortnight of travel, we were nearly at Limanos. For added protection, I was relegated to the tiny carriage.
I peered out the window and gave Larissa a small wave.
She held no grudge for the incident in the stable, and I’d gotten closer with her and the other guards on the journey.
But in the back of my mind, I constantly worried about what might set off those rages that weren’t my own.
The longer it had been since I’d touched the grimoire, now hundreds of miles away, the easier it became to separate my thoughts from its influence.
But that didn’t mean I was infallible. It had left me stressed, to say the least.
The night breeze had a hint of salt on it. Were we truly by the sea? Around us, the forest had given way to grasslands. The road was wide and worn, a well-traveled route.
I tried to focus on that instead of the scent of cedar that managed to fill the tight space. The scent that made my fangs ache.
Because Raphael was in the carriage with me: another layer of protection as we approached the kingdom. He was worried about something, in that hidden, guarded way of his, though he hadn’t said anything specific.
Why was I always so damned thirsty around him?
The thirst was an ever-present ache, like an old wound I’d come to accept.
When I was on my own, blood was an unappealing necessity that I forced down.
But with him so close, heretical images came to mind: my fangs in his throat, his blood running down my fingers while I licked them off.
I ground my teeth and peeked sidelong at him. He leaned back, arms spread over the cushions on either side—so unlike me, who felt the need to tuck myself into the corner even when I’d had the carriage to myself for several days.
Of course, if I tried to spread out the same, my leg would press into his. There wasn’t exactly a lot of space.
The back of my throat itched. My tongue pushed against my fangs, as if that might ease the ache. I swallowed emptiness.
“Something the matter?” he asked.
Yes. I was feeling less well by the minute.
But asking for more blood would require stopping, and that wasn’t an option this close to the city.
I’d gone through our reserves quicker than expected.
Plus, we’d been slower for traveling with me learning to ride and Alphonse in our party.
Because of that, I’d finished the last of the bottled blood before we got on the road.
The others had been hunting for themselves for days.
“Tell me more about the festival,” I said instead. “And the city. I’ve never been to a port.” Until I’d seen the maps Raphael kept in his office, I hadn’t even been aware of such a thing, when I’d realized the continent was twice as large as I’d ever imagined.
“The Skyflame Celebration brings several species together, marking the start of spring. Limanos hosts the celebration for a fortnight every year, with several spectacles that draw large crowds. There are balls, entertainers, traders of every sort. They put together a truly spectacular lights show.”
“When’s the last time you went?”
Raphael considered. “Maybe fifty years ago.”
Then why was this one different? It wasn’t the first time he’d evaded the question. He’d been reticent about his motivation, but I was too caught up beating the thirst in my throat into submission to dig deeper.
I needed a distraction. So I asked him question after question, ones he’d be willing to answer about the population, the customs, the people, the distance from Limanos to the borders.
He knew the answers to it all. There was so much knowledge inside him.
Honed over centuries, certainly, but it was more than that.
He excelled at explaining things in a way I could understand, and in a way that didn’t make me feel stupid or ignorant.
But it still didn’t cover up the hunger.
I was almost as thirsty as I’d been back in the cell. I remembered the way it had felt to be around Thea when I’d first turned. The way I’d look at her neck, feeling nothing more than animal instinct, even though she was my friend.
I’d be a danger to everyone in the city. I’d be the monster I feared all vampires were, out of control and blood-hungry.
I didn’t want to say it. I really, really didn’t want to say it to Raphael. But was my pride worth someone’s safety?
Memories of my mother flashed in my mind: her last moments in an arena with a vampire, ripped to shreds as it sucked her severed limbs for drops of blood.
That will never be me.
“Raphael, I need to drink.”
I’d surprised him. It was subtle on his face, quickly hidden. But the slight widening of his eyes, the flare of his nostrils. “You drank before we started this morning. Even as a fledgling, that should suffice.”
I had. I’d choked the awful stuff down for days without complaint, because after a night under the bed with him, I’d wanted anything that could ease the pain.
I looked away. “I need more.”
Raphael studied me. “We used the last of it earlier. If we stop, it’ll have to be an animal. You’ve never taken like that.”
My stomach revolted at the thought of digging my fangs into some furry neck. But I couldn’t go to the city like this.
Would it be some tiny squirrel? With the quantities I was drinking, it would need to be dozens. Or something larger? A deer?
I might have eaten rats once, but the thought of drinking from an animal was even worse. At least with a goblet I could sip it, not even using my fangs as I swallowed enough to tame the beast inside me.
But I’m so thirsty. “I… I don’t know…” I trailed off.
“You really do need to drink.”
I thought he was responding to my plea, but the way he looked at me, like he saw through me—my mental shield had slipped.
“There’s another solution,” he said slowly.
I looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
He arched a brow. Oh. I could drink his blood.
I weighed the options. One, I could not drink and try to endure until we arrived.
But if I miscalculated, if I hurt someone…
I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Two, I could do what he offered and make some unsuspecting woodland creature my meal.
Our entire entourage would watch while I gave in to this monster inside me.
That left the third option.
It was the most logical. It didn’t risk either of our standings; no one would know. I couldn’t hurt Raphael. He was too strong for that.
But I hesitated. Biting him… it wouldn’t be an accident. Not like the last two times. If I did this, I was choosing it.
Raphael watched the silent decision play out on my face. Watched as I came to the only possible conclusion.
I tugged the velvet curtain down on either side. Guards flanked the carriage when the road allowed it.
Raphael made no comment.
I worried my lower lip, staring at him. He was just… there, watching me, waiting for me to make a move.
“Can I use your wrist?” I bartered.
“Neck.”
I frowned. “Wouldn’t the wrist be easier?”
“It might. But you’ll use my neck.”
“Why?” I pressed.
“Because when you take my blood, I want to listen to every swallow against my chest. And I’m enough of a bastard that those are my terms.” No trace of remorse crossed his face, but the bluntness just made him all the more beguiling.
“You want my blood, you’re not going to take it from as far away as possible and pretend it never happened.
You’re going to take it inside you and slake your thirst, and you’ll do it right from my throat where you can’t hide from what you are. ”
His red eyes blazed in challenge. I sucked in a breath, my fingers digging into the seat cushion.
“I’m not going to force you. I’m not going to push my hand against your lips for you to daintily bite. If you’re biting me, you’re going to come over here and take it.”
Something inside me stirred at his words. Not just the thirst. Something ravenous and desperate, a beast with its leash pulled taut.
“So, viper”—he unbuttoned one, two, three buttons of his shirt, the white column of his throat exposed—“do you want my blood or not?”
The leash snapped.
I surged forward. I did want his blood, and I was going to demand it.
The carriage was small, but now there was no distance, only the roar of need.
I braced my hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into his back.
Raphael tilted his head up, but I didn’t look at his eyes.
Not as I drew my knees up around him, caging him in. My gaze was fixed on his neck.
So hungry.
I scraped my teeth against his skin, instinctively finding my mark. There. I bit down.
Heaven.
It was nothing like the blood I choked down every day to survive.
My body didn’t rebel against the taste. It welcomed every drop.
I drank him greedily, pushing my fangs deeper in.
Raphael’s response was a groan. My lashes fluttered shut as I savored it.
The sound. The taste. The feel of life, of power, surging in my veins.
“That’s it,” he praised. “Drink. More.”
I was already taking my fifth, sixth, seventh pull. I didn’t stop. It wasn’t gentle. It certainly wasn’t ladylike.
And it was all rewarded.
How could something so monstrous feel so right?
“There. You know what blood you want. Whose blood you crave.” His voice was dark, dangerous, powerful. Just like his taste. There was no comparison for it, nothing I could describe it as except Raphael. Perfection. Something creaked, but I paid no heed.
Finally, the ravenous gnawing inside me eased. I regained control of myself and slid my fangs out. Blood dripped from the sides, but Raphael made no move to wipe it away.
“Lick it,” he said.
I lifted my head eyeing the twin wounds on his neck. My mark. “Huh?”
“Vampire saliva has healing properties. We lick our bites to seal the wound.”