Текст книги "A Bargain So Bloody"

Автор книги: Vasilisa Drake

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“You did,” I remind him. “You said I was perfect.”

“This is true.”

Which part—that you said it, or that it’s true? “I shouldn’t have let you.”

“Because of the bond?”

I giggled. “No. Because of how it felt.”

It was a predator whose eyes pinned me in place, but for once I wasn’t scared. “And how was that, Samara?”

“Alive. Connected.” I shivered at the memory. “I thought it would be painful. Thought I’d die before I let a vampire bite me. But sometimes, when I lay in bed, I wonder if I’d die if I don’t get bitten again. If that’s the only way to feel so gloriously alive. My body ached in ways I’d never known possible, my skin felt tight. For the first time, I felt like I understood what it was to be a woman. I wanted you, Raphael. More than anything. I’d have given you anything.”

Raphael set me on the bed, gently, and took several steps back. “The bite sometimes makes humans… react, Samara. That’s all.”

I shook my head. “I’d never felt anything like that before.”

“Surely you’ve felt something like that. From a kiss, a caress.”

I laughed, a bit loud in the quiet of the room. “Raphael, when would I have ever kissed anyone? Do you think Nelson was the kind to whisper sweet nothings? That any in Greymere were?”

There was nothing human about the growl that left his mouth. He prowled closer. “Did they ever hurt you, Samara? Mark my words, I’ll go back and slaughter them all if you say so.”

“Not like that. Nelson was the worst, but even he never…” I trailed off, not wanting to let him haunt my evening any more. I’d never been assaulted, but it hadn’t been chivalry that kept me safe. “In all ways, I’m ignorant, Raphael.” I paused. “Ignorant… but curious.”

Feeling braver than I ever had before, I reached my hand out again, crossing the space between us. I ran the back of my hand down his chest. Beneath the fabric, I felt his muscles. Solid. Strong. Would his bare flesh feel the same? Raphael caught my wrist, pinning it against him.

“You can feel my emotions right now, can’t you?” I asked.

His face was strained. “I think you should sleep, Samara. You’re going to be exhausted tomorrow.”

“Then you can,” I said, ignoring his statement. “If you couldn’t, you’d deny it. If you can feel it, you know,” I said with relief. “I don’t need to tell you.” I didn’t need to admit how desperately I wanted Raphael in that moment. How I’d looked at him over and over, wanting, not even letting myself accept how badly I did.

Now here he was, tantalizingly close. The top of his shirt was unbuttoned, showing an expanse of hard muscle. I tilted my head back at Raphael, who stood right in front of the bed.

The desire brewing inside me was as heady a mixture as the ale. “Won’t you give this to me?”

A low sound shuddered through him. “No, dove. Not like this.”

He stepped back and I stood, stumbling into him. He caught me quickly, arms wrapped around me, steadying. I clung to the lapels of his shirt. “Don’t you want me?” I whimpered. Was I so undesirable, that even tossing myself at this male, he was repulsed?

“Samara…” His thumb stroked the side of my face. “If you tell me you want something with a clear head, anything in my power, it’s yours. But not tonight. Not when you would wake up hating me more than you already do.” He gently guided me back to the bed. My body protested, but I lacked the words to tell him he was wrong. Maybe because I knew he wasn’t. I wouldn’t find this courage again. It wasn’t even real courage, just borrowed from the intoxicating mix of attention and alcohol. A mix that let me look past the fact the one man I’d ever wondered about like this was the king of vampires. That let me ignore the fact I’d be leaving.

Suddenly, I was annoyed at Raphael. It was bad enough I’d trusted him to drink and now made a fool of myself. But what was my reward for being foolish? Shame, and a heated body that didn’t understand the denial.

“Sleep, little dove. Or you’ll regret it all in the morning.”

I harrumphed, crossing my arms over my chest. Then I rolled farther and farther until I reached the edge. Then I grabbed my pillow and rolled off the bed entirely.

“Samara,” Raphael said.

“I’m not sleeping up there,” I said petulantly.

Raphael leaned over the bed, looking down at me. The sight made me giggle. “Because I’m here?” he asked.

“No.”

Even drunk, I expected mockery. What kind of person couldn’t sleep in a bed? “I can’t sleep in this bed.”

He frowned. “I’ll get you another mattress.”

I shook my head. “I can’t sleep in any bed.”

“You slept in one at the cabin,” he pointed out.

True. It had been another world. With my back wrecked, there’d been no other option. And the cabin was different enough that it hadn’t stirred memories with the same viciousness. But here, the halls, the finery… despite being a world apart, it was all too similar. “I was lying in bed when they came. That night.” The night they’d come for Mother. Raphael’s body went still in my periphery, but I was lost to the memory.

“Traitors,” the guards had snarled when they barged through the chamber doors. The same guards I’d known all my life, who had smiled when I passed by. “Ungrateful whore.”

“I did try,” I added quickly, the words stumbling over each other as they left my mouth. “But I couldn’t sleep. Even in Greymere, I was in the habit of hiding myself somewhere different each night. I can’t sleep if I feel exposed.” In a bed, waiting for anyone to come in and grab me. Tears pricked my eyes, hating my weakness. Obviously, Raphael had known I was weak compared to him, but he had no idea just how pathetic I was. And here I was, telling him.

I braced for the revulsion, the derision.

He lifted up, disappearing from view. Leaving? No. Another pillow dropped to the floor, and he pushed it under the bed.

“Then we won’t sleep on the bed,” he announced.

“W-we?” I stammered.

He dropped down, sliding under the bed. The bed was elevated, enough that I could comfortably slip under each night and be hidden by the long, draping bedspread. Raphael, in contrast, filled the space. “Of course. I said I would watch over you, Samara. What would keep you safer than sleeping at my side?”

It was an overreach of logic, the kind of declaration that only made sense because Raphael said it with such arrogance, and the glasses of wine and ale had a way of muddling my mind.

And because I wanted it to be true.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I was warmer than usual. Eyes squeezed shut, I relished in it. Even though I took a blanket under the bed with me, it was still a bit cold and hard to rest, and I was eager to get out from under the bed each morning. But today, the warmth made it just a bit more comfortable, and I curled deeper under the blanket even as awareness tingled at the edges of my mind. There was the slightest thrumming behind my forehead I wanted to chase away with more sleep.

Except I wasn’t curling into the blanket.

The pulsing pain in my head was the least of the unpleasantness as my eyes snapped open, and I realized I wasn’t alone.

I was with Raphael.

Under my bed, rubbing my backside into him for comfort.

After making an advance on him last night.

And being summarily rebuffed.

Fire gods, if there’s any mercy, just turn me to ash now.

“I’d say good morning, but you know I don’t lie,” Raphael said, quiet laughter accenting the words.

I tried to reply, but all that came out was a groan. I tugged the pillow over my head.

“I feel like something an ogre threw up,” I whimpered. Why in the skies did people drink if in addition to making fools of themselves, they had to remember it and feel physical pain at the reminder?

“That’s to be expected when you try to keep up with Amalthea your first night out.”

“I’m never drinking again,” I vowed. Nothing good came of it.

“At least you tried and found out for yourself, rather than letting fear stop you.”

Right. I got to try drinking. But not the other things I’d attempted. No doubt he felt my shame this morning, beneath the general malaise. At least he was kind enough to pretend otherwise.

Still, Raphael was right. In some small way, I’d conquered my fears. And I’d only done it because I’d known he was there, watching over me.

“Thank you.” My reply was quiet, not just because the pillow muffled me. “And… thank you for staying.” Even if part of me wished he was gone and spared me the indignity of waking up remembering exactly how I’d propositioned the vampire king while waking up next to him.

“Of course, Samara.”

The only thing worse than getting up and facing the day would be lingering in bed, the humiliation of last night hanging over me. I got out from under the bed, pulling the blanket and pillow and fixing them askew on the bed so it would look like I’d been in it. After all these weeks, it was a rote habit.

“Why do you do that?” Raphael asked.

I rolled my eyes, then regretted it when it made my head throb. “So they won’t know.” Because it was one thing to be so afraid I slept under a bed and another to advertise it to a castle full of predators, including the maids who entered my room each day to make the bed. Shame swirled in my gut over what I’d confessed last night to Raphael. What kind of weak-willed child couldn’t even sleep in a bed?

It was harder to confess without the alcohol lubricating my words.

Maybe that’s why people drink. Despite the shame and the headache, it let them be honest.

I fled to the bathroom. The water was tepid and did little to ease the soreness that permeated my entire body. Amalthea was right, hot water really was superior. Not that this would be a day to taunt Demos. My feet wobbled when I got out and dressed. I pulled my hair back into a thick plait. It had turned wild from the night, and I didn’t have the energy to try to tame the knots. And because every time I pulled at the tangles, my headache compounded.

Hoping Raphael had finally left, I exited the washroom.

And there he was, appearing utterly relaxed as he sat on the settee. His legs were crossed as he spread out on the plush velvet, completely at home. Then again, the entire castle was his home. I was just staying here, for now. He thumbed through my notes.

“If you’re feeling even a fraction of what I am, you should tell me how to block the bond.” I was grateful his vampire hearing meant I didn’t have to speak too loudly, because even my own voice was painful.

“I have just the antidote, but you won’t accept it.” He lifted his wrist towards me. Right. Vampire blood. “I sent for Charlotte, and she offered that instead.” He pointed to a glass of putrid-looking liquid freshly set next to the bed.

My chest fluttered at the thoughtfulness of the gesture, even as when I lifted it to my lips, I had to fight to swallow it without spewing the liquid back in the cup. While I drank as quickly as my stomach would allow, Raphael leafed through my notes. I kept them tucked away, but not completely hidden.

“I’ve been making progress,” I assured him. The reminder of my purpose here compelled me to justify my progress. “It’s slow, but it will go faster once I get more familiar with the language.”

Raphael made a sound of acknowledgment, setting the papers aside. He seemed strangely disinterested in what I had to say. But wasn’t the whole point of me being here translating the book? I hid my frown. The puzzle pieces weren’t fitting together. Raphael wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble for something that was unimportant, surely. Last night, I’d trusted Raphael more than I had anyone in a very long time. And yet… things weren’t adding up. Something was being kept from me, I was certain.

“You’re right,” he said, interrupting my ruminations.

“Huh?”

“I will teach you how to block the bond. Meet me in my rooms at midnight tomorrow.”

Raphael swept out of the room, and I stared at his back for a long moment. Then my gaze swept to the clock on the mantel and realized I was tremendously late for practice.

I hurried down the halls, which were filled with servants, vampire and human alike. On reflex, I scanned for Titus, but just as with prior weeks, the spymaster was nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t fight the feeling I was being watched, but maybe that had more to do with the fact the vampire king was seen leaving my bedroom. I had no doubts vampires were as relentless gossips as humans. My mother would’ve been aghast. Moreso if she knew I’d offered myself to the male last night—and had been rebuffed. Her imaginary rebuke faded as I rushed as much as possible without resorting to sprinting.

When I opened the room to the training arena, Amalthea and Demos were already there. More than that, they were sparring. Unlike the practice sticks Demos and I used, they had real weapons, and they were fast. Demos wasn’t using his vampire speed, but he was still winning.

I watched for a moment. Amalthea often wore a serene, teasing expression, her round face cherubic. But in the heat of battle, she was fierce. I’d not noticed when we’d sparred, too focused on dodging her stave.

Now, she wore fighting leathers and a leaf-shaped blade about the length of her arm. Demos wore his standard black. His blade was similarly dark. Odd. It didn’t reflect light, as if it was painted. I’d never seen him with a weapon drawn. In fact, in many ways, despite knowing his status, I’d come to conceptualize him as a teacher, a friend.

Iademos was a warrior. A vampire warrior.

And then he won. The tip of his blade was at her throat, a hairsbreadth from cutting her. Amalthea dropped her arm in submission, but her expression was annoyed. They didn’t seem aware I was here.

“You’re slow today,” he said. “This sloppiness could get you killed.”

She moved the blade away with the back of her forearm. “We don’t all metabolize alcohol so quickly.”

“Amalthea, you’re being pathetic.”

Anger rolled in my belly, sudden and riotous. “Don’t say that to her,” I snapped.

Both heads turned to me in sync, eyes wide. I stepped into the training arena, my hands curling into fists. The sight of the vampire with his blade at my friend’s throat, browbeating her… Something foreign and monstrous in me roared.

“Apologize to her,” I snarled.

“Amalthea, I apologize,” Demos said immediately, not looking away from me.

Some of the anger inside me uncoiled, appeased.

Amalthea looked between us. “Sam, it’s okay. Really. You know how Demos is. And I give as good as I get.” She elbowed the vampire, but he was still looking at me.

I flushed. All at once, it was obvious I’d overreacted. “I’m sorry. I… I don’t feel right.” I tried to catalog my feelings and figure out where I’d gone wrong. Was it the fact Titus had reminded me how weak I was? The memories from last night? Or had something in me always been fragile, at the brink of breaking?

The uncertainty made my breaths come shallow.

Amalthea came over and ran her hand lightly over my arm. “It’s okay, Sam. No apology needed. Demos and I can get a little caustic, but we can try to tone it down.”

I shook my head. “No, no. Something came over me, but I’m fine now.” It was only a half-lie. The sudden black rage had passed, but I felt miles from fine. “You’re in training leathers,” I remarked, desperate to change the subject.

“Amalthea lost a bet last night, so she’s agreed to train with you,” Demos explained.

I wanted to ask the subject of the bet, but I still felt weird for snapping at Demos so I just accepted it with a nod. Demos began to walk us through a new series of drills with real blades, and I welcomed the distraction. It was nice to train with someone else, especially since Amalthea, even hungover, had better form than me. Demos worked with me like nothing had happened, the whole incident forgotten.

But it wasn’t. Something had changed in the way he watched me.

I wasn’t sure I liked it.

When I got back to my room, something was… off. It took me a moment to pinpoint what had changed: my bed. The spread was the same, the four post pillars identical, but the slightest wood frame peeked out from under the draped blanket. A note was on my bedside table.

Check the bottom right corner. —R

I did as instructed. Before, my bed had been elevated on four posts. Now, under the mattress, the wooden frame extended all the way to the ground. On the far right side, opposite the entryway, there was a small locking mechanism. I admired the elegance of it. The way it was set up, I wouldn’t have noticed it if Raphael hadn’t pointed it out. When I maneuvered the siding, the wooden panel dropped away, surprisingly lightweight.

That was the least of the marvels the bed now contained. Inside were two pillows and a properly fitted blanket. I pressed my palm into the blanket. More than that, Raphael had something done so the carpet under the bed was even softer. Inside was a small clock. I frowned, peering farther in.

Although the wood appeared solid from the outside, light was able to get through. I eased my body under. More than that, the carved base was strategically cut so I could see if anyone came into the room. Before, I’d kept the covers from the main bed pulled so I wouldn’t be seen if anyone came in, but like this I wouldn’t need to, and instead could feel secure that I wasn’t blind to anybody coming.

The bed compartment was a stunning feat of engineering. How was it possible it had all been done in a day?

A second note fell from one of the pillows: So you don’t need to take fresh bedding each night. See you tomorrow.

There was no possibility Raphael missed my wave of gratitude through our mental link. And though I liked my privacy… maybe that wasn’t the worst thing.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Thirty-Eight

I knocked on the door of Raphael’s chambers, then tapped my foot impatiently when I didn’t hear a response.

I’d never been to his chambers before; Raphael had never actually told me where his private quarters were. When I’d ask Amalthea, she’d burst out laughing.

“Surely you’re joking.”

Do I seem like I’m trying to surprise Raphael in bed? I wanted to retort. But just the thought made me flush. Besides, he’d rejected me. He didn’t want me. All the wine in the world wouldn’t convince me that was a good idea. “It’s where he said to meet him.”

“But… don’t you know where his rooms are?”

I shook my head. Wandering into the vampire king’s chambers wasn’t on my limited list of activities I was comfortable doing. “Why would I?”

I knocked again. When there was no answer, I cast a glance about the hallway. It was the time we’d agreed to meet.

I threw the door to his chambers open.

And blinked at the scene before me. Demos was in the room, dressed in his uniform, his arms crossed as he stood in front of Raphael, who was turned a quarter away from me.

Raphael was naked.

Well, he had a towel around his hips. His hair was damp, the water dripping from the white tips over his jawline. His chest was on full display and bore no sign of the whips at Greymere. His skin was unbroken, stretching over hard muscle. He was perched on the edge of a massive desk, his hands gripping into the wood, flexing the muscles of his arms.

My skin grew hot and tight when I realized I was interrupting. Gods, and I thought him and Amalthea…

“I’ll come back another time,” I squeaked.

Demos didn’t look at me as he said, “We can continue this conversation another time.”

“No. The matter is closed.” Raphael’s voice brooked no room for argument.

I was missing context, but clearly I was interrupting Vampire Kingdom business, not some rendezvous. I was curious, because of course I was, but I chased the emotion away. Their politics don’t concern you.

“You can’t just ignore this,” Demos said through clenched teeth.

“I’m not,” Raphael snapped. His gaze flashed towards me, then back at Demos as the blade of his tone dulled just a fraction. “What I’m doing is refusing to discuss it at this time and ordering you not to investigate further.”

Demos turned away from his king, not waiting for a proper dismissal, and brushed past me. His expression was cold and unfriendly, unlike the neutral expression I knew from our daily practice. He had too much restraint to slam the door given he was however-many hundreds of years old instead of a toddler, but the solid thud it shut with was enough for me to register how he felt about Raphael’s response to whatever argument.

“Good evening to you,” he drawled.

“Don’t ‘good evening’ me,” I blubbered. “You’re indecent!”

He arched a brow at me, making no move to cover himself. “I’m not the one who barged in.”

“You told me to meet you in your chambers at this time,” I reminded him. “And I knocked.”

Raphael shrugged, unrepentant. His bare shoulders really shouldn’t look that good doing something as mundane as shrugging, but I watched every flex of his muscles against my will. “Demos caught me while I was bathing. No sense of timing with that one.” He gave a what-can-you-do sigh that was distinctly un-kingly as he brushed his wet hair back with one hand.

“You have preternatural speed. You could dress in seconds.” I hoped the annoyance in my tone would disguise the fact I was having a very hard time not looking at Raphael like this.

“What can I say? I like to take my time.” But he did push off the desk and cross the room, grabbing some dark clothing and disappearing into another room. He did not, however, shut the door.

I worked very hard not to think about Raphael dressing in the next room, and studied his chambers. They were similar to my own: a sitting room and office, with a grand desk that would have been more impressive if it wasn’t covered in mountains of parchment. The door where he’d disappeared was likely the washroom, and another shut door that was certainly his sleeping quarters. The decorations were different from my own, darker colors, less ornamentation but still luxurious.

Raphael reappeared, mercifully clothed. Kind of. His hair was still wet, skewed in a half-dozen directions like he’d shook it in a towel. His clothing was simply a pair of woven charcoal-gray slacks and a deep mauve silk shirt that was only partly buttoned. Different from his usual black. I studied him for a heartbeat too long before he cleared his throat.

Oh. Right. I was annoyed at him. It took a second to recall the emotions that had me pounding on the door, but once I did, I was seething all over.

“You put me next door to you?” I demanded.

“Finished looking and straight to business,” he said mildly.

I ignored the remark. “How did I not know you were stationed across the hall?”

“Perhaps you simply aren’t overly observant,” he offered.

I didn’t exactly patrol the hallways, but that wasn’t enough to convince me. If I didn’t know, it was because he didn’t want me to know. All these weeks, and I hadn’t seen him enter or leave once. The bastard had offered to walk me to my rooms on more than one occasion.

“Why am I sleeping across from you, Raphael? You know what people are going to think,” I hissed.

Raphael drew closer from across the room, until he was right in front of me. There was something lethal about him in this state, half-dressed, hair still wet. And yet his red eyes were utterly focused on me. “What are they going to think, dove?”

Was he going to make me spell it out? “That I—that you—we—ergh!” I was too flustered to get the words out. Kings used the chambers near them for favored mistresses. It would seem like I was placed near him to meet his physical needs.

By the smirk that threatened the left corner of his lips, he knew exactly what I was referring to. He just enjoyed torturing me.

“You know exactly what they’re going to think,” I groused.

Raphael cocked a brow. “I’m not in the habit of letting gossip dictate my actions. Besides, do you really care what a bunch of vampires think of your sexual proclivities?”

Sexual proclivities. If a pit straight to the second hell could open in the floor then and there, I’d prostrate myself in thanks to the god of circles himself.

“You could have put me near Amalthea,” I sputtered.

“You’re safest near me.” He took a step closer. “You’re my Chosen, Samara. Or at least you are in their eyes, because that’s what keeps you safe in my kingdom.”

My understanding of being one of his Chosen only meant, for vampire society, I was off limits for anyone but Raphael to drink from. If that was true, there was no reason for me to have chambers across from him.

Not unless there was more to the title than that.

My cheeks heated. At once, the image of Raphael’s undressed body arose, coupled with the thought of what others in the kingdom thought we’d be doing with such proximity.

And he’d let them think that!

“You’re frustrated,” Raphael remarked.

I tried to bite down on the emotion, but it was a lot easier to contort your face than your emotions. “This is why I need you to help me block the link.”

“As I’ve told you, you wear every emotion on your face. Anyone who knows you could figure that out.”

Anyone who knows me. For a long time, there’d been no one like that. Now, it seemed, I had a vampire who could read me as easily as a book. I couldn’t be sure how I felt about that, mainly because I disliked it less than I was supposed to.

Raphael moved back behind his desk, putting some distance between us. “Join me.”

I followed him and sank into one of the plush leather seats on the other side of the table. I gestured to the stacks of letters and missives. “Don’t you have others who could take care of this for you?”

Raphael gave the piles a rueful smile. “Most of it, I delegate. But some things still require me to handle personally—though in six hundred years I’ve never developed an affinity for paperwork.”

I could make out the familiar scrawl of the common tongue. Having gone a decade without reading or writing, my grasp was tenuous, but returning more each day as I studied Old Runyk and read the books Amalthea gave me. Or at least, the ones worthy of time.

“How much do you know about mental magic?” Raphael asked.

“I’m a void, so I’d say hardly anything.”

Raphael steepled his fingers on the wood. “It’s like this: With most magic, there’s a physical manifestation that witches focus on. With mental magic, telepaths, truth-seekers, and similar, you instead have to focus on quieting your mind and seeing the magic there.”

“But I’m not a witch,” I reminded him.

“You’ll be able to do this,” he said with conviction. “It simply takes practice. The principle is the same as with other mental magic. Imagine in your mind a barrier around your thoughts. As though they’re foiled in cursed copper, repelling me. Take one emotion and concentrate on stirring it, then hiding it from me.”

It was impossible to concentrate while Raphael looked at me so I shut my eyes. I recalled the frustration from earlier and imagined winding it into a tight ball and covering it in glinting plates of copper. I drew a deep breath, trying to solidify the mental wall. It felt a bit silly, but I wanted my privacy, so I used all my concentration to try to follow Raphael’s instructions.

“Frustration. You’re trying too hard,” he remarked.

“Isn’t the entire point to practice?”

“Not if you want me to be blocked from your emotions throughout the day. Like this, you can try to hide specific feelings, but you’re bound to slip. Try again.”

I blew out a breath, focusing. This time, I picked something else—the shame that lingered over how I’d snapped at Demos. This time, instead of bundling it tight and trying to press it together, I let myself feel it but imagined a blanket of copper over it.

“Better,” Raphael remarked. “I can feel it, but only if I try to dig into your mind.”

Better. So we tried again. And again. It was difficult to practice something when you’re supposed to make it effortless, and I had no way to know if it was working unless Raphael told me. Still, with every one-word-approval, I grew more confident that I could do this.

Time flew by. Surely Raphael had better things to do, but he didn’t rush me, practicing until finally I slumped in the chair, a throbbing headache brewing between my brows.

I gave him a tired grin. “Now you won’t have to deal with all my nuisance emotions.”

Raphael didn’t return it. “I’ve never minded, Samara. Not once.”

When he said things like that, it got hard to look at him again. He got up and moved to a decanter across the room, pouring bright red liquid into a crystal glass. It wasn’t the same dark shade the blood mead I’d seen other vampires drink. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

A morbid question hit me. “Is it… good like that? Just at room temperature.”

He set the glass down and arched a brow at me. “I’m surprised you’re asking that.”

I was too. A while ago, such a question would have been inconceivable. Just the thought of a vampire drinking blood was enough to make panic seize me. But with Raphael… there was something I wanted to trust. And I was curious. So I pulled a page from his book and waited in silence until he answered.

“It’s not, which is why most vampires exclusively take a source directly. This is little better than animal blood for me.”

I frowned. “What if you heated it over a fire?”

Raphael barked a laugh, as if I’d made a joke. I’d been completely serious. “That would hardly make it better. There’s more to blood-taking than the temperature of it. I’m afraid if I elaborated, you’d run screaming from my room.”

I snorted. “Yes, run all the way across the hall to my room next door.”

“See if this is more to your taste.” He reached around and picked up a covered tray I’d failed to notice. The polished silver gleamed in the torchlight. I moved away from the piles of important papers and took a seat on the couch, behind a low table. Raphael set the tray in front of me and lifted the lid.

A single pie occupied the tray, still fresh from the oven.

“You keep pie in your room?”

“Only when I know you’ll be here.” Raphael didn’t look at me as he said it, and it was good, because there was nothing I could do to hide the blush that coated my cheeks or cover the little thrill that went through me.

“Thank you,” I murmured, lifting the fork from the tray to break the crust. It was utterly decadent, fresh-baked and sugar-filled. The tartness on my tongue was vivid, and I swallowed with pleasure. There was little ladylike in how I ate—not that Raphael complained. I devoured the pie and set the tray down, a satisfied hand on my bulging stomach.