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Cook. Obviously, it wasn’t the same cook as Greymere, but the moniker had me thinking of my time in Greymere. Of Cook serving out an unending sentence because no one cared enough to see justice done.

Despite the fact I was soaked and shivering, despite the fact I’d slept on the forest floor beside a vampire for several days, I wouldn’t trade my current fate for my old one. No matter how terrible the cost had been.

He flagged down the server and ordered for us. Food appeared a moment later. Enticing spices wafted over from the two plates, making me acutely aware of my hunger.

“So, Sam, you didn’t tell me you were headed this way.”

“You didn’t ask.” I smiled, hoping it was at least half as simple and charming as his was.

The dimple showed his approval. “Fair enough. I guess I was too distracted. Where are you headed?”

“Apante.”

“The City of Answers,” he mused, using the more common nickname. “What answers are you looking for?”

Whatever the vampire wants. Of course I couldn’t tell him that, so I made up a lie about seeking my fortune. He made a joke, and the conversation flowed easily while I devoured the lamb in front of me. Lamb had never been my favorite meat growing up, but gods, I’d once sworn when I got out of Greymere, I’d never be picky again. Food was for survival. I didn’t need more than that.

Distantly, I wondered what was taking Raphael so long. Thomas was talkative, and he didn’t notice as my mind wandered, and my responses stopped being full sentences and more a rotating sequence of nods andmhmms. A nice boy. That’s what he was, through and through. Even as inexperienced as I was, I could tell he was flirting. A nice boy was flirting with me. It was like I was watching it happen to someone else. Someone who had another life, who hadn’t seen the violence I had.

I tried to savor the attention, to put on the thought that I was in some way desirable. It fit like a pair of trousers fashioned from an old grain bag—too itchy, too close to the skin, too constricting.

I should have been charmed, but all I could think was I’d rather have eaten my meal in solitary silence.

“Let me get you something good for dessert.” Thomas was up and around the counter, ducking into the kitchen before I could protest.

For a brief moment, my mind flickered to the pie from yesterday. To my stubborn refusal while Raphael sat there. Well, maybe today Iwouldhave the pie.

But Thomas returned with just a pair of goblets. He seemed to consider both glasses for a second before carefully setting one in front of me.

“It’s a special dessert wine,” he explained with a gleam in his eye. “On the house, of course.”

I thanked him, though the truth was I didn’t much care for wine. I’d had it only as a small child, sampling from my mother’s cup. My impression from Nelson’s drinking was not favorable. I took a single sip to be polite and then set it down.

Thomas cast me a crestfallen look. His handsome face was made mulish with the expression, which was just a bit too exaggerated to be charming. “You don’t like it? It’s a, uh, specialty of the town I grew up in.”

The town, I recalled from his many tangents, was about a day’s journey away. “I’m not much for wine.”

“You’ll like it,” he insisted. “It’s a bit of an acquired taste, but everyone likes it once they finish their first glass.”

I squirmed, slightly uncomfortable with how pushy he was. It would be foolish to offend Thomas when he had been so kind. I just didn’t really want to drink the wine.

Wantsare secondary to needs, I reminded myself. Being rude to a current host wasn’t just rude, it was stupid. Drawing attention by being stubborn when we were already passing through late at night, when a vampire was in their midst, was foolish.

I lifted my drink back from the table and readied to take another sip.

The wine was snatched from my hands before it reached my lips.

I jerked back, straight into a hard—familiar—chest. Raphael had suddenly returned and now stood behind my seat. And he’d taken the dessert wine.

“My ward doesn’t have the constitution for this drink.”

I sputtered a protest, but the wine was already at Raphael’s lips. Vampires don’t drink. But Raphael took a sip all the same, watching Thomas over the rim of the glass. He grimaced.

“It’s foul.”

I wanted to bury my head in my hands at his rudeness, but it got worse. He dumped the wine behind the counter. I stared up at the vampire in horror. Although now he didn’t look like the vampire I’d come to know. His dark hair gleamed in the low light, his blue eyes fixed on Thomas as he leaned over, a chilling smile on his face.

The tips of Thomas’s ears flared bright red. Anger? Or embarrassment?