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“Again, Samara, relax. I have no intention of killing you because of the bond. The others… it’s irritating having your mind crowded by others. It’s a power that’s driven lesser vampires to madness.”

“You shouldn’t have had anything to drink from me if it was such a burden,” I hissed. My anger was borne of fear. Raphael might not be lying right now, but he could change his mind.

He arched a single white brow at me. “You’ll recall I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“So you wouldn’t drink from me again, given the chance?”

“It hardly matters, dove. Once is all it takes to forge the link.”

That wasn’t an answer. Which with Raphael, was an answer. Yes, he’d drink from me if there was an invitation. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Disgusted? That’s what my brain said my reaction should be. But talking of the bite made me recall exactly how it had felt, something I’d worked hard to forget. If I asked him tobite me, would he?

Ask him?I was losing my mind. I didn’t know how much he could tell from the mental link, but by the curious stare he was giving me, it was far too much.

“How can we break the bond?” I asked. “I haven’t come across any answers in this.”Yet.

He skimmed the title once more and then—did he just roll his eyes? “You won’t find such an answer in that book. The bond is permanent.”

Great. “And what if my emotions annoy you?”Will you kill me then?

Raphael appeared unconcerned with the possibility. “You don’t need to worry over such a thing.”

“What if there was a way to block you from my feelings?” I pressed. “This book mentions mental shielding, but it offers no details.”

“There’s no need,” he insisted.

Because if I ever bothered him, hewouldkill me. Just like how he’d killed Thomas. Because he wanted to. “Do you know how to do it?”

He gave a beleaguered sigh. “I’ve just told you there’s no need. Why do you belabor the point, dove?”

Because I know by the way you’re avoiding the question, it means yes, you do. “If you can truly feel my emotions, then you must know I’m worried you’re going to change your mind about being shackled to my human grievances for the rest of my natural life.”

“I can feel you, Samara.” He turned fully to me now, his gaze pinning me. “I feel it all, but as Itold you, your emotions are blatant when I’m near you. You’re worried, yes, and curious about this puzzle. I feel it in my chest the same way I can hear your own heart racing now, the way you swallow to clear your throat to levy another argument.”

My heart was racing. Part of it was the worry that Raphael would kill me to end the bond, but that was distant to the pounding in my chest I felt as he looked at me. We were scant inches apart now. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, his neck exposed in vampire fashion. His arm was braced along the back of the couch, fingers close enough to graze my shoulders by accident when he twitched. Not that I’d noticed the vampire twitching before. I was more aware of each brush of those fingers than any lingering cramps.

I leaned away, looked away. Forced myself to believe that my heart was racing only out of self-preservation, because this was feeling more like self-destruction.

“Train me. Or at least tell me how, and I can practice on my own.”

He looked at me, examining not just my face but my whole person. As if weighing something.

Then, simply: “No.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Better,” Demos said. “Again.”

I nodded and lunged for the training dummy again. It had been three weeks since I’d had my cycle. I’d reluctantly rested, as instructed, and the moment Charlotte cleared me to resume exercise I’d thrown myself into it with renewed vigor. I was determined to train my body, especially since Raphael categorically refused to work with me on the mental training.

It’s a safety precaution, he’d said.It’s better for me to know if you’re in pain or afraid.

I didn’t agree. It was better for my fears to be my own, not exposed to a vampire who might tire of them at any moment. Which was why when I stabbed the trainingdummy for the twentieth time that morning, I was picturing a certain vampire king.

“Sam, you keep that up and the poor thing won’t be able to have any training-bag-children,” Amalthea called from the sidelines after I landed a rather low blow.

I took that as praise and readied for another swipe. I was so, so tired of being weak. I was getting stronger, physically at least. Amalthea had gifted me new training leathers just last week, after my body no longer fit comfortably into the old ones. My ribs were covered in a layer of fat and muscle, my fists no longer shaking as the punches lacked any weight. But even as I viciously attacked the training dummy, I knew the anger that fueled me was simply a cover for fear. An inanimate opponent was one thing. A bigger, stronger opponent was another.

The shame of how easily Titus had disarmed me lingered.