“Who’s to say mine isn’t as well?”

The barmaid came back, a spring in her step as she set several platters down on the table: a thick, creamy soup that smelled of herbs I hadn’t seen since I was a child; a hefty chicken leg, surrounded by roasted potatoes and colorful vegetables; and a hefty slice of pie. My eyes fixed on it. The sugar of the crust sparkled in the dark light. To my mortification, my stomach did growl at the sight.

Raphael smirked. He didn’t need to say anything to make his point.

“Anything else I can get you?” Once again, her attention was turned to Raphael, because of course it was.

“Nothing. We’re to be left alone for the rest of the evening, unless I call you over.” His red eyes lifted once more, and that same blank expression came over her face as she nodded. “My companion wants all my attention on her after all.”

I ignored the last teasing comment. My gaze was directed at my soup while the barmaid walked away. I fingered the small deck of cards in my pockets. “Have you done that to me?”

“I’ve certainly tried.” There was an unusual tinge of annoyance in Raphael’s tone. “Don’t look so shocked I’m admitting it. Whatever else I may be, I’m not a liar.”

“What do you mean tried?”

“I mean,” he drawled, “it seems my thrall doesn’t work on you.”

I looked up at him.

“But we were in Grey—” I bit my tongue to stop speaking. Just what I needed, to give him the idea. Puzzles were a problem for me. I always wanted to solve them, even if I was better off keeping my mouth shut.

His red eyes glowed as he looked at me. “Tell me about the nice boy you met, Samara.”

He was being childish. Perhaps it was better than something more nefarious to prove his point, but I ground my teeth all the same. Still, no vampire thrall compelled me to tell Raphael a word about Thomas, which was good, because I wasn’t sure what I would have been compelled to share. What he looked like? Or the fact he’d invited me off to the woods?

“See?” He shrugged. “Doesn’t work.”

“Is that common?” I asked. Maybe he was weak for a vampire. Because I certainly wasn’t strong for a human—I hadn’t even used the card yet. I didn’t want to waste the temporary effects, not while we were still days from Apante.

His expression shuttered. “Your soup is getting cold.”

So he wouldn’t lie—if I was to take the vampire at his word—but he was in no rush to answer my questions.

Still, in a weird way, he’d answered the most pressing question—how the thrall worked and if he could use it on me. Why tip his hand? Because I was easier to travel with if I wasn’t scared of his mind manipulation? But then, why not answer my other questions?

His pointed look at the soup had me lifting the spoon to my lips, as compelled as any thrall.

My questions fell away as creamy soup met my lips. By the third hell, it was so rich it was almost overpowering. Delicate layers of herbs rolled over my tongue in a symphony of flavor. Rosemary, thyme, garlic. I hadn’t tasted any of them in years. Rat soup was seasoned with sweat and spit. I shut my eyes, swallowing the soup down with a slight groan.

When I opened them, Raphael’s gaze was fixed on me. There was something new to his expression, something I had seen only a hint of once or twice, like when I ate the rabbit. I swallowed again, nothing but my own worries.

He parted his lips like he was considering saying something, but held back.

I certainly wasn’t going to ask. The single morsel of food had awakened my hunger, and I had to fight the urge to tip the bowl to my lips and drink it down before someone could take it away.

My mother’s many hours of training prevailed. I took another small sip to my lips. I was eating faster than she would’ve approved of, but, well, she wouldn’t have approved of me breaking bread with a vampire. And she was dead, so she couldn’t have an opinion.

From the soup, I moved to the roast dinner. I’d insisted I’d lost my appetite, but I made quick work of the plate, polishing off even the vegetables I’d disdained as a child.

My stomach cramped from the sudden influx of food. But still I eyed the dessert.

It would be stupid to eat it. Dessert would hardly sustain me on the rest of our trip. I might well lose all the food if I ate it.

But it was hard to look away. The crust was golden, beckoning me. I put my fork down with a slight clang, pushing the plate away.

We sat for a while as the food settled in me. We should leave, I realized distantly. We had the essentials we’d come for.

Raphael rolled his eyes at me. “Oh, just eat it.”

I flushed at the mocking gesture. “It’s fine. I don’t need it.”

“No one needs pie. But you’ve been making eyes at it since the barmaid brought it over. You want it.”

I did. I hated that Raphael saw it so easily.

“No. I don’t.” I pushed my palms onto the table and stood, leaving payment on the table. Raphael rose, and mercifully didn’t say another comment about the slice of pie. Even though I was full, the gluttonous part of me wanted to turn back and eat it. Dessert wasn’t a word that was even whispered in Greymere, the taste of sugar and sweets from childhood something found only in the cruelest dreams. How would reality compare? Was it as glorious as I remembered?

Raphael would know. And if there was anything worse than going without, it was others knowing that you wanted more.

“We’re just a few days’s walk from the city,” I told him as we left the tavern. With the cards I’d secured, our trip would be a bit easier.

“Oh, we won’t be walking.”

I frowned. “We won’t?”

“No. We’re going to steal some horses.”

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Chapter Ten

Raphael’s plan was simple: Find a couple of horses and take them. Enthrall anyone who dared protest.

Or kill them, he offered. If I’d “prefer.”

The tavern itself was our best bet, with a stable at the side. The town didn’t have a wide array of horses to steal from. This late, most locals had left for home and taken their mounts with them. In the tavern stable, only two horses remained.

One was a fine black stallion with broad shoulders. His ears flicked forward and back as Raphael strolled into the barn. Me, I followed after, scanning for any stable hand. It was late enough that whoever worked here had likely gone to sleep.

The other was an older horse. His eyes drooped, tail not so much as swishing as we walked by. It would be faster to walk than to ride the old mount.

“We should look for another,” I said quietly.

“And hope the one good horse is still here when we return? No. The one will suffice,” Raphael declared.

He moved into the stall like it was his own stable, drawing the tack from its resting spot and expertly strapping the gear to the horse. I watched awkwardly, shifting on my feet. He was so comfortable with it. Perhaps he’d been a stable hand before he turned vampire.

It doesn’t matter what he was before. He’s a monster now.

Proving my point, Raphael drew himself onto the horse with preternatural ease. He strode out of the stall and lowered a hand to me.

“Let’s go.”

My stomach twisted, this time not from the food. I braced my hands on the side of the horse, unsure how to lift myself. Fast as lightning, Raphael bent down, gripping me under the shoulders and hefting me in front of him.

And with that, we were off into the night.

It was impossible to settle into one spot. The fact there was only one horse meant I didn’t have to admit that I didn’t know how to ride. But it also meant we were so, so close.

A week ago, being so near to the vampire that my back hit his when I lost my balance would’ve had me in tears, vomiting. Now, I felt echoes of that fear, but I was forced to admit that the echoes were eased by the fact it was Raphael—the vampire who brought me breakfast, even if I had to cook it myself—and hadn’t forced himself on me once, not for blood, not for anything else.