That position. Where Titus had betrayed me, poisoned and stabbed me when I’d refused to kill Raphael. Afterconspiringto do just that. I wasn’t sure what to say now. How much did he know?
It was Raphael who stepped away. My emotions must have been plain again on my face, or my mental shields no longer worked, because he just sighed.
“We will be discussing how those events came to transpire,” he warned. “But for now, as your sire, it’s my duty to see you through these changes.”
“Sire?”I exclaimed. My fangs sliced into my lower lip, puncturing it. I flushed. Embarrassment hit me like a blow. Gods, was this going to happen over and over? I was cursed not just to be a vampire, but one who couldn’t speak without cutting myself on my fangs? I clamped a hand over my mouth as if I could hide the evidence.
“Don’t be ashamed of them,” Raphael said, voice soft once more, gentle even.
“Ashamed?” I said behind my palm. “They mark me as a monster.” I spoke slowly, trying to avoid hurting myself again. Yet the pain had faded almost instantly—vampire healing. No doubt strengthened by his blood.
Raphael came closer. “You know as well as I do monsters don’t need fangs.”
I flinched. Nelson, who had delighted in tormenting me. Devoin, who pushed me into that sadistic initiation. Titus, who had been the one to orchestrate events, brutally murdering the donor girl to push me along with his plans.
“Show me,” he instructed, lifting a hand to my face again.
I shut my eyes and parted my lips on reflex. Gods, his touch felt good. After days and days with nothing but stone and dirt, touch was intoxicating. He traced his finger around my lips, his thumb pressing lightly against the sharp point.
“They’re lovely.”
A bolt of desire hit me low in the core as his words caressed me. Just a few syllables, a brief touch, and my body ached. I wanted to lean into his touch, to hoard it.
No. Anger. Remember your anger.
I pulled back.
“Everything feels like . . . too much.” That was the easiest phrase for me to get out. Too much of everything. Anger, yes. I wanted the anger. But I couldn’t hold on to it, not when guilt, embarrassment, lust, and revulsion all took their turns with me.
Raphael’s expression shuttered. “It’ll be worse because you waited so long to drink and complete the transformation. Your emotions will be heightened. You’ll also need to stay near me.”
I balked. “What? For how long? How near?”
Raphael shrugged. “It’s hard to say precisely. I haven’t turned another in several centuries, and that was an unusual circumstance.”
So it was true, what Demos had said when I last saw the general—before I’d managed to compel him to leave, marking myself as the necromancer. I fought against the surge of fear that came at that thought. If they discovered what I was . . .
“Your emotions will become easier to regulate once you’re feeding regularly and acclimate,” he continued. “The nearness . . . for fledglings, it can be a matter of days or weeks. Sometimes months.”
“Months?”I couldn’t risk months like this.
He arched a brow at me. “In the context of the next centuries that now lay at your feet, it’s not so long. But it’s unlikely. You’ll be strong as a vampire. I turned you, after all.” There was no arrogance in his explanation, simple facts.
“How near?” I pressed.
Raphael shrugged again.
I decided it couldn’t be that bad. I hadn’t been near my “sire” since I’d been turned and hadn’t noticed anything.
“There are other considerations for fledglings,” he said.
I sighed. I wanted to keep fighting that he never should have done this to me, but this was the reality I lived in. I was a vampire now.
But I’d discovered I was also a witch—not any witch, but the necromancer, the one creature even the vampires feared. A creature they would kill if they discovered one in their midst.
That meant I needed to know what my limitations were. Needed a way out of this bond now. I held my mental shields strong and asked, “What considerations?”
Raphael glanced away. I wasn’t sure where he was looking since there was nothing to see in the windowless cell.
