Rafe was shocked by Delilah’s suggestion, and his surprise probably showed. “No.”
Her eyes darkened and he glimpsed that well-earned hostility. “Because I’m just a shade?”
“No, no, that’s not it. I don’t know what’s on my palm...”
“That’s the point.” Delilah rose to follow him, her lips set in such a firm line that Rafe doubted he could change her mind. In a way, it had been easier when she was sedated. In another, he appreciated that she was clever.
“You don’t know who wiped your memory or who controls your palm.” she insisted. “I need to know what you know before we go farther.”
“No.” The idea filled Rafe with horror. She had no tattoo and a chance for life as a norm and she wanted to risk infection from his unruly palm and its subroutines. It was out of the question.
He realized w
