Page 106 of The Scarlet Veil

“Er—no.” I shake my head apologetically. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t actually work here, monsieur.”

The witch’s smile slips. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t work here. This dress—it—”

“—is crimson in Les Abysses,” he finishes, scowling now. “As you stand alone in the pit, I can only assume you seek companionship.” A dark pause. “Unless witches are somehow offensive to you? Is that what this is, Madame Toussaint?”

“No,no, not at all! This dress”—I glare at Michal in accusation, and he gazes right back, completely at ease—“was a very poor joke, and I apologize for any misunderstanding it caused.”

“Humph.” Though the witch’s eyes narrow, his face relaxes slightly after hearing the earnestness of my words, and he edges closer to try again. “In that case... are yousureI might not persuade you to leave your companion for the remainder of the morning? I promise you will not regret it.”

NowIresist the urge to scowl. Apparently, he didn’t hear the part whereI don’t work here, or else he’s conveniently forgotten inthe last thirty seconds. Grudgingly, I look again to Michal, who has once more, somehow, become the lesser of two evils. Enormously entertained, he suppresses a smirk—still reclining against the settee—and in his black eyes, I see my own reflection snapping,You are not my friend, Michal Vasiliev.

Perfect.

Exhaling hard through my nose, I say, “My apologies, monsieur, for not explaining properly”—the witch leans forward eagerly—“but I’ve already made an appointment withthisgentleman.” I drop stiffly to the settee beside Michal and force a would-be convincing smile. The witch still eyes the space between us in suspicion. Scooting a bit closer, I give Michal’s knee an awkward pat. “I shall be spending the rest of the morning with—with him.”

“So leave,” Michal tells the witch coolly.

For a second, it looks as if the witch might argue, but with one last disgruntled look in our direction, he turns and stalks away. I remove my hand from Michal’s knee at once. “I think I’m going to kill you,” I say pleasantly.

“I think I might enjoy it,” Michal says as another patron—this one a scaled creature with round, glassy eyes—approaches. When she asks for my name, my hand darts back to Michal’s knee. When she asks if I’ll join her by the fire, it creeps higher, clutching his thigh for dear life. When she brazenly asks for a kiss, I crawl straight into Michal’s lap, and he shakes with laughter underneath me.

“You areinsufferable,” I whisper as the woman sighs and slinks away. I brace my shoulder against his chest, unable to look at him, as this is quite possibly the most humiliating moment of my life.And yet—as absolutelyrevoltingas it is to admit—he did tell me to wear green. “Do you mind if I just—er, sit here until Pennelope finishes her appointment?” Then, unable to keep a note of desperation from my voice— “HasPennelope finished her appointment?”

Michal’s laughter gradually subsides. “No.”

Damnit.

I sit there for a moment—trying not to notice the chill of his skin through my gown—before he shifts slightly, his free hand sliding around my back. “We’re starting to draw attention.”

I cast a panicked glance around, and—sure enough—more than one pair of eyes has settled upon us. Perhaps because I’m human, or perhaps because we’re not locked in passionate embrace like all the other couples. Instinctively, I press my cheek into Michal’s shoulder, praying my hair hides my face. It’ll be a miracle if I leave this place unrecognized. My stomach plunges as my mind plays out the consequences: Chasseurs swarming, Jean Luc shouting, Frederic seizing my arm—

“Would it be horribly rude for you to interrupt Pennelope?” I ask quickly.

Would it really be so terrible to see Jean Luc again?

“No one here will report you to the huntsmen, Célie.”

“A hundred thousand couronnes is a lot of money, Michal.”

I feel rather than hear his low rumble of agreement, and his arm—it tightens subtly around me, angling my face further into his chest.Shielding me, I realize with a start. “Loup garou are territorial by nature, occasionally aggressive, and he could perceive it as an insult if I interrupt. He could attack.” Instantly, I envision the enormous loup garou charging Michal, who stands still andsilent, waiting, before tearing him in half. “Yes,” Michal says, correctly interpreting my shudder. “I doubt anyone here would help us after that.”

My throat tightens at our distinct lack of options. “So... we wait.”

“So we wait.”

It is the longest hour of my life.

Never before have I been so aware of a man’s proximity—of his hard thighs beneath mine or his cool hand on my spine. I try not to think about either, try not to acknowledge the way my heartbeat slowly descends to my belly. The cries of pleasure all around us do little to help the situation. If this is how they indulge in public, I cannot imagine what happens in the courtesans’ private rooms... unless the exhibition makes itbetterfor some? I squirm a little at the thought, still flushed and restless, until the hand on my back seizes a lock of my hair and tugs. Hard. I gasp and pull away to face him. “What was that for?”

“Stay still.”

“Why?” I jerk my head toward Pennelope, who moans in time with the werewolf. “Sheisn’t staying still.”

His fingers wrap more firmly around my hair, and he pulls harder, tilting my face upward and baring my throat. His eyes glint like shards of glass as he holds my gaze. “Exactly.” When I open my mouth to tell himexactlywhere he can put his arrogance, he flexes his hips against me, and I nearly choke on the words. Something—somethinghardpresses against my leg. “Shall we do what they’re doing? Is that what you want?”

Heat floods my cheeks, but I don’t answer. I don’tneedto answer. Of course I don’t need to answer, and of course I don’twantto—