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My heart plummets. Though I open my mouth to tell her exactly what happened, to explain, she pushes Dimitri from the room before I can force out the words. Because—my gaze driftsback to Michal’s ruined face, to the bloodstains that cradle his body—and my hand slackens upon the knife. He wouldn’t have been overpowered at all if not for me. “You’re an idiot,” I tell him, lifting his head into my lap. “Her tea wouldn’t have hurtme.”

Except, of course, that it could’ve.

She spiked it with her blood, and if Michal hadn’t turned, it might’ve been my skin on fire instead of his. Had he smelled it? The poison? If so, why onearthhad he shielded me? I may be a Bride, yes, and his only connection to Mila, but his sister already refused to help him—and he wouldn’t haveneededher help if he’d captured Babette instead. “An idiot,” I repeat thickly, but my treacherous chest expands all the same.

Taking a deep breath, I draw the tip of the golden pin across my wrist.

Blood wells instantly in its wake, shocking and bright even in the darkness, and I wince. How many times have I seen Coco and Lou draw their own blood? Neither ever said how much itstings. Still, I clench my hand in a fist, willing the blood to flow thicker. Faster. Bracing myself for the flood of sensation to come. I don’t think it’ll hurt—Arielle hadn’t moaned inpain—yet trepidation still tightens my throat. This is another line, and I’m about to cross it.

He won’t last until nightfall.

Dropping the pin and seizing my knife, I lower my wrist to his mouth.

When he doesn’t move, I force his lips apart and push the blood deeper onto his tongue. “Come on, Michal.” I tighten my fist again and lean closer, pulling him farther up my lap. Searching for any sign of life. The dart of an eye beneath a lid or the twitchof a finger. Nothing happens. Could Odessa have overestimated how long he had left? Frowning, I reject the thought quickly. The vampires in the aviary—they’d sort of shriveled and aged when Michal killed them, and he remains perfect except for his injuries. I rock him slightly. “Come on, Michal. Drink the blood and wake up. Wake up, wake up, wakeup—”

His hand seizes my wrist.

Gasping at the sudden pressure, I resist the urge to pull away, even as twin pricks of pain flare, as his teeth sink into my skin. “Oh.” My eyes widen when his second hand joins the first. He pulls me closer, bites down harder, and it—it definitely hurts now. “Michal.” I push at his head weakly, hesitating when the burns on his face begin to heal. The blisters fading, vanishing into cool alabaster skin. “Michal—”

His eyes snap open then—black and empty and wholly unfamiliar—and the instant they connect with mine, the throbbing pain in my wrist dissolves into liquid warmth.Oh God.My knife clatters to the floor as a moan rises to my lips, and his mouth pulls harder at the sound. My muscles clench convulsively in response. My hips roll forward. In a smooth, almost languorous movement, he turns in my lap, yanking my legs straight with one arm and pressing me into the floor, climbing slowly over my body.

“M-Michal—”

Breath low and uneven, he breaks his latch on my wrist to gaze down at me intently. “Célie.”

My blood stains his mouth brilliant scarlet. It streams down my hand and mixes with his upon the floor. With a contented sigh, he nuzzles the crook of my shoulder, tasting my skin there too. His lips skim my frantic pulse until I crane my neck upward, until Iarch against him, into him, desperate to relieve this great pulsingneedinside of me.

If he doesn’t touch me soon,reallytouch me, I think I might die. “Michal, please,please—”

I scrabble at his back, unable to stop, and at the hitch in my voice, he pulls back to watch me once more, fascinated. A sob tears from my throat. Though his eyes remain depthless and strange, he brings my wrist to his mouth, kissing it gently and murmuring, “Don’t cry, moje sunce. Never cry.”

Even if I understood, I couldn’t answer him. I can’t speak. I can’t even remember my ownname.

Surging upward to kiss him, I crush his lips against mine, and his mouth is hot and cold all at once—and everywhere. He iseverywhere. His hips push into mine, his teeth catch my bottom lip, and his hands cradle my face, my throat, my shoulders, trailing downward until I break away, writhing and gasping for breath. Something shifts in his eyes in response. With a low, possessive rumble in his chest—I feel it all the way to my toes—he buries his teeth in my throat.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Saint Célie

White bursts like stars in my vision. Bright. Blinding. I can no longer see anything, can no longer breathe at all. I am only sensation—hot and searing as his palm slides up the smooth skin of my thigh. The stars quickly fade with each pull of his mouth, however, and darkness spreads like a cooling balm across the edge of my vision. I sigh in relief. In contentment. Arching into him once more, I slide a hand through his silky hair before letting it fall to the ground beside me. It nudges something cold. Hard.

You think you can stop him?Though I frown at the intrusive thought, it dances away from me, replaced by one much slower and sleepier. Much easier to catch.You won’twantto stop him, Célie.

Another moan rises to my lips in response.

Above me, Michal stiffens at the sound, and he releases my leg like I’ve burned him. Rearing backward—his knees locked on either side of me—he blinks rapidly. For a split second, confusion shines raw and clear in his black eyes. Disbelief. Shock. Though I smile in reassurance, my mind remains pleasantly muddled, and his gaze drops to my throat before I can think to stop him. His face contorts in revulsion.

My smile falters slightly. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” His own throat works as if he cannot bring himself tospeak. He lifts his hands as if frightened to touch me. “Did I—? Tell me I didn’t force—”

Realization dawns two seconds too slow, and my smile vanishes completely as reality crashes back over my head.

“Oh my goodness, no!No.You didn’t force me to do anything. I—Ivolunteered.” Though I clap a hand over the wound to hide it from sight, it does little to mitigate the damage, and I couldn’t possibly hide all the blood anyway. It still shines slick and dark upon my dress. It stains his hands, my skin, the floor all around us, and—and the room starts to spin as I look at it all. His expression darkens as he too takes in the scene.

“How—how areyou, though?” I ask quickly, pushing upright on my elbow. The movement sends the silver knife spinning, and I cringe as Michal tracks its path across the room. “Are you feeling better? If you don’t mind me saying, you looked really bad there for a moment. But whatamI saying? Of course you did. Babette must’ve stabbed you a dozen times—”

But Michal is regaining his bearings now. His eyes begin to shutter, and he struggles to regain control of his features, to force them back into that horrid, inscrutable mask. As if I haven’t spoken at all, he wrenches my hand from my throat, which unfortunately reveals the bite mark on my wrist. “It’s nothing,” I say hastily, tugging my sleeve down over the wound. “It didn’t h-hurt either. You never lost restraint.”