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I cannot give him what he wants.

And now I know—Michal doesn’t want to speak with just any old ghost. No. He wants to speak with only one, and he wants to speak with her very badly. Though I don’t know why, I also don’t care.

“You interrupted nothing,” I lie.

“I could’ve sworn I heard you speaking.”

“I talk in my sleep.”

“Is that so?” Clasping his hands behind his back, he strolls around me with a quiet sort of self-possession. His eyes still study the ceiling. “Interesting. You didn’t utter a word when I tucked you in this morning.” My cheeks burn almost painfully at the revelation—at the thought of Michal anywhere near my sleeping form, my blankets andbed. “What?” he asks, a mocking curl to his lips. “No expression of gratitude?”

In my periphery, the rip between realms flutters slightly in a nonexistent breeze, its edges knitting together slowly.Healing, I realize in disbelief. As if I reallyama knife in the veil, as if my crossing created an actual wound between realms. I force myself to turn away. “For leaving me in a damp gown? Yes, Your Majesty, I ameternallygrateful for a chest cold and cough.”

He halts mid-step, casting me a curious, sidelong look. “Would you have preferred I undress you?”

“Excuseme—?” If possible, my cheeks flame hotter, but he only tilts his head, and that curl of his lips transforms into a fully-fledged smirk. “I— You are despicable,monsieur, to talk of such things. Of course I wouldn’t havepreferredthat you—you—”

“Undress you?” he finishes salaciously. “You need only ask, you know. It would be no hardship.”

“Stop looking at me like that,” I snap.

He feigns innocence, beginning to circle once more. “Like what?”

“Like I’m a piece ofmeat.”

“More like a fine wine.”

“I thought vampires didn’t crave human blood.”

He leans closer, cruelly amused, and his gaze dips to my throatonce more. He is trying to unsettle me. Iknowhe is trying to unsettle me, yet instinct still roots me in place. Instinct and—something else, something liquid and warm and not entirely unpleasant. Michal’s smile widens as if he knows. “There are exceptions to every rule, Célie.”

I can scent your adrenaline too, can see your pupils have dilated.

I curl my fists tighter, startled by the inexplicable and unwelcome urge to reach out and touch him. I blame it on his mystery. Michal is truly and thoroughly horrid, but... do the shadows beneath his eyes feel as cold as the rest of him? And what causes them? Exhaustion? Hunger? My eyes flick to his teeth, to the pointed tip of each fang. They look sharp enough to pierce skin with the slightest stroke of my thumb. Would it hurt?

As if reading my thoughts, he murmurs, “You’re too curious for your own good, pet.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Are you not wondering how it feels? The kiss of a vampire?”

Arielle’s moans rise, equally sharp, in the forefront of my mind, and my skin flushes hotter.

No. It didn’t seem to hurt.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Storming away from him, I realize too late that I’ve veered toward the bed instead of the fireplace.Mother of God.I grit my teeth, smoothing the sheets and straightening the blanket to make the error seem intentional. “As I said before, I am not interested in being bitten by anything on this island—especially you.”

Michal’s laughter is dark, rife with promise I don’t understand. “Of course.”

“Why are youhere? Do you have no other prisoners to provokethis evening?” I glare at him over my shoulder, adding, “Itisevening, correct? It’s impossible to tell, as apparently those shutters are integral to the structure of this godforsaken room.”

“It is seven o’clock in the evening.” He returns his attention to the ceiling. “And I came to ensure you survived,” he says wryly. “After your collapse at L’Ange de la Mort, I feared your heart might give out, and I cannot allow that. Though we made progress, our work remains unfinished.”

“Progress,” I repeat flatly.

“When did you develop nyctophobia?”

“How isthatrelevant?”