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“That seems likely.”

I’m going to lose consciousness soon. I know it as certainly as I knew Laurent would die. As if sensing the same, Michal slides a knife from his polished boot, dragging the blade along his wrist, and crimson blood wells upon white skin, stark and startling. I recoil instinctively as he lifts it to my mouth. “What are you—?” Though I try to scramble backward—up the stairs,away—he moves in a blur to sit on the tread above me, blocking my escape. His uninjured arm snakes around my shoulders, and he traps me in the cradle of his legs. His mouth tickles my hair.

“Drink.”

“I willnot—”

“My blood will heal you.”

“I—What?” I shake my head, convinced I misheard, only to pitch sideways as delirious pain bolts through my temples. “I can’t—I’m not going to—to drink your blood,” I finish weakly. Though Lou, Reid, and Beau have occasionally drunk Coco’s blood mixed with honey to heal themselves—a magic unique to Dames Rouges—this is not the same. This is not Coco; this isMichal, and the thought of consuming such a vital part of him,of taking him into my body, is unthinkable. Perverse. I watch the blood drip slowly down his forearm, repressing a shiver.Isn’t it?

“We have no healers on Requiem, Célie. If you don’t drink my blood, your bones could set incorrectly, and your wounds could become infected, resulting in a slow, tedious death—and that’s only if your head injury doesn’t kill you first.” Though I open my mouth to argue, to refuse, I fall back against his shoulder instead—the entire world tilting—and stare at his blood as the wound begins to close. I do not want to die. I’ve never wanted to die.

Jean Luc won’t like this.

“Going once...,” Michal says quietly, holding his wrist within my reach. “Going twice...”

At the very last second, I struggle to lean forward, to seize his wrist. I needn’t bother. The second he feels my intent, he presses it to my lips, and the strange, metallic taste of his blood explodes on my tongue. My head instantly reels with it. Stars burst in my eyes as the pain in my temples vanishes, along with the pain in my elbow. My ankle. My hands and chest and—and—

A small, shameless noise escapes my throat.

My eyelids clench shut at the sound, and I pull his arm closer, drinking deeper. With each pull of my mouth, delicious heat spikes through my belly until I’m near delirious with it, until I’m onfirewith it. When I press backward, into his chest, his thighs—desperate for his cool skin—his body shifts subtly in response, tightening like a snake about to strike. “Célie,” he warns, but I don’t hear him. I feel lighter than I have in weeks—in years—yet heavier too, aching and tingling andneedingsomething I cannot name.

Frustrated, I lave his skin with my tongue, and he curses, his voice lower and harsher than before.

Though he rises to his feet, I move with him, my mouth feverish upon his skin. Unable to stop. He pulls his arm away, murmuring, “Enough,” but I whirl to face him with a gasp, my cheeks flushed and my skin tight.Tootight. A pulse throbs deep in my belly as I stare at him. As he stares at me.

He still doesn’t breathe.

The sight should’ve frightened me. Though my injuries have healed, blood still drips down my chest, and Michal is a vampire. He can hear my heartbeat. He can scent my emotions. And when his eyes narrow, flicking almost reluctantly to my neckline, the sight doesn’t frighten me at all. No. It fills me with a strange, heady sense of power instead. Like if I don’t kiss him this very instant, I might combust.

So I stretch up to my toes and do just that.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Reunion

His hands descend on my shoulders before I can touch him, and he forces me down a step. Two. Through clenched teeth, he asks, “What did your note contain?”

“What note?” I ask breathlessly, struggling against his ironclad hold. My brow dips in confusion. Indespair. Though my hands still reach for his rigid chest, he keeps me firmly at arm’s length, so I settle for stroking his forearms instead. His elbows. His biceps. “Please touch me, Michal. Please.”

Those black eyes grow impossibly darker. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t actually want me to touch you. The blood of a vampire is a natural aphrodisiac—it makes transition easier. The older the vampire, the stronger its effect.” A bitter smile twists his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I am... very old, making my blood more powerful than most.” When he speaks again, his voice is cool, almost dispassionate, and his gaze slides away from me altogether. “Your body’s response will soon pass.”

The strange words pierce the thick haze of my thoughts.Aphrodisiac. Transition.Like a lightning strike, Jean Luc’s face follows, searing my mind’s eye with his disbelief, hisdisgustthat I could ever act so selfishly. I lift a trembling hand to my swollen lips. I can still taste Michal’s blood on my tongue.

Your body’s response will soon pass.

“No.” Exhaling the word on a whisper, I close my eyes in revulsion, unable to look at him for another second. Unable to look atme. My hands fall limply to my sides. “This—this didn’t happen. Thiscan’thave happened.”

“Say it again,” he says shortly. “Perhaps you’ll make it true.”

Releasing my shoulders, he stalks past me down the stairs, but even the slightest brush of his arm sends a fresh bolt of heat through my core. And shame. Hideous,horrifyingshame. It curdles in my stomach as I force my eyes open, staring down at the smooth, newly healed skin of my palms. Envisioning Jean Luc and broken Balisardas and Babette. I suck in a sharp breath.

Babette.