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Enough time to feed on a human, Dame Blanche, Dame Rouge, melusine, and loup garou?

Beneath Michal’s black stare, I don’t dare voice my suspicion—not after Mila—but there it is, growing stronger with each tick of his maiden clock.

Dimitri has bloodlust.

Dimitri was the last person with Mila before she died.

Though Mila claims vampires only feed on other vampiresin strictly nonfamilial situations—whateverthatmeans—would Dimitri know who he fed upon in the throes of his bloodlust? Michal himself just said vampires with the affliction often lose consciousness, so it stands to reason that he wouldn’t.

Dimitri is an addict.Michal’s ominous words drift back to me on a chilling whisper.He has thought of nothing but your blood since he made your acquaintance yesterday. That lovely throat has become his obsession.

Mila’s voice soon joins.At the heart of it all is a figure. A man.

Grief shrouds his face.

He needs your blood, Célie.

A shiver skitters down my spine, and I sit rigid in my seat, clenching my hands in my skirt.Does Dimitri know I’m a Bride?But—no. Michal didn’t know until Mila told him earlier, and he certainly won’t be sharing that information with his estranged cousin any time soon. I relax a little, exhaling soft. For now, my secret is safe.

“And what do you know of love, Célie Tremblay?” Michal asks softly. I startle at the question, returning to the room with an unpleasant lurch. Nothing good ever comes when Michal uses that voice. Indeed, a cool, calculating gleam has entered his eyes, and without warning, he crosses to his desk. When he sets his empty tumbler upon it with a decisiveclink, I recoil slightly in my seat. “Humans always speak as if they’re experts on the subject, but in my experience, nothing is so fickle as the human heart.” In a blur of movement, he opens the top drawer, clicks something within, and withdraws—

My heart plummets to the floor.

He withdraws my engagement ring.

It sparkles between us in the firelight like a thousand tiny suns,bright and pure and eternal, and my throat grows thick just looking at it.Jean.Cheeks flushing, I lurch to my feet to seize it, but of course, Michal moves faster. The ring is there and gone again before I can take a single step. “Prove me wrong, mademoiselle,” he says, lifting it into the air between us. “Tell me why you didn’t wear it, and I’ll gladly return it to you.”

Pressure burns behind my eyes, but I refuse to cry in front of this wretched man. He needn’t know that I haven’t thought about Jean Luc,reallythought about Jean Luc, since I arrived here. He needn’t know about our confrontation in the library, about Jean’s failures as a partner, about my own horrible failures as one too. He needn’t know that I didn’t wear the ring because I—because—

I can’t even think the words.

“I don’t know,” I snap instead, crossing my arms tight against my chest. “Why doyoucare so much either way? That’s twice now you’ve mentioned my engagement. Do you have nothing better to do than pry into the relationship of two people you don’t even know? Aren’t you thekingof all vampires?”

The cruel gleam in Michal’s eyes fades at whatever he sees in my expression, and after another moment, he shakes his head in disgust. Perhaps at me. Perhaps at himself. And I hate him—Ihatehim—because part of me hates myself too.

When he tosses the ring to me in the next second, I jolt and almost drop it. He pretends not to notice. “Take it. I have no use for such a silly trinket anyway.”

My hand trembles slightly as I stare down at it, torn with hideous indecision. If I slip the ring onto my finger, I’m admitting something to Michal. If I don’t, I’m admitting something else altogether. He spares me the humiliation of an audience, however, byturning and stalking back to his sideboard, busying himself with something I cannot see.

Self-loathing courses through me as I push the ring down my corset and out of sight. “Where is my silver cross?” I ask him, surprised at how steady my voice sounds.

He doesn’t turn. “That depends entirely on you.”

“Then give it to me. I want it.”

“No,” he says calmly, sliding the silver cross from his pocket and dangling it aloft by its chain. His fingers smoke slightly at the contact, and the pendant spins and winks in the firelight like a mirage. “Not until we reach an agreement.”

“What kind ofagreement?”

At last, he turns, clenching the cross in one hand and offering me a tumbler of absinthe in the other. “Quite a simple one. Are you with me, Célie Tremblay, or are you against me?”

My eyes dart incredulously from his face to his clenched fist, where the silver continues to sizzle and smoke against his skin. Part of me wants to draw this moment out. Part of me wants to see how long it’ll take before his entire hand bursts into flame. The other fills with inexplicable dread at the prospect. I have never seen someone catch fire before, and I don’t necessarily want to change that, even with Michal. “Do you still plan to kill Coco?” I ask breathlessly, ignoring the absinthe altogether.

“If the situation calls for it.”

My expression hardens. “It doesn’t.”

“I remain unconvinced.”