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“The darkness touched me long before you did.” I lay my cheek against his chest, right where his heart should beat. “Why did you do it?”

His body tenses instantly against mine, and I know without asking that he understands my question. Why did you make me a vampire? Why couldn’t you live without me? “Careful, pet,” he says slowly. “Some answers cannot be unheard.”

Perhaps he doesn’t understand at all.

“There is nothing you could ever say that would turn me against you.” Then, rising on tiptoe to whisper against his lips— “Why didn’t you let me die?”

He doesn’t kiss me, however. Not yet. Instead he stands very still, as if—as if somehow I frighten him too.I do not fear pain, he once told me.

No? What is your fear, then?

Staring at each other now, I think I know. I still do not say it, however, waiting for him to speak first, to trust me as I’ve always trusted him.

“You—” He falls silent then, shaking his head in self-disgust, and I rise even higher, pressing a kiss against first one cheek, then the other. His forehead. His nose. His chin. I kiss him, and I kiss him until his brows furrow in bemusement, until he forgets to look so angry and confused.

“Tell me.”

And like a dam breaking, the words burst from him in a rush of heat. “You’re the sun, Célie. I couldn’t let you die because you are my sun; you are every good thing I’ve ever wanted and never deserved, and once I saw you, felt you, I could no longer live without you. When you aren’t with me, I crave your presence, and when you are with me, I forget the darkness ever existed—you fill up every corner of my vision until I cannot see, cannot think beyond when you might next glance at me, what you might next say. You have blinded me to all others. I couldn’t let you die because you are radiant, and everyone you look upon is brighter for it—better for it—and you don’t even realize. You cannot see the effect you have upon us all.” As if unable to resist, he kisses me this time, and I feel that kiss like a brand upon my skin, burning hotter than words ever could. He pours every ounce of his yearning into it, every ounce of his fear and his rage and his adoration,and the sheer intensity of it nearly knocks me back a step. Still I want more, however.

Still I want more.

Tearing his mouth away from mine, he says, “Does that answer your questions? Does that help you understand?”

He still hasn’t said it, and—with a bolt of clarity—I realize he never will. He refuses to trap me with those final words, refuses to pressure me into saying the same, into feeling the same, when someday I might want to leave.

He really is the most insufferable man.

Flinging my arms around his neck, ignoring his slight wince, I tackle him back to the floor. “I love you too, Michal.” A sharp intake of breath at that—of surprise, of disbelief—but I ignore it too, brushing my hair aside. “Now drink.”

He eyes my throat warily. “But the bond—”

“I don’t care about the bond. I love you, and I want to be with you.” Hesitating at a sudden and terrible thought, I add, “That is... if you want to be with me.”

Now Michal is the one scoffing, the one laughing, and it might be the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. He caresses my hair one last time—softly, reverently—before surging into a sitting position and taking me with him. He does not hesitate when he strikes.

And as his teeth pierce my skin—as that same intoxicating heat washes over me—something different happens.

Something changes.

It is not a slow and subtle thing; it does not build, and it does not come quietly. Instead bright, incandescent light bursts behind my eyelids as we click into place, and my entire being seizes at thesudden feel of him—not his physical body wrapped around mine, but a deeper and stronger presence. A darker one. And all those emotions he tries to hide—I can see them now, coiling like smoke through the lights. Becoming one with my own.

Flashes of memories come next, and I glimpse myself through his eyes as I burst from the graveyard, hysterical and dripping wet. His intrigue at the fanatical young woman twines through the darkness, pulling me into the next—to my wrists tied up on the ship, my scowl in his study, the way my hair spilled like ink down his chair. I see my own wide and terrified gaze glowing in the theater, feel his grudging concern, his fury when Yannick presses his mouth to my throat. I see my scarlet dress.

The bottle of absinthe.

The unexpected lash of jealousy as I drape my body across Bellamy, the bolt of lust as I fall against him instead, the panic at how he likes the feel of his arms around me.

More than likes it.

The smoke curls tighter in anticipation—the white lights spark and flare—and an emotion deeper than the rest unfurls as he stares up at me in the casket, paralyzing and impossible to ignore. Love. He fell in love with me in that moment. And he shudders as I realize it, as he shoulders the weight of my own emotions, my own memories. I see glimpses of them now too, flickering wildly like shooting stars in the night sky, until they too settle into darkness—into a single voice. His voice.

Please stay.

When we fall back into our bodies a moment later—shaken and breathless—I gasp in wonder at the newfound pressure in my chest, recognizing it as Michal’s essence. His shadow. No longerfrightening at all, but fierce and unyielding and cherished—so very cherished—as it twines together with mine, joining us irrevocably in Le Lien Éternel.

It somehow isn’t enough.

Though the bond between us is staggering in its intensity, vital—though already I cannot live without it—I want to know this breathtaking man in every possible way; I want to touch him, taste him, give him every last part of myself.