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“Y-You’rehim,” Brigitte stammers, her face white as she stares at us. “Captain Toussaint told us about you. He said you’re the one who stole her away, whoturnedher—”

“I suggest”—Michal jerks his chin toward the Tower as she searches frantically for the Balisarda—“you take the good captain and leave, telling no one what transpired here. Vampires have no quarrel with huntsmen.” I can almost hear his eyes flash as he adds, “Yet.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,leech.” In lieu of a Balisarda, Brigitte hurls the word like a weapon. “The Chasseurs will have heard me. They’ll be here any moment, and you and thatsuccubuswill get what you deserve—”

“Don’t be foolish, Brigitte.” His teeth grind as my nails claw at his forearms, shredding leather and linen and skin. Drawing fresh blood.Hisblood. The scent of it breaks over me like a wave. It further lubricates his sleeves. “As we speak, my cousin is waiting outside to compel your precious brethren to return to their rooms. It turns out no one heard your screams after all.”

Brigitte trembles all over now, yet with a shout of triumph, she swoops low and snatches Jean Luc’s Balisarda from the shadows near the steps. “Then I’ll kill you myself,” she says. “I’ll drive thisdagger straight through your cold, dead heart.”

My gaze snaps upward at that. Unbidden, a low and guttural sound tears from my throat—a sound I’ve never made before—and I twist again to face her, slipping beneath the slick fabric of Michal’s sleeves. For a single, glorious second, nothing stands between me and Brigitte. I start toward her too swiftly for my mind to follow, to make sense of the sudden fury licking up my spine.

Before I can tear out her throat, however—before I canfeast—Michal appears between us. When I snarl again, attempting to dart around him, he sidesteps, and I crash into his chest, too slow to counter him. Brigitte seizes the opportunity to lunge at his back with the Balisarda, but he swats it aside with rapidly thinning patience. When it skids—useless—behind me, Brigitte regains her senses and retreats to Jean Luc’s side.

I glower at her from behind Michal, hissing softly.

She drops to her knees in response, looping her arms under Jean’s shoulders and attempting to drag him backward. Away from me.

A mistake.

It’s like someone else has taken control of my body. All I can see is her hateful face, her hands on Jean Luc, and none of this makes sense. He doesn’t belong to me—Iknowthat—yet the scent of his blood, the scent ofMichal, nearly cleaves my body in two with wanting. My spine actually bows with hunger, withpain, and I lunge, baring my teeth, snapping at them—

Michal’s arms wrap around me once more, and he lifts me from my feet as still I strain forward, sobbing now. Vaguely, I realize he speaks low and fast at my ear, but I hear only one word. “Célie,” he breathes. Over and over and over again, he says my name. Just myname.Célie.As if he knows I’ve gone somewhere he cannot follow, and he won’t stop until he drags me back. “You don’t want to kill them. Not truly.”

“You don’t know what I want,” I snarl.

“Oh, but I do.” He still refuses to let me go, holding me tight and fast against him. “Your senses have heightened. Everything feels sharper, brighter,betteras a vampire, but the pain feels more intense too. Your teeth areaching. Your head throbs. The scent of his blood has become a heartbeat in your chest, and you can’t hear anything except that frantic drum. You want to rend her limb from limb for touching him because he belongs toyou.”

I shake my head vehemently. A liar.

A liar, a liar, aliar.

Just like that, I wriggle through his arms—completely out of control—but as before, he appears in front of me. This time, however, he forces me against the alley wall with a hard forearm against my chest. His slippery surcoat has vanished, leaving behind only a shredded black shirt. His collar fell open during our tussle; his cravat lies crumpled and forgotten upon the street. If possible, his disarray makes him feel all the more menacing—wilder, somehow, and darker, like a primeval god looming over me.

“Enough, Célie,” he says with unnerving calm. “Unless you want to bury your fiancé and his new friend, you need to stop pretending to be human. Whether you like it or not, you’re a vampire now, and vampires are a predatory species—thepredatory species.” His black eyes bore into mine, insistent and immovable, and I know—Iknow—that his patience has reached its end. “We cannot survive on morality.”

The words crumble the last of my resolve.

In its wake, a flood of bitter embarrassment rushes through me instead. It fills each crack in my chest until I might drown—in my stupidity, yes, in myrecklessness, but also in my fear. I knew I would eventually need to feed. After living on Requiem with Michal and Odessa and Dimitri, how could I not? I knew what it would require to survive as a vampire, and truthfully, the blood itself never disgusted me. It still doesn’t.

Behind Michal, Jean Luc struggles to rise to his elbows, his eyes narrowed in disbelief—still seeking mine even as Brigitte tries to drag him away. He digs in his heels. I can hold his horrified gaze for only a second before looking away. Because the scent of his blood still stirs something inside me. Because my belly still clenches tight in response; my fingers still curl to claim him.

I delayed the inevitable because I didn’t want to hurt anyone.

And so I do not fight Michal any longer. I simply lift my chin, and I bare my entire soul. “I don’t think I can do this.”

It’s the hideous truth I’ve tried to avoid, the one my friends and family have always ignored because they love me—I am not enough. I never have been, and I never will be. At every turn, I have failed: to be a sister, a lady, a huntswoman, a fiancée. I even failed at being a Bride. Frederic won—he resurrected my sister—because I thought I could outwit him, could undo all his careful planning with nothing but hope and fairy dust. Of course I’d now fail at being a vampire too.

It seems everyone got their wish, after all, and how terribly disappointed they all must be.

I am still, tragically, Célie.

As expected, Michal doesn’t pity me. If possible, his expression hardens even further, and he releases me without warningto wrench up his sleeve. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. If you refuse to eat, youwillkill someone—likely all of Chasseur Tower—and you’ll loathe yourself more than you already do.” Before I can stop him, his fangs descend, and he bites his wrist deep enough to draw blood. His scent punches through me like the blade of a knife. Its jagged edge stabs at my throat, my chest, my stomach until I hiss in delirious pain. He doesn’t care. “Your options are limited now, Célie. You can either feed from me, or if you prefer, I can show you how to feed from these two. I can even teach you how to compel away their memories—”

I shake my head before he can finish, ignoring the way his blood drips down his forearm. My jaw aches. “I won’t violate them like that.”

“She stuck a sword in your neck.”

“No, I—I took more from Jean Luc than I should’ve. She was just—just—”