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Chapter Thirty-Seven

The Kiss of a Vampire

Paradise passes in a rush of silken clouds and marble floors, and I catch the last notes of the melusines’ song before the entire building seems to contract—like a band snapping—and expels us through another odd door near the ceiling. Cursing, Dimitri tightens his arms around me as we go stumbling onto the roof. The door vanishes behind us like it never existed at all.

Guests can’t stay in Les Abysses past daybreak.

In the next second, the first rays of sunlight break across the horizon.

They burn Dimitri’s skin on contact, and he curses again—maliciously this time—ducking into the shadow of a nearby gable. “Hold on,” he says, and I manage to fling my arms around his neck before he leaps to the gable of a roof next door. The glass of a narrow window there has been shattered. Dimitri ducks through it just as his skin begins to smoke.

Inside, Odessa crouches over Michal, who lies completely still on what appears to be the floor of an attic.

Half of his face remains horribly burned, blackened, and blood shines through the gashes in his leather coat. It soaks the dusty floorboards beneath him too, staining the old wood like a halo. Pale gray light diffuses the entire scene into an ethereal sort of nightmare. Even half-burned, half-broken, Michal looks like he could’ve just fallen from the heavens after God stripped his wings.

Pushing out of Dimitri’s arms—eager to get away from him—I crash to the floor beside Odessa. “Why isn’t he healing?”

“Didn’t you say the witch put silver in her tea?” Dimitri follows as if concerned, and his brow furrows when I scoot away from him. Right. He’s going to pretend his conversation with Babette never happened. Indeed, he lifts his hands in a placating gesture and forces a bemused laugh. His gaze falls to the silver knife in my fist. “And that blade isn’t made of candy floss, Célie.”

“Mademoiselle Tremblay,” I snap.

His eyes widen. “You’re revoking our friendship privileges?”

“Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Well, I did just save your life—”

“Michal needs blood,” Odessa says sharply, ignoring us both. Sunlight creeps steadily across the floor through the broken window. “This house belongs to humans—two of them. I can hear them sleeping below. Dima, bring them to us and barricade yourself in the basement.” She locks eyes with him. “I’ll call you when it’s over.”

His smile falters, and he tears his gaze from me to scowl at his sister. “I can control myself—”

“No, you can’t”—Odessa shakes her head forcefully—“and we don’t have time to argue. If you go into a rage and kill those people, Michal will die too. He won’t last until nightfall to find fresh.”

To find fresh. My stomach plunges to somewhere around my ankles. “You’re going to—to give them to Michal? The people who live here?” When Odessa nods, I ask rather stupidly, “He’s going to drink their blood?”

She jerks her chin toward the door. Wooden chairs have been stacked against the walls there, along with hatboxes and trunks cloaked in cobwebs. “You may join Dimitri in the basement if you wish. This won’t be for the faint of heart.”

“I’m not faint of heart . I just— Will he kill them?”

“Most likely.”

“But they’re innocent.” Unbidden, I imagine the people sleeping below, perhaps an elderly couple, perhaps young and in love, or perhaps not a couple at all but a mother and her child. Bile rises in my throat. I flit to the trunk in agitation, unable to sit still any longer, and wrench it open. Pillows and neatly folded blankets lie inside. Seizing one of each, I dart back across the room. “They’ve done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve such a—a cruel and unusual fate.”

“Cruel and unusual?” Odessa asks incredulously. “We’re vampires , Célie. Would you prefer Michal dies instead?”

“Of course not, but—”

“Do you have another suggestion, then?”

Unable to look at her, at Dimitri, at anyone , I stuff the blanket into the crack above the window, plunging the room into shadow once more. Into silence. I squeeze the pillow between clammy palms, and the words building in my chest burst out with a painful breath. “He can drink from me.”

The Petrov twins both stare at me with identical expressions of disbelief. “Did you not hear me?” Odessa’s brows climb steadily higher. “You could die.”

For example, our pythoness once predicted that I would take a bride not unlike yourself.

She also predicted that I’d kill her.

I straighten my spine in resolve. “I won’t let Michal kill anyone.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Voice suddenly earnest, Dimitri darts to stand between Michal and me, blocking my path. “You won’t have a choice. If Michal drinks from you, his instinct will take over, and he’ll drain every drop of blood from your body. When he wakes, clutching your corpse in his arms, he’ll tear out our hearts in retribution, and he’ll kill the humans out of spite. Is that what you want? A house full of corpses?”

He isn’t you , I want to snap, but I bite my tongue. I know nothing about Dimitri—not truly—except the many faces he wears. Perhaps this is his real one. Perhaps the blood rage isn’t his fault. For all I know, it could be hereditary, which means Michal could lose control when he tastes my blood. “I won’t let innocent people die.” Lifting the silver knife, I add fiercely, “And I won’t let him lose control either.”

“You think you can stop him?” Dimitri pinches the bridge of his nose as if pained. “You’ve clearly never shared blood with a vampire. You won’t want to stop him, Célie. You’ll beg him to take it all, and when you realize you’re dying— if you realize you’re dying—it’ll be too late.”

“Get out of the way.” Shoving past him—careful to keep the silver between us—I drop to my knees beside Michal and force the pillow under his pale head. “I’ve made up my mind.”

Odessa seizes my wrist before I can cut open my palm. “Are you sure you want to do this, Célie?” Though her eyes are canny and dark and identical to her brother’s, I force myself to meet her gaze anyway. She isn’t Dimitri. She didn’t leave Mila’s body in the garbage, didn’t demand the grimoire of a blood witch—the same witch who tried to kill Michal, who admitted to working with Mila’s killer. “Dima is right. None of us will be able to stop Michal if he loses control. He could kill you. Are you really prepared to sacrifice yourself?”

“I won’t let innocent people die,” I repeat stubbornly.

Odessa stares at me for another second. Then— “Fine. But use this to make the cut, or the silver will poison your blood.” She plucks a sharp golden pin from her hair and thrusts it at me before rising swiftly and towing Dimitri to the door. He digs in his heels. “I still want you to wait in the basement,” she tells him in an undertone. “I’ll compel the humans to leave before joining you.” As if sensing my argument, she adds in exasperation, “We can’t return to Requiem until nightfall, and I doubt they’ll appreciate vampires crouching in their attic all day. Besides, Michal will need to rest.” She rubs her temple with one hand, still dragging Dimitri along with the other. “He’s hellishly lucky that we followed you two. You’d both be dead otherwise.”

“Why did you follow us?”

“I didn’t,” she says frankly. “My brother did, and I followed him against my better judgment.”

As one, we look to Dimitri, who shakes his head in bitter disappointment and stops resisting. “We’re friends, Mademoiselle Tremblay, and Michal—he isn’t thinking clearly.” He pins me with a heavy gaze. “None of us are.”

“A fact proven by Michal allowing a blood witch to overpower him.” Looking disgusted, Odessa flings open the door. “If anyone on Requiem hears of this, there will be riots in the streets. I hope Michal is prepared to suffer the consequences of his actions.”

My heart plummets. Though I open my mouth to tell her exactly what happened, to explain, she pushes Dimitri from the room before I can force out the words. Because—my gaze drifts back to Michal’s ruined face, to the bloodstains that cradle his body—and my hand slackens upon the knife. He wouldn’t have been overpowered at all if not for me. “You’re an idiot,” I tell him, lifting his head into my lap. “Her tea wouldn’t have hurt me .”

Except, of course, that it could’ve.

She spiked it with her blood, and if Michal hadn’t turned, it might’ve been my skin on fire instead of his. Had he smelled it? The poison? If so, why on earth had he shielded me? I may be a Bride, yes, and his only connection to Mila, but his sister already refused to help him—and he wouldn’t have needed her help if he’d captured Babette instead. “An idiot,” I repeat thickly, but my treacherous chest expands all the same.

Taking a deep breath, I draw the tip of the golden pin across my wrist.

Blood wells instantly in its wake, shocking and bright even in the darkness, and I wince. How many times have I seen Coco and Lou draw their own blood? Neither ever said how much it stings . Still, I clench my hand in a fist, willing the blood to flow thicker. Faster. Bracing myself for the flood of sensation to come. I don’t think it’ll hurt—Arielle hadn’t moaned in pain —yet trepidation still tightens my throat. This is another line, and I’m about to cross it.

He won’t last until nightfall.

Dropping the pin and seizing my knife, I lower my wrist to his mouth.

When he doesn’t move, I force his lips apart and push the blood deeper onto his tongue. “Come on, Michal.” I tighten my fist again and lean closer, pulling him farther up my lap. Searching for any sign of life. The dart of an eye beneath a lid or the twitch of a finger. Nothing happens. Could Odessa have overestimated how long he had left? Frowning, I reject the thought quickly. The vampires in the aviary—they’d sort of shriveled and aged when Michal killed them, and he remains perfect except for his injuries. I rock him slightly. “Come on, Michal. Drink the blood and wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up —”

His hand seizes my wrist.

Gasping at the sudden pressure, I resist the urge to pull away, even as twin pricks of pain flare, as his teeth sink into my skin. “ Oh. ” My eyes widen when his second hand joins the first. He pulls me closer, bites down harder, and it—it definitely hurts now. “Michal.” I push at his head weakly, hesitating when the burns on his face begin to heal. The blisters fading, vanishing into cool alabaster skin. “ Michal —”

His eyes snap open then—black and empty and wholly unfamiliar—and the instant they connect with mine, the throbbing pain in my wrist dissolves into liquid warmth. Oh God. My knife clatters to the floor as a moan rises to my lips, and his mouth pulls harder at the sound. My muscles clench convulsively in response. My hips roll forward. In a smooth, almost languorous movement, he turns in my lap, yanking my legs straight with one arm and pressing me into the floor, climbing slowly over my body.

“M-Michal—”

Breath low and uneven, he breaks his latch on my wrist to gaze down at me intently. “Célie.”

My blood stains his mouth brilliant scarlet. It streams down my hand and mixes with his upon the floor. With a contented sigh, he nuzzles the crook of my shoulder, tasting my skin there too. His lips skim my frantic pulse until I crane my neck upward, until I arch against him, into him, desperate to relieve this great pulsing need inside of me.

If he doesn’t touch me soon, really touch me, I think I might die. “Michal, please, please —”

I scrabble at his back, unable to stop, and at the hitch in my voice, he pulls back to watch me once more, fascinated. A sob tears from my throat. Though his eyes remain depthless and strange, he brings my wrist to his mouth, kissing it gently and murmuring, “Don’t cry, moje sunce. Never cry.”

Even if I understood, I couldn’t answer him. I can’t speak. I can’t even remember my own name .

Surging upward to kiss him, I crush his lips against mine, and his mouth is hot and cold all at once—and everywhere. He is everywhere . His hips push into mine, his teeth catch my bottom lip, and his hands cradle my face, my throat, my shoulders, trailing downward until I break away, writhing and gasping for breath. Something shifts in his eyes in response. With a low, possessive rumble in his chest—I feel it all the way to my toes—he buries his teeth in my throat.