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Chapter Thirty-Eight

Saint Célie

White bursts like stars in my vision. Bright. Blinding. I can no longer see anything, can no longer breathe at all. I am only sensation—hot and searing as his palm slides up the smooth skin of my thigh. The stars quickly fade with each pull of his mouth, however, and darkness spreads like a cooling balm across the edge of my vision. I sigh in relief. In contentment. Arching into him once more, I slide a hand through his silky hair before letting it fall to the ground beside me. It nudges something cold. Hard.

You think you can stop him? Though I frown at the intrusive thought, it dances away from me, replaced by one much slower and sleepier. Much easier to catch. You won’t want to stop him, Célie.

Another moan rises to my lips in response.

Above me, Michal stiffens at the sound, and he releases my leg like I’ve burned him. Rearing backward—his knees locked on either side of me—he blinks rapidly. For a split second, confusion shines raw and clear in his black eyes. Disbelief. Shock. Though I smile in reassurance, my mind remains pleasantly muddled, and his gaze drops to my throat before I can think to stop him. His face contorts in revulsion.

My smile falters slightly. “Is something wrong?”

“ Wrong? ” His own throat works as if he cannot bring himself to speak. He lifts his hands as if frightened to touch me. “Did I—? Tell me I didn’t force—”

Realization dawns two seconds too slow, and my smile vanishes completely as reality crashes back over my head.

“Oh my goodness, no! No. You didn’t force me to do anything. I—I volunteered .” Though I clap a hand over the wound to hide it from sight, it does little to mitigate the damage, and I couldn’t possibly hide all the blood anyway. It still shines slick and dark upon my dress. It stains his hands, my skin, the floor all around us, and—and the room starts to spin as I look at it all. His expression darkens as he too takes in the scene.

“How—how are you , though?” I ask quickly, pushing upright on my elbow. The movement sends the silver knife spinning, and I cringe as Michal tracks its path across the room. “Are you feeling better? If you don’t mind me saying, you looked really bad there for a moment. But what am I saying? Of course you did. Babette must’ve stabbed you a dozen times—”

But Michal is regaining his bearings now. His eyes begin to shutter, and he struggles to regain control of his features, to force them back into that horrid, inscrutable mask. As if I haven’t spoken at all, he wrenches my hand from my throat, which unfortunately reveals the bite mark on my wrist. “It’s nothing,” I say hastily, tugging my sleeve down over the wound. “It didn’t h-hurt either. You never lost restraint.”

“Excuse me?”

I recoil slightly from the glint in his eyes. “I—I said you never lost restraint. I meant it as a compliment.”

“Oh. You meant it as a compliment.” He leans forward now, the cords in his neck straining against his skin. Despite our proximity, his voice drops so low that I almost can’t hear him. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are, Célie? Any idea how stupid ?” He snarls the last word, and I blink at him, startled. “I could’ve killed you—I could’ve done worse than killed you—and you want to compliment my restraint? You think I’d never hurt you? I’m a vampire , and you offered yourself up like a lamb for slaughter. What if I hadn’t stopped? What if I’d taken more than you wanted to give?”

At his tone, at his expression , my gaze darts instinctively to the knife, which now lies completely useless by a moth-eaten mannequin—not that it helped in the first place. My stomach swoops sickeningly at Dimitri’s warning, at my own reckless confidence that I could overpower a vampire, let alone a vampire like Michal. You won’t want to stop him, Célie. You’ll beg him to take it all. The last of the pleasant fog in my thoughts dissipates, leaving me cold and humiliated upon this dirty attic floor. When Michal still stares at me, expectant, I mutter, “I took precautions.”

“Precautions?” He rises abruptly and crosses the room with preternatural speed, seizing the knife and forcing it into my palm. When I hesitate to take it—because really, what good will it do?—he crushes my fingers around the cold silver hilt and pulls me to my feet. “And how did those precautions work for you?”

I force myself to lift my chin, to meet his eyes. “Like I said, you never lost restraint.”

“I could’ve—”

“But you didn’t .” As before, outside Babette’s fireplace, we stand toe to toe, but Michal isn’t smiling any longer. No—with the silver knife still clenched between us, he looks prepared to throw me over his shoulder and sail straight back to Requiem, where I imagine a dank cell with rats awaits me. Indeed, his lips pull back over his teeth at my obstinance, and his cheeks —usually alabaster white, they flush dark with fury and fresh blood. My blood. I look away quickly, determined to forget the last ten minutes—or perhaps the last ten hours —of my life. As far as I’m concerned, they never happened. “I expect we can find white vinegar in the pantry. If we dilute the blood before it sets, we might even be able to avoid leaving stains on this poor couple’s floor.”

Michal drops my wrist in disgust, stalking to the window as if eager to get away from me. “How did we escape Les Abysses?”

I quell the urge to snap back at him. “Odessa and Dimitri.”

“They brought us here?”

“Yes.”

“They asked you to heal me?”

“No.” Fresh stars erupt in my vision as I shake my head, as I thrust the knife into my pocket with such force that I tear the fabric. “They wanted you to drink from the humans downstairs, but I wouldn’t let them.”

“ Why? ”

“Odessa said you might kill them”—I glare at his rigid back, refusing to feel more foolish than I already do—“and they didn’t deserve to die because we walked into a trap.”

With startling speed, he clenches the sheet in his fists, his arms tight with restraint. “So, naturally , you preferred I kill you instead.”

“Of course not, but—”

“You really do have a fucking death wish.”

A beat of silence. Then—

The room tilts as I charge toward him, as shock curdles with the sickening anger in my belly. He just—he swore at me. No one has ever sworn at me before, and—and how dare he speak to me like this? I’ve done nothing wrong except save his wretched skin. How dare he treat me like I’ve committed some heinous crime? Though I intend to seize him, to shake him, I sway precariously after only two steps, and I must seize a nearby trunk for balance instead. “Stop it,” I say sharply. “If not for me, you’d be lying dead on the floor, so you could show a little more appreciation.”

“I’m not appreciative,” he says harshly. “If you ever do it again, I’ll kill you out of spite.”

“That’s an empty threat, Michal Vasiliev, and we both know it. Now—if you’re quite finished sulking —I’d be grateful if you could return the favor and heal me. I know how you feel about vampire blood, but under the circumstances—”

“Under the circumstances, you deserve more than light-headedness.” He breathes deep as if trying to calm himself, but then curses again, tearing off his leather coat and hurling it over his shoulder. It lands with a wet slap at my feet. Fresh blood—probably mine—splatters all over my hem, and his voice is low and vicious when he says, “The people stoned Saint Stephen to death, after all, and Saint Lawrence met a hot grill. I could arrange for either when we return to Requiem, but perhaps you’d rather skip the preliminaries and go straight for crucifixion?”

My nails bite deeper into the wood. “You think I want to be a martyr ?”

“I think it’s your greatest ambition.”

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

“Neither do you, apparently,” he snarls at the window, “if you think sacrificing yourself for those humans had anything to do with them. As with your predecessors, it had everything to do with you and your desire to prove yourself worthy of some imaginary prize—in this case, death . Is that what it’ll take? Will you need to die before they see you as more than just a pretty porcelain doll?”

My mouth falls open in outrage. In shock . “How did you—? What did you just say?”

“Is that not why you fled alone into Brindelle Park? To find a killer on the loose before the others?” He still refuses to face me, his hands clenched in the sheet. “If not to valiantly save your friends, why else would you sneak into vampire-infested streets to deliver a letter? Would they even mourn you otherwise?”

“Of course my friends would—”

“Are you sure?” At last, he turns, moving so quickly the sheet eddies behind him. His black eyes bore into mine. “Have you proven yourself kind enough? Selfless enough? Perhaps you should stick your head in a hungry loup garou’s mouth next. The poor thing has a toothache, after all, and wouldn’t that just show everyone how brave you are? How competent?”

I stumble back a step. “That isn’t—”

“And if it bites you—because deep down, you knew it would—well, at least you tried to help someone in need.” His voice grows louder with every word, angrier, and he stalks toward me like a storm building on the horizon. “Perhaps your friends will remember that at your funeral. Perhaps they’ll cry and realize just how stupid they were to underestimate you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Their approval?” Though I open my mouth to deny such a ridiculous claim, he speaks over me once more. “Or perhaps it’s your approval you’re so desperate to earn. Perhaps you are the one who sees yourself as a pretty doll, not them.”

“Stop it.” The trunk presses into my calves now, and my hands slide over the wood, clammy and cold, as poisonous hatred rolls through my stomach in waves. Never before have I felt like this—like a malignant creature has cracked open inside me, and if I don’t attack, if I don’t strike, bite, wound , its poison will kill me instead. “You will not treat me like this,” I seethe. “Everyone treats me like this—like I’m small and stupid—but I’m not. If the choice is between my life or the life of a friend, I will always choose my friend. Always. But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? You’ve never had a friend in your entire existence because you’re too cold, too cruel, just too powerful to ever care about anyone but yourself. It’s pathetic —and where has it gotten you? Your rule is weak, your sister is dead, and your cousin probably killed her.”

He draws to a halt mere inches away, effectively trapping me against the trunk. “My cousin?”

“Yes, your cousin .” I relish the vitriol in my voice, relish the fact that I know more about his family than he does— me , silly little Célie, the doll, the fool, the martyr whose greatest ambitions are hard stones and a hot grill. “Dimitri tried to steal the grimoire after Odessa whisked you away. He knew Babette somehow. He’s involved in this—right under your arrogant nose—but you’re too busy tearing out hearts to see it.”

“Says the woman whose sister gave that cross to Babette,” he snarls.

“For the last time, my sister didn’t—”

“ Enough , Célie. That cross belonged to your sister—”

“—we have absolutely no proof of that—”

“—and it somehow ended up in the hands of Babette, the blood witch who faked her own death, admitted to killing my sister, and tried to abduct you for a man called the Necromancer, who needs your blood to raise the dead.” His hands twitch as if he suppresses the desire to physically shake me. “ FT. Filippa Tremblay. This cross calls to you for a reason, and—as we have little chance of finding Babette again—your sister has become our next person of interest.”

With all my might, I thrust out with both hands, pushing him hard in the chest, but he remains like stone. Like adamantine. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even shift his weight against the onslaught, as I lunge again and again and again , nearly screaming in frustration. “My sister is dead .”

He snatches my wrists when I lunge for the knife in my pocket. “As was Babette.”

“Pippa’s body didn’t vanish from a morgue , Michal.” Though I writhe and twist to break his grip, he refuses to let me go. Hot, bitter tears burn in my eyes at my complete and total helplessness, but I cannot—will not—wipe them away. Let him see , I think viciously. Let him see just how silly I am, how stupid for chasing after vampires and ghosts and magic when I am just Célie. “We buried her— I buried her—and I lay beside her corpse for two weeks as proof. Do you not remember why I fear the dark? Why I fear everything ?”

Michal’s brows draw together at something in my expression, and his grip relaxes slightly. “Célie—”

As with Babette, however, I seize my advantage and wrench away from him. “ Never touch me again. Do you understand? If you do, I’ll—I—” The strength of my rage chokes me, however, and I cannot finish the threat. Truthfully, I don’t know what I’ll do. As Michal has so succinctly proven, I have no natural weapons, no great skill or strength beyond disregard for my own life. My throat constricts to the size of a needle at the admission, and—without another word—I whirl toward the door, unable to bear his presence for another second.

To his credit, Michal does not touch me. He simply reappears between the door and me, halting my advance. “Where are you going?”

The tears now spill so thick and so fast that I cannot see his features. “Away from h-here.” Away from you.

“You shouldn’t leave the house, Célie.”

“Or what ?” I grind my palms into my eyes, desperate to unsee him somehow. Desperate to escape this situation—just for a moment—but hopelessly, tragically unable to do so. And I hate it—I hate it—but I hate him more for making me feel like this. Like everything anyone has ever said about me is true. “What will you do, Michal? Will you drag me back to Requiem in shackles? Will you lock me up and throw away the key? You’re despicable .”

He doesn’t speak for a long moment, and when I finally drag my hands away from my eyes—scrubbing the tears from my cheeks—he seems to have taken a step closer. His arms hang slack at his sides. “No,” he says quietly.

“What do you mean no ?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He simply stares at me, his expression rather lost, and it’s all the hesitation I need. I dart around him. Though he makes no move to stop me, I can feel his eyes on my back as I race through the door and down the stairs, nearly skidding into Odessa and Dimitri in the hall below. From the looks on their faces, they heard every word between Michal and me, but I can’t bring myself to slow.

“Célie!” Dimitri tries to catch my arm, but Odessa drags him back as I bolt toward a second staircase. “Célie, please , I need to talk to you!”

“Leave it, Dima,” she murmurs.

“But she needs to understand—”

I lose the rest of their conversation, however, barreling through the entry and out of sight. The front door crashes shut behind me before anyone can follow, and—for the first time in almost a fortnight—sunlight streams down from crystalline skies overhead, painting the cobblestones of the street a bright, lustrous gold. It warms my damp cheeks, my wild hair, and brings fresh, stinging tears to my eyes. I inhale painfully at the unfamiliar sight of it. Sunlight.

Then I crumple to my knees and sob.