Page 120 of The Scarlet Veil

“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 howstupid?” He snarls the last word, and I blink at him, startled. “I could’ve killed you—I could’ve doneworsethan killed you—and you want to compliment my restraint? You think I’d never hurt you? I’m avampire, 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 hisexpression, 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’twantto 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 thoseprecautionswork for you?”

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

“I could’ve—”

“But youdidn’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 backover his teeth at my obstinance, and hischeeks—usually alabaster white, they flush dark with fury and fresh blood.Myblood. I look away quickly, determined to forget the last ten minutes—or perhaps the last tenhours—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—hesworeat me. No one has ever sworn at me before, and—and how dare he speak to melike 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 finishedsulking—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 wetslapat 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 amartyr?”

“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 withyouand your desire to prove yourself worthy of some imaginaryprize—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. Inshock. “How did you—?Whatdid 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?”

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