Page 56 of The Scarlet Veil

“Dimitri is a gentleman—”

“Dimitri is an addict. He has thought of nothing but your blood since he made your acquaintance yesterday. That lovely throat has become his obsession.”

I nearly stumble again, my mouth falling open in outrage. “I— That isnottrue—”

“You should be flattered.” Michal ascends the castle steps and passes a quartet of guards, who bow to him in unison. I swiftly avert my gaze. After Michal’s vulgar declaration, surely I justimaginethe hunger in their eyes. “We don’t typically crave the blood of humans,” he continues, and perhaps I also imagine theway he shifts closer, the cool glance he gives the other vampires. I donot, however, imagine the proprietary hand he places on my lower back. “Dimitri is the exception, of course. He craves the blood of everyone.”

My cheeks flush inexplicably warm at his touch, and I quicken my step, darting ahead through the entrance hall. “You’re lying.” I have no idea if he’s lying, but I cannot abide Michal speaking ill of Dimitri. Not when Michal is so thoroughly and terriblyMichal.

His lips twitch as he shadows my steps. “Believe whatever you like.”

“Oh, I will.” His words have hit their mark, however, and my first memory of Dimitri rears its ugly head once more. The blood-soaked rags. The furtive behavior. I push it all aside with irritation, bursting through the double doors into the night. Dimitri has been nothing but kind to me. Suspiciously, I ask, “Why don’t vampires crave human blood?”

“It tastes thinner, weaker, than the blood of magical creatures.” Michal extends his arm toward the city below, ushering me forward. “But we’ve already established you aren’t human. Not entirely.”

“You sound ridiculous.”

“You sound frightened.”

My gaze narrows. “If you’resosure that I’m not human, please, enlighten me—what am I?”

His own gaze drops languorously to the pulse in my throat. “Only one way to find out.”

“You willneverbite me.”

“No?”

“No.”

His slow smile doesn’t falter as he brushes past without another word.

Four of the five victims have been of magical origin, and all have been found with puncture wounds on their throats and no blood in their bodies.

Vampires don’t typically crave the blood of humans. It tastes thinner, weaker, than the blood of magical creatures.

There can be no doubt of his guilt now. That was practically a confession.

And I have no choice but to follow a murderer into the city.

Passersby part for us without hesitation, either bowing in reverence or drawing back in fear. All stare at Michal beneath their parasols, however, as if a god walks among us. He doesn’t seem to notice their infatuation. Perhaps he just doesn’t care. Hands clasped behind his back, he stalks through the streets with an air of indifference, nodding to some and ignoring others completely. Imperious and insufferable.

Michal has now sought me outtwicein as many days, however, which means thisunfinished businessof ours remains excellent leverage. Whether he likes it or not, the time has come to receive answers, and if he refuses to give them, I will make himruehis immortality. Hurrying to keep up, I say, “Monsieur Marc said silver is a finite resource in Requiem.” When Michal says nothing, I nearly clip his heel in my haste to catch him. “Indeed, he doesn’t keep it in his shop at all. He doesn’t keep any mirrors either.”

Michal still refuses to acknowledge me.

“Isn’t that odd? No mirrors in a dress shop? Though, now that I think about it”—I step on his heel intentionally this time, remembering when Pippa and I once shattered our mother’s hand mirror, coating her armoire in silver dust—“I don’t recall seeing anymirrors in my room either. Or in the castle. Or on the entire isle.”

“Hence the wordfinite.”

“Where is my cross?” I ask abruptly. “You never answered me before.”

When I clip his heel a third time, he casts a menacing look over his shoulder. “And I have no intention of answering you now. Tell me, are you always this...” His voice trails as he struggles to find the right word.

“Vexing?” I supply it with my sweetest smile, and I relish the way his eyes narrow in response. “Always.Now—where are we going?” As if waiting for my signal, the sky opens up in earnest, pelting fat drops of rain on our heads. “To a candlemaker? A parasol shop?”

He chuckles darkly. “No, pet.”

We draw to a halt outside the theater.

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