Page 83 of The Scarlet Veil

“You would truly kill a loyal subject in cold blood? An innocent?”

A cruel twist of his lips. “You know I would.”

Mila could not have been more wrong about him. EvenMorganecared about the lives of her people. This man—thiscreature—has completely lost whatever once made him human. “If you really want to send a message,” I say through gritted teeth, “you need a messenger.”

“A messenger,” he repeats coldly. At last, he deigns to look at me, his eyes flicking from my twisted ankle to my shattered elbow, the bloody gash above my breast. His jaw clenches almost imperceptibly, and too late, I realize his chest doesn’t move against mine.He isn’t breathing.“She inflicted none of these injuries?”

I shake my head, and another wave of black crests through my vision.

“You wish her to live?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because”—I struggle to keep my eyes open, my head upright—“she doesn’t deserve todie.”

Michal stares down at me in disbelief.

I don’t know whether Madeleine killed the man outside; I hope she didn’t. I hope he consented to the feeding, just as Arielle did.I hope.Though Michal’s lip curls at whatever he sees in my expression, he finally jerks his chin to Madeleine. “Fine. Go. Tell the others what you saw here tonight. Tell them their king still protects this isle—from dangers both within and without—and tell them Célie Tremblay spared your pitiful life.”

Madeleine’s mouth parts in confusion, but she doesn’t hesitate. Bowing hastily, she casts me one last grateful look before streaking past without a word. Unlike her peers, she kept her life today. She escaped certain death.

And so did I.

Exhaling in relief, I unclench my limbs, but Michal doesn’t release me. Indeed, the tension radiating from his body only seems to build. He struggles to empty his expression, to school his features into that cold mask of calm, but fails miserably. His eyes glint colder than I’ve ever seen them as he stares at the door. We stand that way—still and silent—for several more seconds before he says, “I told you not to leave the castle.”

Frowning, I try again to extricate myself. “I thought you had business elsewhere tonight.”

“I returned only moments ago.”

“How fortunate for all of us.”

“Howfortunatethat Odessa scented Yannick,” he says tightly, “and rushed to find me. If she hadn’t, this night would’ve ended very poorly for you. Yannick’s tastes ran darker than most.”

The information shouldn’t surprise me—itshouldn’t—yet disgust still twists low in my belly.Birds of a feather.“You knew Yannick tortured and maimed his prey, yet you did nothing to stop him? You allowed him free rein of the isle?”

Without warning, Michal sweeps me into his arms, crosses the aviary, and deposits me carefully on the stairs before stripping off his coat. Though each of his movements remains carefully controlled, carefullyleashed, his jaw looks hard enough to shatter glass. “It is not my job to rein in Yannick. Where are you hurt?”

“You are theking. It is youronlyjob to rein in Yannick. You’re supposed to ensure the safety and well-being of your subjects, to maintain law and order—”

“Vampires are not humans.” His tone brooks no argument. “We possess none of your tender feelings, and we abide by only one law—a law you have undoubtedly broken tonight. Now, where are youhurt?” When I glare at him stubbornly, his eyes flash, and he tears his sleeve up his forearm, sinking into another crouch before me. “Your left ankle and wrist are broken, and you’ve lacerated your chest, both palms, and eight fingers. Shall I conduct a more thorough examination, mademoiselle, or will you answer my question?”

We scowl at each other for a beat.

“My knees,” I say grudgingly. “I scraped my knees as well.”

His eyes flick to my torn skirt. “Your knees.”

It isn’t a question, but I answer it regardless. “Yes.”

“How did you scrape your knees, Célie Tremblay?”

“I jumped down the stairs fleeing Yannick.”

“I see.” His hands—still bloody and cold andwrong—lift to my jaw with surprising lightness, probing the bones there, pushing my matted hair away from my face. I wince at the slight indention he finds at my crown, at the pain that explodes behind my eyes. His mouth sets in a grim line. “And your head?”

“I jumped down the stairs,” I repeat stupidly, the words slurring a bit as my adrenaline fades. The pain builds in earnest without it. “Do you think I have a concussion?”

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