Page 42 of The Shadow Bride

There is nothing simple about my connection with Michal.

Chuckling, Dimitri leans back against the crate. “Would I consider giving you my heart?”

Here goes nothing.With a delicate touch on his arm, I meet his gaze directly, and I smile—a brilliant smile, a glowing one; a smile I’ve never before given Dimitri. In truth, I haven’t smiled like this for a very long time, and it feels strained and unnatural on my face. He doesn’t seem to notice, however. His eyes widen infinitesimally at the sight, and he blinks, his pupils dilating as my fingers slide from his forearm to his hand. “Your blood,” I say softly.

Immediately, I know I’ve said something—notwrong, perhaps, but odd.

Odessa—who’d been watching us with curiosity—looks away swiftly, and even Dimitri stiffens slightly. His hand remains clasped around mine, however, even as he leans forward and lowers his voice. “You’re asking to feed from me?”

“Should I not?”

It isn’t Dimitri who answers. “Of course you should,” Michal says smoothly, “if that’s what you want.” I feel rather than hear him move directly behind me, his black eyes sliding down my body like shards of ice. I repress a delicious shiver. “Isthat what you want, Célie? To feed from my cousin? I am sure he wouldn’t refuse you—not after that smile.”

In front of me, Dimitri carefully withdraws his hand.

Though I glare up at him—no longer demure but silently beseeching him tostay—he avoids my gaze, avoids Michal’s too, and looks anywhere but at the two of us.

His lips, however, twitch.

Traitor.

Seeing no alternative, I spin on my heel to face Michal and crash right into his chest. “Excuseyou—” Taking a hasty step backward, I collide with Dimitri instead, and he seizes my elbows to prevent us both from toppling over the crate. Michal’s eyes darken at the touch.

And that—that is just unacceptable. “And what if Idowant to feed from Dimitri?” That sense of recklessness crests higher, and I lean back against Dimitri’s chest, trapping him against the crate as he exhales an incredulous laugh in my ear. “Why are you all acting like it’s such a—a taboo request?Youoffered blood to me this morning, and no one batted an eye about that.” I crane my neck to glare at Odessa, who no longer pretends to admire the horizonand watches us with rapt interest. “And you said blood sharing is perfectly acceptable between vampires.”

“Did I?” she asks mildly. “I don’t remember.”

When Dimitri places light hands on my shoulders—as if unsure what else to do with them—Michal grips the mast beside him. His lip curls over his teeth. His verysharpteeth. “You’re testing my patience, pet.”

“I can feed from whomever I wish,” I snarl.

His eyes flash, and beneath his hand, the mast begins to splinter. “Sodoit.”

“I will!”

“I’m waiting.”

With another snarl, I whirl again, spinning in Dimitri’s arms and slinging my own around his neck. “Do you want to do this or not? Just tell me if you’re too frightened, and I’ll find someone else. I’ll proposition this entireshipif I must—”

The mast gives an ominouscrack.

Snorting with laughter, Dimitri glances between Michal and me in wild disbelief—like he’s never seen anything quite like this. Likeus. It only makes me angrier. “Well,” he says, “when you put it likethat—”

“Don’t be an idiot, Dima,” Odessa says sharply, half rising from the crate. “Can you not see they’ve started to—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Michal snarls.

“Whatsentence?” I storm toward him before realizing what I’m doing, not stopping until our chests brush, until I’m forced to look up, up,upto meet his gaze. My breath hitches at what I see there—derision, yes, but also knife-sharp longing—and my thighs clench in anticipation. He sees it all, of course. He alwayssees it all. “What is she talking about?” I ask softly, adopting his lethal calm. I do not mean to do it. I cannot help myself.

His eyes fall to my lips, and his jaw clenches. “Nothing that concerns you.”

I seize his tattered shirt, resisting the urge to shake him, to climb his body until I canfeelhis muscles tense and flex beneath me. The strength in his fingers alone has nearly snapped the mast in half. “If you don’t tell me, I swear to—”

“To who?” He bends with a vicious smile, hooking my chin with one of those fingers and ever so gently prizing it upward. “Not to God, surely?”

I rear backward in outrage. “What iswrongwith you?”

His touch vanishes in an instant, and he retreats several paces away. “So many things, Célie.” A bitter laugh. “So very many things.”

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