Page 43 of The Shadow Bride

Humiliation floods my face at the abrupt absence of him. And in this moment, I hate all of it—the distance between us, the loathing in his voice, the blood in my cheeks.Hisblood. I hate that it flushes my skin. I hate that it sustains my body. Most of all, I hate that despite everything, I never would’ve fed from Dimitri, and Michal seems to know it.

“An egregious oversight on his part not to have informed you,” Dimitri says with a bemused grin, his dimples flashing, “but vampires don’t share blood with other vampires outside ofveryintimate situations.” He pauses meaningfully as if waiting for me to respond. When I don’t, he glances between us and says, “Sex, Célie. I mean sex. Or love, I suppose, which must mean my cousin—”

Shaking his head, Michal stalks past his cousin to the stairwell, and—without so much as a word—shoves him overboard.

Dimitri hits the water with a deafening splash.

Smirking despite herself, Odessa peers down into the churning waves as Dimitri curses, still laughing, but she waves him off with a flick of her wrist before turning back to me. “He’ll be fine. He can swim. And as for you—” She pats the crate, motioning for me to sit. “I wouldn’t fret about any of this. Vampires do not possess long memories—after the first five hundred or so years, no one will even remember this little debacle—”

“Odessa,” I manage quietly. “Please shut up.”

Chapter Fourteen

Unexpected Visitors

Dimitri still wears an enormous smile when we reach Requiem.

In some ways, the isle looks exactly as I remember—the roads steep and narrow, the markets teeming with all manner of unusual wares, the castle looming above like a specter as a nondescript carriage winds down to meet us. A veritable feast of the senses, even to a human being.

As a vampire, however, it’s an onslaught.

Dozens of hearts beat an erratic rhythm beneath the din of voices, of footsteps, ofbreaths, and I can somehow scent each one. I canseethe latent hair follicles beneath each loup garou’s face, the clawlike protrusions between their knuckles as two struggle to lift the gangplank. Likewise, the skin of a passing woman—a melusine hawking oranges to the disembarking crew—gleams like pearls in the torchlight. I stare after her, transfixed. She smells of salt. Of slippery, slinking things, and for somemaddeningreason, my teeth begin to ache at the scent, followed by that twist of disgust. I cease breathing immediately.

I avoid looking at Michal while we wait for the carriage.

Vampires don’t share blood with other vampires outside ofveryintimate situations.

The words clang like a bell in my ear, echoing over and overagain until my head rings. Not only did I proposition Dimitri in front ofeveryone, but I also fed from Michal.

I fed from him, and I liked it.

I’m not the only one changed since the last time I came to Requiem, however.

While Frederic’s experiments had already started... twisting things on the isle before All Hallows’ Eve—and everywhere else—he hadn’t yet broken them. The ground might’ve oozed blood when I first trekked to the castle, but it hadn’t trickled from the gables at the market like macabre tears. The shops and stalls themselves might’ve sold unusual goods, but at least those goods had been vibrant, scintillating—not strangely subdued, as they are now. Almost faded, like a veil of shadow has fallen over them. Or perhaps over my vision?

Due to a witch’s trick, darkness has always plagued Requiem, but this... it feels different.

It feels almost like thespiritrealm.

Frowning, I cast a glance up the street, but that eerie shadow remains. It clouds the faces of anxious passersby, the vagrant cats, the very cobblestones upon which they all walk. It drains the color from everyone and everything. The entire island. And theairhere—

My frown deepens as I inhale tentatively. Though my throat burns anew at the scent of blood, it doesn’t consume me like it would’ve before drinking from Jean Luc and Michal. No. Altogether more concerning is how the airfeels—thinner than usual, and cold.

Much too cold.

It condenses into little white clouds from the mouths and noses of everyone in the market. Even Michal, who stands with his hands clasped behind his back—shoulders proud—and surveys thescene with his signature disdain. His cool gaze belies the tightness around his eyes, however.

Something is wrong here. Something is very wrong.

Silver flashes in my periphery, and my gaze snaps to where a translucent hem vanishes behind the nearest cart. My unease deepens as confusion builds, and I search the street for any other telltale signs of ghosts—because this isn’tquitelike the spirit realm either, rather an unnerving amalgamation of the two. I shake my head to clear it. The veil separates the realms; they simply cannot mix, and anything else would be impossible.

Then you need to pay closer attention.

Reid’s words drift back to me, and I remember the blood dripping from Lou’s nose when I opened the veil in her kitchen.

Swallowing hard, I shift closer to Michal as other figures gather in each nook and cranny of the street—crouching on rooftops and looming in alleyways—still and silent and predatory in their intent. I can see them better now than I did before. I can feel their attention on us like a honed blade pressed to my throat.

As if vultures to a carcass, the vampires have come.

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