Page 63 of The Shadow Bride

I wait for him to continue. To explain. When he doesn’t, I glower up at him, but glowering isn’t effective as leverage. “You still should’ve told me,” I say at last.

“Like you’ve told me everything?” I recoil at that, and he seems to instantly regret the question, shaking his head and disentangling himself from my arms. Staggering slightly on his feet. After casting an apologetic look in my direction, he says, “We should go. The sooner I feed, the sooner we can leave—I’ve arranged a meeting with a witch on the far side of the isle shortly after dawn. She is very old, very private, but she might know how to kill a revenant.”

“A witch on the far side of the isle?” I repeat faintly. “You can’t evenwalk, Michal. And even if Arielledoeshelp, how do you intend to traipse across the isle without anyone seeing you? You’re supposed to be dead—”

“No one will see me.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I know this isle better than anyone, Célie. I knows its tricks, its traps, its secrets, and I know my own senses too—they’re sharper than those of other vampires because my body is older and stronger. Odessa is the only creature on Requiem who could track me, and fortunately for all of us, she has better things to do.” His jaw pulls taut enough to snap. “Are you satisfied now? Shall we go?”

I rush to support his elbow when he starts forward again, changing tack in an instant. “Yes, all right,fine, you’re very powerful—I shall find you a medal—but are you sure Arielle will be able to help you?”

“You needn’t join us if you’ll be uncomfortable, Célie. You can wait in the passage.”

My head is shaking before he even finishes the sentence. Because of course I cannot simply leave him to Arielle with such a serious injury. He almost died—I thought he did—and—and— “Is her blood potent enough to heal you?”

He keeps his eyes trained carefully upon the path ahead. “Sheisa werewolf.”

“Yes,” I snap, “but this isn’t a simple wound, is it? I can still see your heart through your ribs. Given the circumstances, wouldn’t it be more appropriate to drink something stronger? You—”

Michal halts abruptly. Sensing the change in him, I release his arm without another word, and violent flutters erupt in my stomach as the full weight of his gaze lands upon me. “Speak plainly, Célie. What are you suggesting?”

Shit.

“I, ah—” Panicked, I glance around us in search of an answer,but nothing in this dismal passage seems likely to rescue me. “I am merelysuggestingyou might heal faster—better—if you drink from someone more powerful.”

“You mean a vampire.”

“P-Possibly—”

“Which one?” When I do not answer, he sways again, planting a hand against the low wall beside him. His entire body bows with strain. “Which vampire, Célie? Name them, and it is done.”

For one belligerent second, I almost rattle off a name—any name—to spite the provocation in his eyes. Just as quickly, however, I imagine him actuallyfeedingfrom the unknown person, and anger scorches through my chest, incinerating the possibility. And just like that, there is nothing else for it. Michal cannot feed from Arielle, and he cannot feed from anyone else either. “Me,” I say a bit forcefully, lifting my chin before I do the sensible thing and flee. “You’re going to drink from me. Now take off your shirt.”

Chapter Twenty

Blood Sharing

Michal eyes me warily for several seconds, as if I’m a strange and dangerous animal that could turn at any second.

I quite like it.

“Shall we?” I gesture to the hard ground, relishing the twinge of pain on his face as he finally nods and eases down the wall. That vindictiveness fades, of course, when I move to step over him and catch sight of his chest again. My breath hitches. “Why did you do it?” I ask him again. “You never answered me.”

He tugs the cravat loose at his throat. “My priorities have shifted.”

“And that means—?”

“Célie,” he pleads.

“Right,” I say hastily.Later.“Should I just—?” I motion toward his lap, refusing to feel awkward, even as Dimitri’s laughter echoes in my ears.Vampires don’t share blood with other vampires outside ofveryintimate situations. Sex, Célie. I mean sex.

But none of that matters now. Michal ishurt, and besides, nothing fundamental changed between us after I drank from him in Cesarine. Now I can return the favor. Now I can help him too. “Should I sit with you?”

He nods again, resting heavily against the wall and closing his eyes. Whatever triumph he might’ve felt at provoking me seemsto have yielded to exhaustion. “Your shirt,” I remind him. “We should take a better look at your chest.”

“I can’t get it over my head.”

---