Page 64 of The Shadow Bride

“I can do it.”

Trying not to disturb him, I sink onto his legs as gently as possible, careful not to brush my shoulder against his chest. With slow, painstaking movements, I first ease the leather surcoat from his shoulders, down his arms, before sliding his shirt up his body and over his head to reveal the wound beneath. It looks all the more shocking without clothing to shield it. All the more gruesome. “Is there a particular place the blood tastes best?”

With a ragged breath, he eases his knees farther apart, and my backside settles in the cradle of his thighs. I swallow hard as the billowing train of my gown floats around us. “Anywhere,” he says faintly. Though he does not open his eyes, he drapes one arm across my legs, while his other hand settles lightly upon the small of my back.

Anywhere.

It becomes impossible to swallow now. My throat constricts to the size of a needle, and—as if sensing my irrational nerves—he begins to draw slow, soothing circles upon my back. “This dress is beautiful,” he murmurs. “You should wear it always.”

“I—” I gape at him, momentarily distracted, and wonder if his heart transplant has also transplanted his personality. Then I remember my manners, glancing down at the voluminous violet skirt. “Thank you. I believe Romi created this one under Monsieur Marc’s guidance. Would it be all right if we use my, ah—” I shake my head quickly to clear it. “What I mean to say is—do you find my wrist—?”Acceptable, my mind screams.Do you find my wristacceptable?But the distance between my brain and mouth proves too far to travel, and I stumble over the words.

His eyes open to slits. “I find your wrists perfect.”

Oh God.We’re sitting entirely too close for him to look at me this way, but I cannot think how to move without making the situation worse. Indeed, his body seems to fill the entire passage—all long legs and broad shoulders andblood—until the scent of him overwhelms everything. Until my head spins with it.I should hold my breath.Yes, I should hold my breath and look away, should offer my wrist without further conversation, yetnowmy mouth decides to speak. “O-Or you could drink from my throat if you prefer.”

His hand pauses on my back. “Is that what you would prefer?”

“I just meant—if it would help—”

“Célie.” He speaks my name softly—so softly I must lean closer to hear it—and brushes the hair from my neck with aching tenderness. “While I appreciate the offer, there are... things you should know before we do this.”

The way his voice lowers on the wordthingsfeels strangely significant. “Is this more nonsense about blood sharing?”

“It isn’t nonsense.”

“Of course it is.” I blink at him anxiously, searching the planes of his beautiful, ashen face; his color has grown worse, and his mouth tightens with pain. He needs to feed, and he needs to do it quickly. When I move to twist in his lap, however, to straddle his waist and ease his access to my throat, his hands slide to my hips, stilling the movement. “I understand the implication of intimacy, but it isn’t like we’reactuallyhaving—” My throat closes around the rest of the sentence, and I pivot hastily at his strained expression. “I thought you said vampires share blood all the time—”

“Not all the time, but they can, yes. Theydo.”

“Why is there a problem, then?”

“There isn’t a problem. It’s just—when two vampires share blood, they—they change. They change, Célie,” he says softly.

“Michal—” Though I wriggle to free myself, panic mounting at the glassiness of his eyes, his hands remain like manacles around me. “Let me go.” Voice firm, I clap my hands upon his jaw and force him to look at me. “If you don’t feed soon, you’re going to die—reallydie this time—”

“I won’t die.”

“You don’t know that! No,listento me.” Careful not to jostle him, I seize his wrists and pry them from my hips, trapping his hands against my chest as I manage to turn at last. Nose to nose now, I ask, “Will it hurt me if we share blood?”

His voice is a whisper. “No.”

“Will it hurtyou?” The barest shake of his head, and at last, his body surrenders, falling back against the wall once more. “Then we’re doing this. Now shut up and take my blood.” And without another word, I release his hands, thrusting my own behind his head and lifting it to the crook of my shoulder, forcing his mouth to my skin.

He exhales once—a cool, delicious breath that sends a shiver down my spine.

Then he parts his lips, and his teeth pierce my skin.

Instantly, I suppress the urge to moan. A languid sort of pleasure ripples outward from the sharp, aching pressure of his mouth, and when he adjusts his grip, biting deeper, harder—his tongue cool against my skin—I tip my head back. I relish the sensation. I forget that I am Célie and he is Michal, and I breathe his name.

His hands curl into fists at the sound.

He keeps them pressed to his sides, however. He takes care not to touch me at all, holding his body completely still—tightly leashed—but I’ve never possessed his strength of will. My mouth parts on a harsh breath at the inexorable pull of his teeth, histongue, and I cannot help it—I want to touch him now. I want to domorethan touch him. Worse still, I want him to touch me too—really touch me—and all at once, I might die if he doesn’t.

My gown.

The thought rises swiftly, imperatively, because the swaths of violet silk are in the way. Wresting my skirt upward, I free my legs before settling against him, skin on skin, my bare knees clamped around his hips. “Michal,” I say again, and he shudders slightly at the plea in my voice. My entire body tightens with him. Because I’ve never felt Michal shudder before. With the realization comes a heady sense of power, and I seize his hands, bringing them to my hips and dragging them up my waist. Gasping at the strength in those fingers. “Touch me. Please, Michal, you have to touch me.”

Beyond the roar of my blood, a distant part of me skitters wildly at the words, at the near frantic roll of my hips.Too much. Too soon.But I want it. Oh, Iwantit, and when I push closer, our hands slide up my waist, the tips of his fingers brushing the swell of my breast. Every thought empties from my head.

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