Page 69 of The Shadow Bride

What if he has no choice?

The isle—the entireworld—is breaking, and at the center of it all stands Death and his revenants. That much is clear. This forest would not be weeping without them. The harbor would not be bleeding, the paintings dying. Worse still—Death seems to be scheming something more, and he seems to be scheming it with my sister.

I made a promise, my sweet, to exhaust every option.

Every option towhat?

If only I knew; if only I could reveal Death without endangering Filippa, who clearly isn’t herself.

“Aren’t you curious, pet?” Michal tilts his head and watches me patiently. “To test your limits? To discover all this eternal life might offer if you give it the chance?”

“No,” I say sharply—too sharp. I cringe internally at the vehemence in my voice.

A flicker of emotion crosses Michal’s features at the word, there and gone again in the blink of an eye. Disappointment? Remorse?It doesn’t matter, I tell myself firmly, but even I almost laugh at the lie. Nothing has ever mattered more.

“Are you sure?” he asks in that dangerously soft voice. “The Célie I know relishes knowledge. She craves the thrill of new experiences, of adventure, and she never allows fear to keep her from chasing it.”

I scoff on impulse. This Célie of whom he speaks is much greater than I, but he needn’t know that. He needn’t knowanythingof this battle raging in my chest. “Don’t be ridiculous, Michal. Of course I’m not afraid—”

“Prove it.”

His black eyes glitter with challenge now. With burgeoning excitement. And though it makes me the worst sort of coward, Iamafraid—of indulging my own treacherous curiosity, yes, but also of indulginghim.

With a valiant attempt at indifference, I sweep past him. “We’ll disturb the forest if we race across the isle.”

He appears in front of me again, refusing to be deterred. “Not if we run on the water.”

“But my gown—”

“I saidonthe water, Célie, not in it.”

His hand snakes out to catch mine when I skirt around him again, and his eyes—they flick to our left for the briefest of seconds as if detecting movement. Instinctively, I follow his gaze to find a small tear in the veil between two saplings. The shorn edges ripple slightly in a nonexistent breeze, and snowflakes drift upon the earth below it. I frown as Michal turns my chin back toward him. Did he justsee—?

“You needn’t fear for your gown, pet,” he says as if nothing happened. “All vampires can move with exceptional speed, but the fastest among us can outrun nature itself. You will not sink.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Michal, but I am not you. I very much doubt I’ll be able to—to walk on water—”

“Runon water,” he corrects me. “And you might be surprised. Will you at least try?” When I still look wary, he grins anew, and from his pocket he withdraws a very frayed, very filthy, veryfamiliaremerald ribbon. My heart leaps at the sight of it.

“Is that—?” I lunge for it instinctively. After the events of All Hallows’ Eve, I thought my ribbon lost, gone forever, and no small part of me regretted exchanging it with the silver ribbon of my costume that night. Frederic’s knife irrevocably ruinedthatribbon, of course, so perhaps it’d been for the best. “How did you find it?”

“It was never lost.” He jerks the ribbon overhead when I swipe at it, and the tail dangles just out of reach. “I suppose you’d like it back now, wouldn’t you?”

I glare up at him. “Yes.”

“Fantastic.” Quick as a flash, he tucks the ribbon back into his pocket. “Indulge this little whim of mine, and I’ll give it to you. It could be useful, you know,” he adds in a lower voice, and my belly clenches like a fist at the sound. “To learn the limits of your new body.”

“Why is this so important to you?”

And itisimportant, I realize with a start. Despite his casual demeanor, his gaze blisters with an intensity that burns. “You need to know your advantages in order to press them. The revenants certainly will.” An idea sparks in his eyes before I can argue. “If the revenants and ribbon aren’t incentive enough, I suppose I could simply... flee.”

My brow furrows. “What?”

He doesn’t explain; instead that idea solidifies into a knowing, mischievous gleam, and—the split second before he turns on his heel—I remember his warning outside L’ange de la Mort:Never run from a vampire.My frown deepens. Because he can’t possibly think—

In a streak of black and silver, he bolts up the stream, and my body reacts without conscious thought.

It bolts after him.

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