“Is that what you think?” Her brow furrowed. “That I’m nothing more than a fool in silken skirts?”
“You’re nothing like them. They’re leeches. You’re a lion.”
Pleasure riffled through her at the compliment. “And what do leeches want with lions?”
“The chance to drink from our ice-cold veins.” He drew closer, his cool breath washing across her skin.
Celine considered his face, focusing on the way his mouth shaped words. The way its perfect furrow dipped in its center. How easy it would be to stand on her toes and do what she’d been wanting to do since the moment she first laid eyes on him.
She wasn’t alone in her desire. Even in the blue moonlight, the naked wanting on Bastien’s face unmoored Celine, setting her adrift in a stormy sea.
It was the kind of wanting that hurt.
“Celine.” He pronounced her name like a prayer. “What do you want?”
“I want . . .” She saw herself mirrored in his liquid gaze.
Bastien brushed his forehead across hers. “Put an end to our miseries, mon coeur,” he whispered. “Please.”
Celine rose on the tips of her toes, crowding his space as he’d crowded hers. She gripped him by his pristine lapels, his knife still entwined between her fingers, the blade gleaming white beneath the stars. The front of her basque pressed to the hardened planes of his body, Bastien’s heart racing against hers. He looked down, then steadied himself.
Their lips were a hairsbreadth from touching. “I want”— Celine’s tongue was a taste away from his—“you to answer my goddamned questions.”
It took a moment for her words to register. A shadow crossed Bastien’s brow, a muscle working in his jaw as he unwound himself and took a careful step backward. Celine’s hands slid from his chest, her heels returning to earth once more, the dagger’s handle hanging limply in her palm.
She expected his anger. From an early age, Celine had known boys did not take well to girls who toyed with their desires. She was prepared for his anger. Prepared to unleash some of her own in return.
Rich laughter rumbled through the night. It began in Bastien’s chest, then barreled from his perfect lips, the sound unabashed with appreciation.
Celine stood frozen, stunned silent.
Why did he never behave as expected? And why did it make him even more damnably attractive?
Bastien continued laughing as if no one was there to listen. His lips crooked into a half smile. “Celine Rousseau, you’re—”
“—brilliant,” she finished, refusing to admit how unsettled she was by his reaction. “An absolute joy to behold.”
“I was going to say impossible.” Bastien shook his head, looking bemused for the barest stretch of time. Then his expression smoothed, ever the consummate chameleon. “But I suppose I’d be willing to consider other options.” He straightened. “If you want me to answer your questions, then name your terms.”
She blinked, resenting how he donned his guises with such ease. “You wish to negotiate?”
“If you’ll sheathe your weapon.” Bastien motioned toward the dagger in her hand.
Unbeknownst to herself, Celine had lifted the small blade into the air, brandishing it between them. Blinking like a deer caught in the crosshairs, she turned the iridescent handle toward him.
Instead of taking it, Bastien passed its mother-of-pearl scabbard to her. “Keep it on you at all times. The blade is solid silver. In these times, such a weapon is a necessity, not an option.” His tone would not brook any reproach. “And if need be, always aim for the throat.”
Celine swallowed. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Do you . . . truly promise to answer my questions?”
Bastien checked his pulse. Nodded once. “Not here. Every hedgerow in this cursed maze contains at least five spies.” He rubbed at the side of his neck. “Come with me.”
TREAD CAREFULLY
Sébastien Saint Germain loathed what he was about to do.
But his feelings could have no bearing on his decision.
It must be done. Tonight. Without a shred of mercy.
Celine Rousseau suffered from many misguided notions. The first of which was that she could be part of this world and not suffer the consequences. That she could stand toe to toe with creatures who would tear her to shreds without blinking an eye . . . and live to speak about it.
If there was anything Bastien had learned in his eighteen years, it was that humans—no matter how formidable or resilient—did not belong in an Otherworld filled with demons and beasts. In the shadowy underbelly of creatures who held nothing but scorn for the fragility of life.