believe you desire the truth, even though it may cause you pain. Am I wrong?”
Celine swallowed. Shook her head. And unlocked the door to her shop.
* * *
For the next hour, Celine mostly held her tongue. Mostly listened.
But some things were too ridiculous for her to ignore. Twice she almost threw Bastien out of the shop, her hands trembling, her pulse trilling in her skull.
A world of . . . fey creatures? Enchantresses? Blood drinkers?
Perhaps she truly had gone mad. Perhaps the injuries to her head had done her irreparable harm.
For the fourth time since Bastien had begun speaking, Celine pinched her arm, feeling certain it would rouse her from the most bizarre dream of her life. Actually it wasn’t a dream. It was more like a nightmare. With each sentence Bastien spoke, Celine found herself struggling to marshal her disbelief.
Bastien paused, his features subdued. Waiting for Celine to react to his most recent revelation.
“So . . . ,” Celine began, “you and all the members of La Cour des Lions are”—she swallowed—“not human.”
He shook his head.
“What are you, then?” she breathed, her fingers twisting around the brass key she still held in her hand.
“Arjun is half fey and half human. A kind of immortal known as an ethereal.” He watched Celine as he said this. “The rest of us drink blood to live.”
Celine grasped the key tightly. “Are you . . . dangerous to me?”
“This entire world is dangerous to you, Celine. But I can make you this promise: my vampire nature is the last thing that should cause you concern.”
Chewing the inside of her cheek, Celine pondered his words. Every so often she stared at Bastien as if he were a puzzle she had yet to solve. Twice she began to speak and stopped herself. If she possessed a modicum of self-preservation, she would throw him out like the lunatic he obviously was. Nothing he said made a whit of sense. None of this was possible.
And yet she found herself . . . wanting to believe. As if the girl who’d loved the tales of the Brothers Grimm had finally found the answers to her most ridiculous questions.
“Strangely,” Celine said, “it’s a comfort to know these things. You’ve—”
“There’s more,” he interrupted softly.
Her eyes went wide. “More than an enchanted world of deadly fairy-tale creatures?”
For the first time this evening, Celine saw Bastien waver. He nodded once. “You . . . are a part of this world, as well. An ethereal, by birth.”
Celine almost laughed. It was too ridiculous.
He leaned forward, his movements liquid. Inhuman. “Your mother is an enchantress named Silla. The Lady of the Vale.”
Incredulous laughter barreled from Celine’s lips. “That’s the most—” The color drained from her face as understanding gripped her chest. Is. Not was. Her mother is an enchantress.
Bastien was too careful to make this kind of mistake.
Celine shot to her feet, the brass key clattering to the carpeted floor. “My mother is alive?” Her knees shook beneath her skirts, awareness pricking at her skin.
Bastien looked up at her. Nodded.
“Have you . . . have you . . . ,” she stammered. “Have you seen her?”
Again he nodded.
Her right hand wrapped around the base of her neck. Her pulse raced through her veins like a spooked horse. “And does she”—Celine cleared her throat—“does she wish to see me?”
Bastien stood. “It doesn’t matter if she wishes to see you. What matters to me is whether you wish to see her.”
Celine nearly stumbled as she took a step back. Bastien moved to help her, but she raised a hand to stay his motions. Then sank into the plush chair behind her.
“Why are you telling me this now?” she whispered, her fingers still closed around her throat, her palm brushing the lace along her collarbone.
“Because I respect you. And I should not be the one making decisions for you, despite my feelings on the matter.” The intensity in his gaze made Celine want to avert her eyes. But she didn’t.
“Your feelings on the matter?” she asked. “Do you wish you could make this decision for me?”
His lips pushed forward. “I do. More than I care to admit.”
“Then why have you given me the choice, against this inclination?”
“Because I should not make your story about me.” The heat of his intensity unmoored her. Bastien seemed to come to life in the darkness, the lines of his body limned in smoke.
There were many things Celine wished to say. Many questions she longed to have answered. It was the oddest