Chapter Forty-Five A Gentle Night
Chapter Forty-Five
A Gentle Night
A moment later, I run my hands over Michal’s face, tracing his flushed cheeks and his chiseled jawline. Learning him all over again. His skin looks different now—still pale, but fair instead of alabaster—and when my fingers reach his throat, a steady pulse greets me. He exhales sharply at the touch, as if pained, or perhaps simply relieved. His chest still rises and falls with great effort after almost drowning, and water sluices down the hard planes of his body.
His human body.
Michal has turned human too.
“You are so beautiful,” I whisper, and now my fingers trail over his shoulders, down his arms, across his abdomen. So alike, yet so different from the Michal I’ve known. And I cannot stop touching him, near giddy with excitement—with a touch of fear, but mostly with anticipation. And questions. Dozens upon dozens of questions, all of which surge forward at once, tangling my tongue until I can say nothing at all, can do nothing except gape up at him. So beautiful.
As a vampire, he resembled a fallen angel, or perhaps an avenging god—dark and untouchable, born of Hell itself—but now, as a human, he exudes warmth and vitality. An energy I cannot quite pinpoint. His hair is still silver , I think in wonder.
Grinning wider, he pushes the wet strands from his face and says, “You aren’t disappointed?”
And I thought I knew every version of him—the villain, the accomplice, the friend. I’ve seen him as a brother and a cousin, as well as a craftsman and a king. He has been my abductor. He has been my savior. I have even known him as my lover, yet I have never seen him like this—exhilarated, yes, but also hesitant and unsure as he waits for my response.
This Michal feels... newly vulnerable. Through the bond, I sensed only hints of that vulnerability before, but now I can see it in how he swallows and searches my gaze. I can feel it in how his hands slide down to grip mine, his fingers clinging as if terrified to let go.
I love it.
I love him .
“Disappointed?” I stretch to my toes, peppering his face with kisses. “You look like—like a dream, like a—”
He captures my mouth swiftly, swallowing the rest of my words until we’re breathless once more, before whispering against my lips, “We aren’t dreaming, Célie. This is real. I am Michal Vasiliev, son of Tomik and Adelina, and it is a pleasure to meet you in earnest.”
I clutch him closer in response, and his body melts into mine, one hand splaying against my lower back while the other cradles my jaw in reverence. When he drags his nose along my throat, my core tightens, but my teeth—they do not lengthen. I do not crave him that way anymore, yet my body seems to wind that much tighter because of it. I love him, and I want him, and when I close my eyes—turning my cheek into his palm—the feeling could be heaven.
“God, I missed you.” My voice is a ragged whisper between us. “I missed you so much. Please tell me you aren’t—that you aren’t upset.” Pulling back to look at him again, I hasten to explain myself. “I had no idea what would happen by coming here. If I had , I would’ve warned you, and you could’ve—I don’t know—chosen differently.” I inhale a sudden, anxious breath at the word, and my lungs expand painfully, still aching from the river water. “Your choice , Michal. Death and I took it away from you, and I—I am so sorry—”
He laughs at that, sweeping my hair aside and kissing me again. “This was my choice, pet. And how could I ever be upset when I’m holding you in my arms?” Another kiss, this one slower and more sensuous than the last. His voice lowers. “How could I be upset when I can taste you on my tongue?”
Behind us, my sister scoffs, but Dimitri only laughs in delight—whether at her or at us, I do not know. I do not care . My cheeks still heat like an open flame, however, as I say, “Yes, but you’ve—you’ve been a vampire for a thousand years, Michal, and now...”
“Célie.” His thumb brushes my lower lip, and he presses down, just like he always did. A shiver sweeps my spine. “Please hear me now because I will not say it again: I have never cared whether you’re a vampire, whether I am a vampire, and I do not care that we’re human now either. Because you’re right—I have lived a thousand years, and for every single one of them, I’ve been waiting to find you.” He laces our fingers together, lifting mine to kiss them gently. “To be with you like this—it has meant everything to me. You are worth any cost.”
And so is he. “I love you, Michal Vasiliev.”
He smiles again, and the sight of it—wide and uninhibited—literally takes my breath away. “I love you too, Célie Tremblay. Moje sunce.”
“If the two of you are finished,” Filippa interrupts with a scowl, “perhaps we should return . I’m getting a toothache.” And just like that, the sweetness of the moment vanishes, dissolving into the breeze.
Leaving us standing here—dripping wet and shivering—on the shore of a celestial river.
I whirl to face her, to demand she allow me a few moments with this man—my soul mate —who could’ve been lost forever, but the wind increases at that moment. Flower petals swirl between us in an eddy of snow whites, blood reds, and shadow blacks. Filippa catches one between her fingers, lifting it between us, and my stomach churns at her grim and determined expression.
Eventually the winds pick up, the river rises, and it sweeps you away.
Dimitri’s hair ruffles in a boyish way as he glares daggers at my sister. “Who said you were coming with us?” He crosses his arms, his brown skin more vibrant without the pallor of vampirism. That isn’t the only change, however. Whereas Michal and I are... livelier, Dimitri seems strangely steady. His gaze doesn’t dart from person to person as it once did; it doesn’t track the pulse in our throats and wrists. Even with Death’s blood in his system, he hadn’t been this—well, serene.
“ I am here to ensure everyone follows Death’s instructions,” Filippa asks coolly. “We are all marching straight back through the veil, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. In case you haven’t noticed, you lost those sharp teeth of yours. Unless you kept the knife I buried in your heart?”
Dimitri bares his teeth in a hard smile, taking a purposeful step forward, but when I reach out and touch his arm, he stills. He turns to look at me—to really look at me now. A smile cracks open his face at whatever he sees, his dimple flashing, and the sight fills me with immediate comfort, like the first sparks in the fireplace on a long winter night.
“Célie,” he exhales in surprise. “You’re— you .”
He charges forward then, stealing me from Michal and pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. “I thought I’d never see you again. I thought I’d never be able to apologize and tell you what it means to have you as family—”
Filippa bristles instantly. “She is not your family.”
As if innately sensing how best to rile her, he pretends not to hear—pretends she doesn’t even exist—and spares her not a single glance. I laugh loudly before he says, “I know it was sometimes hard to do so, but you believed in me. You trusted me. I should have been more careful with that.” Releasing me, he looks to Michal, and in his eyes shines true sincerity. “I should have been more careful with all of your trust.”
“Dimitri,” I say, squeezing his arm reassuringly, “I know.”
He nods once, gratitude alight in his gaze, and picks a drifting snowdrop from his hair.
Then he flicks it directly at Filippa.
She swats it away with a fierce scowl before gesturing to the gust of wind. “This is all very touching , but if we don’t leave soon, we won’t be leaving at all. That cannot happen.”
“Again with the we ,” Dimitri says incredulously. “What makes you think we’re going to make this easy on you? What makes you think we’re going to help Death’s favorite little minion? Do we look like fools?”
“I don’t think you want me to answer that—and Death isn’t my master .”
Michal silences them both with a wave of his hand. “Where is the way out?” he asks Filippa. “Point us to it, and we can... discuss this on our way.”
A tendril of unease appears at how he says discuss , but before I can question it, Filippa stabs a finger behind us toward the storm cloud. “ We go back the way we came.” To Dimitri, she says, “I am not sure, however, where you are going. Death needs these two, but you aren’t part of the plan—”
“What is the plan?” Dimitri spreads his arms wide, incredulous. “Is it here in the garden with us? I’d love to hear it if so—”
“Enough.” I step between them while maintaining careful eye contact with Michal, who no longer seems to be listening to their argument. Indeed, the incandescent light in his gaze has dimmed slightly since spotting the storm cloud, and I don’t like the implication. I don’t like it at all. “We should go—”
A gust of wind sweeps past at that, much faster than before; it bends the topiaries and tears several flowers from their stems. Filippa gestures from them to the rising river, which creeps ever closer to our feet. Her voice turns derisive. “We must take care not to touch any water.”
Cautiously, Dimitri eyes the slowly churning, almost hypnotic depths. “It pulled me under straightaway, yet I can’t—” The longer he stares, the deeper his brows furrow in confusion. “I can’t actually remember where it took me. Not the exact place, anyway. I suppose it was more a... feeling than anything else.”
Filippa stalks past him, rolling her eyes. “No one can.”
I hesitate before following her, glancing back at Michal, who still hasn’t spoken. “What was it like?” I brush the damp hair from my face, kicking a stray orange from our path. “The other side?”
He smiles softly at that. “It felt like home.”
“Oh.”
Michal takes my hand before I can say anything else. “It felt like my home a long time ago—before all of this, before I became a vampire. And it felt”—he searches for the right word, his own eyes scouring the distant birch trees—“peaceful, yes, but also incomplete.” When I glance up at him, he squeezes my hand, pouring every ounce of his regret into that touch. “ You weren’t there. I know I promised to wait for you, Célie, and I did. I tried . I waited in that garden until the wind picked up, until it forced me toward the river—until I heard Dimitri shouting in the distance, clinging to a branch by his fingertips.” He shakes his head ruefully. “I never expected to see him again, so when I did , I—I just couldn’t let him go. I tried to help—he slipped—and in the end, the wind took us both. The river swallowed us whole.”
Michal opens his other palm, and the white cord sparkles between us. “And that is when this showed up in my hand.”
“The bond,” I whisper.
From up ahead, Dimitri cranes his neck to look back at us suspiciously. “What are you two whispering about?” Then, to Filippa, “Can you hear them?”
“Do me a favor,” she says sweetly, “and take ten steps away from me now. You smell like river water.”
Narrowing his eyes with a razor-sharp smile, Dimitri steps even closer, and my sister glowers before marching ahead without another word, her jaw set and her eyes determined. Dimitri watches her for a moment, head tilted in abject frustration, and stalks right after her.
Michal takes my hand when I move to follow, shaking his head subtly as his voice lowers. “Célie...”
I glance up at him, the hair on my nape lifting at the way he looks back at me—as if trying to memorize my eyes, my lips, the curve of my cheek. As if suspecting he won’t see them again for a very long time. But... no.
No.
“Don’t do this, Michal,” I warn, tightening my fingers around his. Because I know what he plans to say. I know what he plans to do , and I will not let him. I will not —
“I cannot go back with you,” he says quietly.
My stomach sinks, and my throat burns like I’m still choking. I scowl at him. “What are you talking about? Of course you must come back.” I wave my hands to the garden around us, that hateful river, before stabbing a finger in his chest. “The entire point of all this was to resurrect you—”
“If you resurrect me”—he catches my finger and brings it to his lips—“the veil will come down. Death will win.”
My scowl deepens at the truth of his words. His truth isn’t the only one, however; mine exists too, and I refuse to live without him. “I cannot go back without you. The bond”—I tug on the cord, and it pulses brightly between us—“it’ll bring me right back here, remember? We cannot be apart.”
Frustration builds inside me as he sadly shakes his head. I was so focused on rescuing Michal, on reuniting with him, that I forgot everything that comes after: Death, namely, and his ticking clock. The fate of my mother, of all our loved ones. The fate of the entire world. We stare at each other as the bleak reality of our situation settles between us.
“Death—his magic—has kept the bond alive.” He closes my hand around the cord, and perhaps it’s my imagination, but it seems to dim slightly at his words. “If you return to the realm of the living, it’ll vanish.” A pause. “You’ll be free.”
Free.
Instantly, that frustration spikes to anger, and Michal flinches as I rip the cord closer. “Don’t be stupid. If I return alone to the realm of the living, I will not be free . I will become Death’s Bride in truth, and it’ll be all your fault—your noble, infuriating fault.” I glare up at him, seizing his shirtfront. “You once called me a martyr, but I’ve never met anyone as hypocritical as you. I will not let you sacrifice yourself again.” Then, lifting my chin, “Twice was enough.”
When Filippa snickers from up ahead, I turn to glare at her too. She stops walking, refusing to cower as she says, “Let me get this straight—when Frederic did this, it was wrong, but now that it’s you—now that it’s Saint Célie—the ends justify the means?”
“Don’t talk about her like that,” Dimitri snarls. “Frederic is nothing like Célie—nothing like my cousin either. Your dear old Fred never thought about anyone but himself. Case in point: he murdered your sister to bring you back, and he didn’t think twice about the consequences. Not just all this”—he waves an agitated hand at the storm cloud—“but also how it would affect you . Can you honestly say you approved of that sacrifice? Can you honestly say you wouldn’t have hated him if you’d lost Célie forever?”
Though Filippa opens her mouth angrily, she snaps it shut again as his words wash over her. And when her gaze flicks to mine, I look away swiftly, unable to meet it. Do you think—if she stood here now—she would choose death in order to let you live? “He said it should’ve been me,” I whisper to my feet.
All three of them still at the words. Even the wind dies momentarily, and I glance up to find Filippa looking stricken. After another moment, she swallows hard. “He was wrong.”
Dimitri shakes his head, his expression darkening as we four hesitate—torn between the river and the veil. True death and life. “There is no happy ending for you and your daughter. Death does not care about you, Filippa. He does not care about anyone. If you do not obey his every whim, he will cast you aside, and if you do , he will never bring back your daughter. Without Frostine, he cannot control you. You have always been just a pawn to him—and so have I.” His voice softens. “The two of us are alike in that way.”
She blinks rapidly, her hands falling limp at her sides, and perhaps I do have a soft and bleeding heart; perhaps I shouldn’t protect her right now, but I also cannot help it. She is my sister, and she will always be my sister. I never want to see her cry. Michal and I move closer to them. Closer to the veil. “Just think about it, Filippa. Your life has been hard, but it didn’t always need to be. Let us help you.”
She still does not answer, however, as if paralyzed by emotion.
I look away to give her distance, focusing on the shredded veil, and Dimitri does the same, the wheels spinning inside his head. He studies his hands then, suddenly rapt in thought. “If we returned to our original bodies when we entered this realm,” he begins slowly, “what would happen to Death if he followed us?” His gaze snaps abruptly to Michal. “Perhaps we have a third path before us. One that doesn’t involve the end of the world or the two of us crossing that damn river again. Permanently this time.”
Michal raises a brow, intrigued. “You think Death would return to his original body too.”
“I think it’s worth exploring.”
“What does Death’s original body even look like?” I ask.
Seconds stretch between us, wrought with tension, apprehension, even the smallest flicker of hope, until at long last, Filippa speaks. “He doesn’t have one,” she says quietly, refusing to look at any of us. “He came to me after Morgane finished her torture, but I couldn’t see him. I felt his presence instead—like a gentle night settling over me. I simply closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I was here. Death isn’t meant to be a villain. He is meant to be... Death .”
“Yes, well, that’s all very good, except—” A bite of impatience sharpens my words. Not at them, but at this wretchedly circular conversation. “Look, we’ve already failed to lure Death, the villain , here once, and even if we hadn’t, we have no way of mending the veil to trap him—not without you crossing the river and dying all over again.” Filippa doesn’t look surprised by this information. Instead her emerald gaze glitters with cunning. She already knows all of this—three steps ahead, as usual—yet she still refuses to share anything else.
We stare at each other, both refusing to budge.
“If I return,” Michal says after another moment, “you won’t even be able to try. Perhaps my resurrection will not bring down the veil completely, but it will tear another hole, create another maelstrom. Potentially it could even trigger the end of the world as we know it.”
I resist the urge to stamp my foot in refusal. He still doesn’t seem to understand that I will not—cannot—live without him. I would rather cross the river myself than return as Death’s Bride. “We’ve been over this too,” I insist. “How many times have you watched me do it? I can mend any tear I create. I can stop the sickness before it becomes permanent, which means—”
Which... means...
I can mend any tear I create.
Any tear I create.
Realization strikes like a fist to my ribs, and I nearly double over with it. Whirling to face Filippa, I say, “You can close the door.”
Dimitri leans closer, unable to hear over the roar of the waterfall. “What?”
“You created the door,” I say louder, clearer, staring at her in shock. In slowly burgeoning hope. It grows from a flicker to a flame in a single breath. All this time, I’ve been searching for a solution to save my sister, but could it be that—that she is the solution? Not her death after all, but her life. Just— her .
Filippa knows how to manipulate the veil; I’ve watched her come and go through it, watched her tear it apart as she pleases. She has never died to mend it, and she needn’t die now either. Breathless with the revelation, I dart forward to seize her hands. “You created the door, Filippa, so you can close it. You’ve been able to close it all along.”
She needn’t die.
Again, Filippa does not react, instead staring back at me with that same unerring cunning. “Yes,” she says simply. “I know.”