The praise should’ve placated her. Instead, it stoked her ire. She jabbed her finger in my chest. “No. No, no, no. I knew you would try this martyrdom bullshit, as if you rotting in prison or burning at the stake will somehow solve everything. Let me clue you in, Chass—it won’t. It won’t solve anything at all. In fact, it’ll complicate an already complex situation because on top of saving your mother and battling Morgane—and La Voisin, Nicholina, and a whole slew of other fucking unpleasantness—I’ll also have to rescue you.”

My skin flamed hotter at her profanity. At her mouth. “Language,” I snarled.

She ignored me, prodding my chest again. Harder this time. “I know you’re experiencing some big feelings right now, but you aren’t going to do anything stupid with them. Do you understand? You aren’t going to prison because you love your mother. You aren’t going to die because you want to fuck a witch. Get—over—your—self.”

Each pause she enunciated with a poke.

My blood nearly boiled now. Ears ringing, I shoved past her toward the door. If she insisted on staying belowdecks, I would return above. I could endure the others, but she—she spoke to me as if I were a child. An errant, petulant child in need of scolding. Of discipline. It was too much. Wheeling to face her at the last moment, I snapped, “What I do or don’t do is none of your concern.” A brief pause. “And I don’t want to fuck a witch.”

“No?” Like lightning, she closed the small distance between us. In her eyes, anger glinted brutal and bright and beautiful. And something else—something like resolve. When her chest brushed my stomach, my muscles contracted near violently. “What do you want, then?” She leaned closer still, her face tipping toward mine. A hard edge crept into her voice. “Make up your mind. You can’t string me along forever, blowing hot one minute and cold the next. Do you want to love me, or do you want to kill me?”

I stared down at her, heat creeping up my neck. Flushing my cheeks.

“It’s a fine line, isn’t it?” Rising to her tiptoes now, she practically whispered the words against my lips. “Or . . . perhaps you don’t want either. Perhaps you want to worship me instead. Is that it, Chass? Do you want to worship my body like you used to?”

I couldn’t move.

“I can show you how if you’ve forgotten,” she breathed. “I remember how to worship you.”