Garin’s breathing grew heavy as he found her throat, his fingers raking her dress up the sides of her thighs.
“My blood is yours. Nothing more,” Lilac panted. “We all want things we cannot have, remember?”
He released a soft laugh against her skin at the memory of his taunting at The Jaunty Hog, and kissed his way to the hollow of her collarbone. Garin sucked her flesh into his mouth. She gasped, holding him tighter to her—but Garin broke off.
“All too well,” he muttered, his fingers forming a light collar around her throat. “Do you think your wedding gown will cover this if I get carried away?”
Recalling the dress Herlinde had promised her and Garin marking her neck at his farmhouse, Lilac growled, pushing at his chest. She slid off of him and onto the cot. In one swift motion, he was on the floor, kneeling between her legs. Cursing him, she slid her tongue into his mouth again. She lifted her chin and encouraged him to her throat, all care and caution blunted by the burn of her skin—and the thought of his mouth bringing ecstatic relief.
Garin pulled away. “Things we cannot have.”
“Tell me what to do,” she demanded. She didn’t know precisely what she wanted or what she was offering him—or at least, how to ask for itwithout shame and incredulous desire. Lilac only knew she needed release. Wanted her vampire to bring her to it, to whatever end. “Please.”
His eyes were wild. She watched him rock back onto his heels, his fingers curled as if it pained him to remove them from her.
“Lay back on the cot,” he instructed, voice hoarse.
Lilac obeyed, for once moving faster than the force that shifted her bottom to the center of the mattress.
He then got to his feet, towering over her. “Slide your dress down.”
All too willingly, she removed the sleeves from her shoulders and shimmied out of them.
Garin’s throat bobbed as she bared her breasts for him. “Further.”
She slid her thumbs into her dress and peeled it down, savoring the way his pupils widened as the material reached her navel. Everything she’d said just moments ago was meaningless, meant to hurt him and protect herself. Her mouth watered at the thought of slipping him out of his trousers and?—
“Stop.” Garin nodded, satisfied with her half-bare torso. Then, he turned on his heel. He stalked out of the makeshift room of curtains, toward the glow of the hearth.
“Garin?” Lilac crawled to the edge of the cot and made to get off, but her muscles seized when he spoke again.
“Stay there.”
There was the sound of pouring liquid. Then, clanking iron.
Frustrated, she yanked away the curtain dividing Garin’s cot and the next. He stood with his back to her at the apothecary desk on the right of the hearth. Dozens of rows of shelves were stacked upon each other above a long station, with tools and cups to Garin’s left, and bottles of various liquids to his right.
He was peering into the collection of cups and containers, and plucked out a granite mortar and pestle. “Rose. Typical.”
Lilac strained to hear him as he continued to mutter to himself. She tried to shift off the bed, curiosity getting the best of her—but his power held her there, so she sank back onto the mattress.
Garin held something small and grey over his shoulder while pulling open one of the larger drawers at the bottom. Isabel’s tin. “I didn’t know you visited the apothecary that night.”
“I didn’t. One of my handmaidens, Isabel, gave it to me tonight before the feast.”
“Isabel.” He sounded like he was only half-listening. Concentrating, Garin pocketed the tin and grabbed a handful of what looked to be dried flowers and dropped it into the mortar. He fell silent, searching again, and opened another smaller drawer up top—sniffed, then took a pinchful. He did this again with the drawer under it, and a drawer on the opposite end, then got to grinding it down. “And how did your Isabel procure this salve?”
“She made it. She and her twin sister Yanna used to work at The Fool's Folly before coming here.”
At this, Garin pivoted to shoot her a look of concern. “They’re young. I didn’t know they were taking on apprentices.”
“Yanna and Isabel were orphaned in Rennes before they began working there.” Lilac watched him pound the herbs down, the veins in his hands prominent as he gripped the stone. She squeezed her thighs together. “Then my parents announced they were seeking potential handmaidens while the kingdom searched for me. They travelled to the castle, where my mother hired them right away.”
Garin’s brow furrowed, but he swallowed whatever he was going to say. “Your parents assigned you a pair of fine handmaidens.”
“They’ve turned out to be worthy friends,” she agreed, waiting for him to explain just what it was he was doing.
But he only turned and took the mortar to the kettle hanging over the hearth. Garin lifted the steaming lid with a cloth and tilted the pulverized herbs in, down to the last crumb. Then, he finally faced her, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed. His neatly placed hair from supper had retained its tousled bounce; Lilac’s heart skipped a beat when he brushed it back.
