She never got there.
Rupert caught Kemble in a single stride. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, the chilling sound of his apologetic grief causing the hair on Lilac’s neck to stand. Yanna had already leapt out of her cot and was cowering behind Myrddin.
“I’m so, so sorry.” Rupert petted Kemble’s hair and clamped his hand over her mouth to soften the blood-curdling screams that cut off when he yanked her head back and feasted on the front of her throat.
If anyone couldn’t tell he was a fledgling on account of his pompous demeanor and poor coordination, they’d know by his bite. It was messy—blood was everywhere. After he’d adjusted his mouth twice on her with Kemble crying and wrestling herself from him, it began to spray all over the cots and floor.
All that red.
Lilac stared as it stained her shoes.What a pretty color.The way the firelight from the hearth across the room illuminated it, pools of ruby—the color so deep and thick, not even sunlight could break through.
“Lilac, look out,” cried Yanna.
She tore her gaze away. Garin was sitting up, transfixed on the commotion before him. The adrenaline that instantly flooded her body was a beacon of distress, something that called out to him. He swiveled his head to her, a purely predatory movement.
For once, the vice of self-preservation snapped into place, throttling her; Lilac scuttled back, but not before Garin’s hand clamped around her wrist, digging his talons into her forearm. She yanked anyway, successfully freeing herself on the second tug—and tumbled backwards into one of the poles supporting the beams of linen curtains.
Every one of his fangs were visible when he slid off the bed and lumbered toward her. It seemed Myrddin’s blood was still in his system, but she wouldn’t be the one to test it. Lilac quickly untangled herself from the thick material and clambered over the next cot, but her stomach lurched when his thick fingers wrapped around her ankle and yanked. She slammed back down onto the cot then the floor as he dragged her back under the divider.
“I need to taste you.” His inflection, his hulking shoulders, the girth of his clawed fingers creeping up her thigh toward her ass tugged every inch of her heated flesh toward him.
She flipped over and flung her hair out of her eyes, tossing the remainder of the curtain off. A flash of regret suddenly crossed his part-human features, the traces of monster flickering.
Garin lifted his hand, nails dragging down her cheek and the line of her jaw, sweeping her hair off of her throat. The scuffle beyond the curtains raged on—Kemble’s screaming and the crashing of glass along the apothecary wall, now—but Garin took no notice. He snaked his arm around the small of her waist, pulling her under him.
Maybe Strigoi were vampires with their veneers melted away, any pretense of humanity shriveled off, for he was a monster in the flesh. He was the throbbing appetite of night unending. He wanted her blood; she wanted to play the strings of his dark heart and watch him come further undone.
The urge had snaked its way under her skin, a voracious acid eating at her will.
“I must have you,” Garin said, gazing upon Lilac as she would a table-length feast. “I am sorry.”
Lilac gripped his jaw and tugged his face toward her; brought her lips to his tapered ear and ran her soft tongue along his lobe. His shoulders shuddered against her.
“I’m not,” she whispered, twisting her fingers into the curtain hem and yanking. The beam snapped—and several iron poles came crashing down on them, one narrowly missing her. Another struck the back of Garin’s head.
He snarled and dropped her.
Lilac scrambled out from under him and crawled toward the room. She barely dodged an amber bottle Kemble threw at Rupert and the violet flames and smoke that exploded at his feet, dashing for the door—upon which there was a light set of rapid knocks. She quickly pressed her shoulder against it when the knock came again.
“Hello?” It was Isabel. “Is everything?—”
“Don’t come in.” Lilac pressed harder against the door when she felt the doorknob jingle.
“Your Majesty?”
There was a crash; Garin burst out of the curtains, tearing down the remainder of the beams. His gaze locked greedily upon Kemble, corneredand chased by Rupert. He bent his legs, readying to pounce, when Isabel knocked and spoke again. Louder this time.
“Let me in,” she demanded. “Where is my sister? Is she all right?”
Garin spun toward the door—to Lilac—and lunged. She shielded her face and threw herself to the side.
There was a heavythud.
Across the room, Yanna and Myrddin had detangled themselves from the curtains.
The door swung open. Isabel took one look at the scene before them—Yanna, covered in blood and bite marks, Rupert’s satisfied, heavy gulping from a finally surrendered Kemble in the corner, and Garin, bloodied, shirtless, and sprawled on his side, his hands bound at his front by thick rope and chains.
Her handmaiden uttered a squeak of terror and turned to leave, but Lilac grabbed her arm and tugged her back in, slamming the door. “See? Yanna is fine.”
