A low, strangled sound escaped his throat when felt him shake his headno, somehow resisting her invitation. His other hand clamped over her mouth. Lilac whimpered under him, yearning to feel his teeth, the pain—her nostrils flaring for air as he silenced her with his palm, bringing her to the crest with his other.
Waves of fire and pleasure slammed into her. It was instinctive and vengeful all at once—his fangs teasing the side of her throat, too careful to break skin as his fingers thrusted into her, pushed her over the edge. Lilac breathed into her orgasm, convulsed under him, around him, and she tasted it before she realized what happened: the sweet savory of figs and honey on her tongue. Lilac shut her eyes and saw something other than darkness.
The gilded edge of a desk. A white quill, and the warm haze of a fireplace beyond.
It was so brief that she could have imagined it. It could’ve been her own memory, and she would have thought it was if she hadn’t experienced seeing into Garin’s mind before, when he’d prompted it in her room with his blood drawn by a prick of his finger.
It was a blink, less than a second, then it was gone. And so was he.
Lilac lay there, breathless, before rising to her feet. Even with him standing on the opposite side of the bed—his palm slicked in red—every inch of her body was flooded with sensation, as if his hands were still on her. She wanted to ask how his hand was, but when she approached him he held it out to stop her. It was barely a scrape, already healing.
“There’s a commotion upstairs.” His breathing was hard. “Please get dressed.”
“I have clothes on.” She hesitated.Barely.Her stockings and shoes were askew on the rug beside her, and her dress hung halfway off her body. “What kind of commotion?”
“It smells like Lori’s burnt something.”
Quickly, he crossed the room and threw the closet along the wall open. Tucked past his collection of cream and black tunics were several long garments in cloth, leather, and ribbon.Dresses.Velvets and corduroy, some of them mutely glimmering. He skimmed his hands through, trying to pick one.
The words left her tongue scathingly. “Are those from your other visitors?”
“Yes, nice of you to notice.” Garin extracted one and tossed it at her. “Each of my mistresses coincidentally have your exact build and height.”
She caught and unfolded a beautiful cream and forest green kirtle with a tan leather corset.
“There, that one matches the dress you’ve got on.”
“What’s wrong with the one I’m wearing?”
“These are different.Protected.”
Lilac glanced down at the piece of finery she held, willing her pulse to slow. The lace that ran through the built-in corset shone brightly in the firelight, silver and slightly glowing. “Where did you get it?”
“Shh.” Garin wasn’t listening. He was at the base of the steps cocking his ear, looking like he was struggling to focus.
Those garments hanging in his closet. Were they all for her? “What are those?—”
“Lilac, if you don’t put that dress on this instant, I’ll make you regret coming down here tonight.”
Heart racing, she stepped out of her gown and into the kirtle. The material had a generous stretch while the corset was light, seeming cosmetic more than anything. The leather was hand-carved in a curious pattern of filigree filled with angles, swoops, and leaves. It was pleasantly shorter than her castle gowns, falling mid-calf. Lilac donned her stockings and boots, then slid her dagger into the scabbard on the belt that sat at her hips.
When she joined him near the staircase, he was alert, eyes trained on the cellar ceiling. There was a loudbang, followed by a flurry of muffled voices and the scent of smoke. She blinked as they were cast in a beam of warm light.
“Have you beeneatingthe queen?” The blond vampire’s head popped down into the room. His nostrils flared. “Oh, thank heavens, you were just fucking her.”
“What is it, Bastion?”
The inn shuddered before Bastion could reply—a low, resounding vibration that jolted the three of them.
Bastion jumped. “What the bloody hell was that?”
“A warning,” Garin growled. “Of any threat to the inn. What is going on?”
“Whenever you two have a moment,” Bastion drawled, “there’s smoke coming from one of your bags, Your Majesty.”
She and Garin exchanged glances. “Which one?”
“The one that isn’t your inconveniently sized trunk. And your most diligent guard Hywell won’t let any of us near it.”
