“Him?” Bog looked at Garin, deference for the old man replaced by slight skepticism. “A vampire?”
“Shut up, you buffoon.” The old man took a final step forward and jabbed his cane at Lilac. “Grab them.”
Garin stared at her warningly, shaking his head minutely as Lorenzo strode forward and gripped her by the shoulders. Mathias took him by the arm.
He was urging her to play along.
“Slice her,” the old man ordered.
Lilac squawked in protest as Lorenzo tightened his grip on her. “Get your filthy hands off me!” When he ignored her, she tried to draw away from him, disregarding Garin’s pleading eyes, and she was able to pry his fingers off the back of her neck before he coiled them around her throat, walking them back and pinning her to the wall beside the door. Furious, she looked to Garin, who wore an exaggerated expression of dread.
Lorenzo pulled a small paring knife and held it to her chest, and she had no choice but to still before the blade. He sliced her shallowly above her breast, and it stung enough to make her whimper. The sound of her own pain galvanized her rage, and the moan turned into a growl as shestomped his foot. He dropped the knife, cursing, but roughly yanked her hands and secured them behind her back.
Warmth trickled down her chest now, probably a violent sight upon the illusion of her wedding gown. Garin glared at the man, at Bog and the crowd as a curious circle gathered around them. When Lorenzo yanked her off the wall and brought her to him, he began to struggle impotently in Mathias’s arms.
“What is wrong with you? All of you?” Garin snarled, twisting this way and that under Mathias’s grip, his hair matted in a sheen of sweat against his forehead. “We are two innocent travelers passing through, and this is how we are treated?”
“Feed her to him,” barked the man, spittle flying from his lips. “Show everyone! They’ll believe me then. Let him drain her.”
Lorenzo thrust her forward and Garin caught her as she tripped. His fingers were trembling as they gripped her arms, his face twisted in remorse, in apology. She stilled beneath his touch, wondering if he was going to drink from her in front of everyone as he refused to meet her eyes.
Feeding him felt like such an intimate act between them.
The thought made her heart erratic and made her thighs throb.Do it, was all she could think.Do it and make them scatter like ants.
Garin pivoted her, baring her throat to him, eyes black. The crowd of Daemon hunters and others watched in horror, unable to pull their eyes away.Sick bastards, she thought, shutting her eyes as she prepared for the painful pleasure of his teeth.
But Garin’s grip on her loosened, and she stumbled back as something splattered her boots.
Garin heaved again as a second wave of vomit poured from his mouth, nearly dropping the warlock still somehow balanced on his shoulders, all the mead and bread he’d scarfed at the bar coming up unrecognizable.
She shrieked and scuttled back, as did everyone else. Mathias shoved Garin, grunting in disgust as the bile coated his legs. Hands on his knees, he heaved once more, but nothing else came out. He groaned and wiped himself on his sleeve.
“This is impossible,” the old man spat.
Bog jabbed a finger at the door. “Throw them out,” he barked at his men. “He will burn.”
There was the sound of a latch lifting, and Mathias swung the front door wide open. He barked for the confused patrons outside—a small crowd now—to make way before dragging Garin out into the blazing morning sunlight, Emrys slipping off his shoulders. Lilac dodged Lorenzo’s arms and scrambled out after them.
Mathias shoved the vampire to the ground, and as Garin fell, Emrys’s limp form fell hard against the carriage before flopping to the ground. Adelaide’s look of relief from atop the driver’s seat quickly dissipated as she took in the state of the crowd pouring out around them and those that gathered from the square to see what the fuss was. Giles looked around from his perch beside the witch, oblivious.
The townsfolk had formed a circle around them. Everyone watched as Garin struggled to his feet, wiped his mouth and pushed the hair from his eyes—anddid not burn.
Lilac feared he might massacre the town a second time, but he seemed to still be in control, in character, behaving weak and affronted.
“The devil’s work,” growled the old man, pushing his way to the front in the shade of the door. Several bystanders’ eyes widened as if they’d seen a ghost.
“Monsieur Le Tallec,” they muttered, looking shocked to see him outside. Some of them bowed.
Slowly, Lilac backed away. He was the mad duke. Armand’s father had been pardoned early on, leaving the duchy to him at the mere age of seven. The reason wasn’t clear, and her father had only said he was unwell when she’d once asked. Sinclair had mentioned his grandfather during his rant at the camp, but he’d also made it sound like the old man was sick, perhaps incoherent, noting that he spoke often of the Raid. The one here was aware and filled with such a simmering hate, there was no doubt in her mind that he was a driving force behind the Daemon hunts, along with Armand.
Garin bent to pick up Emrys. When he had the warlock secured—he was breathing, but still limp—Lilac whirled on Bog and his guards.
“We will never return to your tavern,” she said, raising her voice for everyone to hear. “Accusing us of the most ludicrous things, assaulting your guests with knives!”
Bog chuckled nervously, gaze darting around the crowd as their whispers echoed throughout the square. “It was an honest misunderstanding. We thought he was a vampire,” he said, pointing at Garin, who was pulling him into the shade of the carriage and dabbing the blood from Emrys’s nose with a napkin.
The old man—Sinclair’s and Armand’srelative—bopped him on the head with his cane, none too gently. “Heisa vampire.”
