Garin began to follow her, head low, eyes black and tracking her every movement as he soaked in the aroma of panic that must’ve been pouringfrom her body. She was running out of time. She hoped he could sense her extreme annoyance and anger under the fear, hoped he knew she would fight back. Lilac began to shift toward the door that led to the hall, but he was suddenly before it.
“Together we would bring your kingdom to ruin.” His hands went back, bracing himself against the door. “Do not tempt me any further.”
What would she do now, if any quick movement might solidify her demise? He couldn’t follow her out of one of the doors if he kept blocking her exit. If she moved toward the balcony, he’d do the same. Lilac stood in the middle of the room, the bed behind her, the hearth and settee to her left, and the only other exit of the balcony door on her right. Past the corpses and open closet.
As she considered her options, Garin surveyed her throat—which still slowly bled onto her front.How could she win?They’d continue in this dangerous dance of sex and blood, lust and Garin’s hunger, until one instinct won out—and if she didn’t act fast, there’d be no chance for her or her kingdom. If her lineage ended tonight, with her, François would have his way with her kingdom.
She and Garin were trapped between the effects of the Dragondew Mead and the magic that held them close. Whatever it was,somethingawaited them on the other side.
“Or perhaps we’d make it whole,” she countered, refusing to let the dread and nausea overtake her as she rode the fear. “Because even in the shadows, here we are, cornered. Drugged, aroused beyond comprehension, standing over your corpses—andstillfighting for each other.”
Still hungry for each other, a small voice in the back of her head echoed. What better drove leaders, warlords—poor and rich, human and Daemon—than hunger?
She darted toward the hearth.
Garin was merciful in restraining himself enough to not run after her. Beat her there. She thought it’d be worse, the consequences of actually running from him, as he’d warned her before not to do. Still, she scrambled, sweeping her hand across the settee cushion and peering over. Where was the scalpel? Her dagger? The most useful thing it did, besides vibrate at impending danger for the wielder, was to appear magically on her body at times of need. It did not do so now.
Lilac dropped to the floor, her arm shooting under the chair before Garin’s boots stopped beside her. He had pulled his trousers back up, she noted—before his hand fisted into her hair.
“Let me go,” she yelped in protest, shocked, her scalp throbbing as she rose to her feet to alleviate the immense pressure.
He spun her to face him, her nails raking against his hand. Disbelieving, Lilac snarled and thrashed, but the more she moved, the more agonizing his grip on her became.
He’d lost control.
Lilac thrived on too much pride and spite to beg for her life. Muscles burning, she stopped fighting as Garin waited her out. Hunger flashed in his eyes as he dragged her closer.“I tried to give you a fighting chance, didn’t I?”
“By sending me away? By forcing my hand in marriage to a complete stranger? To leverage me, just as my parents have?” She forced her breathing to remain even as he bent over her.
She wasn’t sure he heard her. Lilac stilled in his grasp. This was exactly where she needed to be. Where Myrddin intended for her to be.
She planted a kiss at his temple, feeling him inhale deeply against the corner of her jaw. She forced her muscles to relax, even as they ached to flee. He dipped her and cupped the back of her head, cradling her waist close.
The familiar burning then shot through her veins, mounting with the warmth of the fire behind them. The pull at her throat and insidious sound of him gulping flooded her ears, grotesque now that he wasn’t pumping himself inside her. Now that fear had consumed her. She stared off into the distance, letting her vision slip out of focus.
She slipped a hand up his chest as it all turned to ice, tugging him closer by his shirt. Garin groaned against her throat. Being fed from felt sogood. She fought a shudder, listening to his slurping, noticing how easily the fear faded. It was no wonder people came to do this here, and at The Fenfoss Inn.
If there was a way to choose her fate, let it be this. With him, by her own hand.
“You are worth the risk, Garin Trevelyan,” she whispered against his hair, finally feeling the freeing tug of darkness at the threshold of her mind.
With the last of her energy, Lilac reached up and slashed the scalpel against his collarbone. She rammed her mouth against the wound and bit down, her blunt teeth scraping through his flesh.
Liquid honey poured into her mouth, down her throat as the world shook around her. She sputtered, forcing herself to swallow, almost gagging. Then, she swallowed again. There was a ragged gasp and Garin’s anguished bellow, but it was already far off in the distance.
Lilac blinked againstthe harsh midday sun. When her vision adjusted, she wasn’t quite sure what she was staring at.
She spotted herself first; she was there, in the enchanted dress and leathers from Garin. To their right was their carriage, intact, although the wheel marks and debris from the crash were still visible around them, at least from what she could see.
She—Lilac in her vision—was standing, hands clenched, scrapes and bruises all over her body, before a well-dressed man. She didn’t recognize him. This man was tucking something away into his satchel as she watched before him.
Lilac tried to advance, to survey her surroundings, even flex her fingers—forgetting she had no control, no feeling of her arms and legs. This wasGarin’smemory. He turned to the right then; Adelaide was several feet away, standing beside the large chest theGuàihad gifted them. The witch exchanged a worried glance with him.
The strange magic folk were nowhere to be found.
Her vision whipped back around when she heard her own voice, clear as day. “You’re an emissary.”
An emissary?
