As Lilac faded into the corner of her vision, Garin was moving into the foliage, eyes trained on the emissary’s back. In several large strides, she saw Garin’s large hands dart out, his legs springing as he pounced.
She took a shuddering breath.Lilac was back in her body, coughing—but not on blood.
She stared at the ceiling, where a slow-building layer of smoke floated above Garin’s shoulders. She was pressed into the floorboards, him above her, her hands grasping the rug beneath her, waves of stomach-churning pleasure slamming into her through Garin’s slow thrusting and the pull at her throat.
He was splayed over her naked body, his hands on either side of her head as he bent, pressed into the side of her throat, slurping her blood obscenely. Like an animal, in the way he drank and fucked her. Her arms went up and she dug her nails into his shoulders, and as her core began to tighten in that welcomingly familiar way, she froze.
The edge of the bed near their feet was in flames. Lilac lifted herself partway onto her arms; small pockets of fire had bloomed in other corners of the room—the closet, part of the dresser, the table that previously held the decanter, now knocked over, glass shattered across the floor. On the garments of the bodies piled next to them.
“Garin. Garin, the room is on fire,” she managed between gasps. The feeling of his teeth in her as he drank this time was entirely different. It made her forget her fury. None of it was ice or fire; she felt it all, and ithurt. He had ripped into her, but balanced by the pressure of his mouth andhim deep inside her, Lilac found herself panting loudly, a sound she could not smother.
It was blinding, the pain and pleasure not canceling each other out—butmounting.
She tapped him, said his name; fear blossomed, consuming her wholly, unadulterated by any drug or bond. She was afraid for her life but never wanted this to end. Never wanted them to end.
His grip on her tightened suddenly, and Garin cursed into the side of her throat. He detached from her, his tongue running flat up the side of her neck as his release covered her inner thighs and lower abdomen.
“Garin, the room.”
Lilac said his name again, and again. No response.
Garin hovered over her, deliberating, his darkened eyes inhuman and holding no remorse or understanding. As he bent to her throat again, she shifted both arms under his chest, hands pressed against him. She managed to curl her leg beneath him and pushed with all her might, grunting and bucking him to the side.
Garinflewoff. Lilac marveled at her hands and legs—that inhuman strength she’d felt in the hours after the first blood exchange had saved her. Her power had returned as she’d hoped.
He’d landed to her right, his back slamming into the side of the settee, which sat further than she’d remembered. In their raucous tandem feeding and fucking, they’d at some point shoved it across the room, off to the right of the roaring fireplace.
Garin immediately rolled over, blinking at the room around them, which slowly filled with smoke before their very eyes.
Her blood was everywhere on him—his face, dribbling down his chin, matted in his hair and smeared over his hands. She grimaced, and when she did, she felt the thick layer of Garin’s blood dried in patches over her own lips and nose. She tasted it on her tongue, slicked over her teeth and gums.
Iron. Salt. Honey.
The skin on his neck where she’d stabbed and drank from him appeared smooth beneath the layer of ichor.
Reminded, her hand flew to the side of her own throat. Through the grime, the indents of his teeth were already gone. And despite all the blood she’d lost, her mind was clear. She felt strong. Herself.
More herself than in what felt like ages.
Garin’s gaze had followed her palm, his face shifting in realization. Then, disbelief. His eyes were glassy as he surveyed her and the room.
There was a crack; a beam dislodged from the corner of the room, flames spreading down its length. They had to get moving.
Lilac crawled to snatch her bundled dress at the corner of the rug, stood, and held her hand out to him. He didn’t move, didn’t bother looking at her. Staring at the pile of bodies, Garin shifted his feet beneath him and rose, leaving her hand outstretched. He sauntered past her and slowed when he reached the balcony door, sweeping the pale pink curtain aside. It had just rained; the panes of glass were fogged, covered in a sheen of dew despite the clear evening hours before.
Even as he said nothing, even as he silently turned to face her—his angular, bewildered features lit by the flames surrounding them—shefelthis anger. It was a barreling force, slamming her head-on.
“What have you done?”
She feared answering him.
“What did you do, Eleanor?” His shout rattled her bones.
Clutching her dress to her front, eager to shield herself, she stormed up to him—and she could’ve sworn she saw him flinch.
“I risked my life,” she snarled, shaking so violently she might fall over. “You could’ve killed me. Would have killed me.”
“Youwere the one who kept urging me to drink from you like some deranged addict.” He grimaced, face shadowed with regret and blame. “Iwas in control.”
