“On which side?”
“I served under John of Montfort, as my parents had, and so did your ancestors. The battles raged on and off for nearly a decade. Becoming a foot soldier offered me meager yet steady pay, shelter… and in a way, a sense of family that I thought I’d lost permanently. During those years, the war was so widespread across Brittany that much of her vast forestland was destroyed. It was then that the monsters who were previously the stuff of our bedtime stories began to emerge from the trees. It didn’t take long before the heavy bloodshed drew out a certain type of Darkling. He so swift, we didn’t know what hit us. Only three of us survived Laurent’s attack. Bastion was one of them, and the other was our Constable—the leader of our regiment, and also a duke, at the time. He eventually disappeared; I don’t think he handled it all very well. We heard he killed himself before he could get to any human blood to complete the change.”
Garin suddenly rubbed his flattened eyes and yawned, as if revealing so much about this portion of his past exhausted him.
“By survive, you mean the Darkling transformation.” She was unable to keep the fascination completely out of her tone. He was a swordsman in the War of Succession—one of the most brutal, earlier segments of the Hundred Years’ War, and served for a decade. It was no wonder he was so skilled with Sinclair’s blade. Garin’s large collection of blades in his bedchamber suddenly made so much more sense.
“We left the battlefield as soon as we realized something was very, very wrong. There was no controlling myself.” Sorrow crept into his expression, like damp night air seeping into dried timber.
“But Laurent was your sire. What about him? And the clan?”
“I thought you wanted to know about Adelaide’s family acquiring my home,” he said, sounding annoyed. “You aren’t getting both in one night.” His tone was teasing, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to say anything else on the matter.
“Will there be more than one?” Night, she’d meant, but left it at that. She grinned playfully for his benefit, but then wondered how much of it was voiced hope.
“I had been promoted to Centenar not even a week before the attack—”
“Centenar?”
“By then, they’d put me in charge of one hundred cavalrymen. Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted,” he shot. “
When Laurent attacked us, we didn’t know what hit us. Bastion and I just considered ourselves lucky to have survived the madman; we thought he’d befallen a peculiar case of the plague. Feeling particularly violated, we separated. I wanted nothing more than to return to my parents’ farm, figuring I could purchase back the land and home with my earnings. Then, when I finally gave into the crawling hunger and fed on my first victim, the sunlight suddenly burned my skin. Unknowingly, I had completed my transformation from human to Darkling, and so I had no other realistic choice but to join Laurent. Bastion had already found him.
“It turned out that Laurent needed us as much as we needed him. Though he was our sire, he was only months-old a vampire. We built the Mine together.”
Frowning, he blinked and chewed on the inside of his cheek.
Lilac knew he wasn’t seeing the wall he stared at. He was editing again; given all that he’d told her, she didn’t mind.
“Decades later, when I had learned to avoid the sun like the plague and maintain a decent night life, I decided to return to my parents’ farm one evening. I was shocked to see another family living there. I met Adelaide on the second night I returned, for nostalgia’s sake.” He offered Lilac a feeble smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She was outside picking toadstools for some harvest moon ceremony… Whatever it is those witches bother with. We knew each other for about a year before—” he cleared his throat. “Before everything happened.”
Lilac shifted under the sheets. Not even her jealousy for this Adelaide woman—for that’s what it was, she couldn’t lie to herself—could quell the fit of unease in the pit of her stomach, nor the pity for what had happened to the young witch’s family. Knowing these details didn’t make the tragedy any easier to digest, but she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Garin. For both of them. It must have wafted through her pores, because he cleared his throat and spoke quickly after that.
“I know what you’re really wondering, is why I killed her parents. Especially when she meant so much to me. The violence of war destroyed the majority of the woodland, displacing the Darklings of northern and eastern Brittany. A good lot of them settled into the remaining forests, such as Huelgoat out west, and of course, Brocéliande—home of the faeries. Suddenly, the Fair Folk weren’t the only ones living here. They weren’t happy with that at all; while the displaced ogres, korrigans, shifters, and even we moved into the High Forest, the faeries shuffled east.
“Meanwhile, the human citizens of the surrounding towns had finally learned to avoid the woods in general, so, much of our coven began to grow restless with hunger. The summer Adelaide and I met, Laurent came home from a meeting with the Kestrel one night and promptly ordered an ambush on Paimpont. It was to take place the next evening; he’d said we needed to resort to desperate measures in desperate times. This strategy was so unlike Laurent, but in our hunger, no one questioned it.”
Garin remained fixated on his hands as he spoke, as if recalling all the horror they’d committed.
“I couldn’t protest Laurent’s decision without revealing Adelaide’s and my forbidden relationship, so I asked her to meet me at our spot the night it was to take place. Told her to wait there even if I got held up. Then, I rushed to her parents’ home—my home—to try to save them, but…”
“Garin.”
He startled when Lilac reached down to set her hand on his shoulder. When he turned to her, it was like he was seeing her for the first time. His brows knitted together in something almost like fear.
And then, she abruptly understood part—at least a diminutive shard—of the puzzling creature. His fickle sarcasm and anger masked pain.
Her insides slowly tightened, emotions turning jagged. She spoke slowly, openly allowing his starlit eyes to search hers.
“I don’t want you to tell me the rest of your story from there on the floor.” She bit her lip, cringing internally at her own wording.
“You want me to… stand, then?” He chuckled, looking at her cynically. “I am not one of your lowly subjects, mortal. You don’t order me around. Plus, I’d rather wallow down here, from my luxurious bed of timber.”
And then, she abruptly understood part—at least a diminutive shard—of the puzzling creature. His fickle sarcasm and anger masked pain.
“No,” she pressed, suppressing a smile. “I would like for you to finish what you were going to say, but… from up here.” She patted the mattress beside her. “If it is what you wish.”
“Are you sure?”
Lilac paused. She knew what she wanted—knew that it wasn’t his Darkling magic making her feel the things she did for him. Especially not in his weakened state; no, what she felt for him was utterly and wholly organic. He had protected her during their journey together, before and after Kestrel’s demands; her heart skipped a beat when the faerie king’s warning suddenly echoed in her ears.
By nature, vampires are protective of their prey. I advise you to keep this in mind, especially if your goal is surviving the journey.
But, through the everything, she felt some strange distant urge to protect him, too.
Lilac nodded.
Without another word, he stood with his pillow and walked to the other side of the bed, where he settled on top of the blanket next to her. “Is this all right with you?” He propped himself up on one folded arm.
There was nothing more she wanted than to curl up there, under the shield of his body. But she remained upright beside him, arms still wrapped around her knees.
“If it is with you.”
Garin cleared his throat. “Where was I… Ah. I asked Adelaide to meet me at our hideaway in the woods, then rac
ed to her parents’ house to warn her family. I even considered bringing them to the hideaway until the raid was over. But her father knew right away what I was. He attacked me with a ready-made stake—the bugger was prepared—and we fought. He sliced his hand open on one of the hearth stones in the kitchen, right after I’d slammed him into the mantle. My mistake was that I hadn’t had blood in weeks; underneath her feelings for me, I reckoned she was still afraid of what I was—” he broke off, shaking his head. “I was trying to be good.”
“You couldn’t control it.”
“Not an ounce.”
Heartbeat in her throat, Lilac fought the urge to reach out and touch him again. Her fingers itched to run themselves along his bicep, down his refined chest—instead, she locked them tightly around her folded legs. She looked over and found him staring up at her through his lashes. Her pulse went wild.
“Garin,” Lilac said quietly. “It was an unfortunate but honest mistake. You had good intentions for her.” Her gaze returned to her own hands, and she wondered if it made her a horrible person for consoling such a creature. What difference did it make if a villain believed he was doing the right thing? Any at all?
“Please. Don’t be so kind,” he said roughly. “She must have felt something was wrong when I didn’t show up, even if I told her to wait at our spot. Or, witches have that weird intuition, I don’t know. As I was drinking from her sister,” he said with a disgusted grimace, “Adelaide burst through the door, shrieking. Understandably.”
Garin swallowed hard at the memory. “It was only then that I was able to break out of it—I was consumed entirely.”
“That’s horrible,” Lilac said softly, staring into the fire, vision shrouded by the horrible scene playing out before her. There was no masking it. It was.
Garin nodded, clutching his hair with the hand he leaned upon. “Foolishly, selfishly, I tried to help her clean up, tried to explain, apologize, but she wouldn’t hear me over her screams and the shattering glass. As if anything I’d had to say would matter to her in the moment.” He laughed darkly. “She threw everything within her reach until I finally tried to grab her—she finally looked me in the eye and shoved her father’s stake into me, a hair off from my heart. She told me to leave from this cursed place, that, if I ever tried to find her, she would do worse. Like a coward, I left. It wasn’t her threat I feared, but I could no longer face her.”
“How did she curse you?” Lilac thought about her own affliction—her ability to speak to monsters. She didn’t even know how curses worked.
He shrugged, unbothered by her straightforwardness. “Your guess is good as mine. As far as I know, she didn’t utter a single incantation, not a word. Like I said in the Low Forest, I wasn’t aware of my limitation until I tried to hunt again. I wasted a few lives, testing my ability to bit, killing them with my bare hands in frustration once my entrancements had grown less and less effective.
“However, I don’t blame her. All of it is justified. I was—am a murderer. I took what was most important to her in one, fleeting moment.” He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Fickle things like forgiveness become oddly important when one realizes they’ve got forever to go.”
She knew too well what Garin meant. As the vampire grew quiet, Lilac thought of Freya and Piper. When—and if—her former handmaiden ever wanted to speak to her again, she would tell her everything. How she was sorry, how she’d been selfish. How she planned to make things better for humans and Darklings alike—that what had started as an empty promise to the korrigan chief had blossomed into a tiny glimmer of hope. It was an ideal reality, a first step in the right direction to ultimately draw Accords beneficial to both preternatural and mortal beings. Such an understanding seemed like the least she could do to make it up to Freya, who had died not only at her hands, but in the midst of prejudice.
“Well,” she offered, sighing. “When I’m queen, I can send out a search note for her? Not anything too big, obviously, but I could offer a reward for information on her whereabouts, that the town crier will—”
She froze. Her hand had gone to her neck as she mulled this over—a habit she’d formed since meeting Garin. There, her fingers brushed against the ragged, crusted teeth marks Piper had left. Almost automatically, her hand next sought out the spot on her chest where Garin had torn her brocade; heart sinking, her fingers traced the puffed edges of the scratches he’d inflicted. They were deeper than she’d previously thought.
“Ophelia had better have something for these, too,” she groaned. “I can’t show up at my own coronation with these. My mother will want a thorough look at me when I’ve returned, and when she finds them she’ll kill me herself.”
Garin soundlessly sat up. Lilac swallowed hard when he curiously reached out to trace a finger along the wounds on her bosom. He cocked an inquiring brow at her, and she nodded breathlessly. His hands were hesitant—his touch, feather-soft.
“She might have something stashed away, but nothing heals a vampire wound as quickly a vampire’s saliva. Not even the most powerful witch’s salve.”
Lilac looked at him shrewdly. “Really?”
“Piper was—is new, so she didn’t know. But to heal our victims after feeding—if we haven’t killed them, that is—all a vampire has to do is lick the wound a few times over.” A trace of humor touched his eyes, along with something else Lilac couldn’t place.
“All you have to do? Isn’t that… I mean, it doesn’t sound so simple.”
“It isn’t. Even for older, seasoned vampires, it presents a struggle.” He pulled the tunic back up over her cleavage. “And that, my dear, would be nature’s catch. As always.”
With a slight shiver, she thought of Garin’s lips. Up against hers, then slicked with her own blood, drawn by Kestrel. The too-fresh image of Garin losing control in Cinderfell, if even for a short moment, made her arm hairs stand up on end.
Then again, she remembered Casmir the wealthy vampire and his mistress in the tavern. He’d finished drinking and healed the woman in all of five seconds. It was possible.
“Would you…?”
He managed to keep his voice steady, but not without effort. “Are you sure?”
She couldn’t have been sure, but it looked like he was holding his breath. Holding her breath, too, she placed her hand on his. Touching him always seemed to bring him back into focus. And at least… at least she would get to feel his lips flush against her skin once again. Hysteria bubbled up in her throat as she suppressed a wild grin.
Maybe the lure of the forest had grown on her, after all.
20
Garin shifted into a kneeling position on the mattress and held his palm out to her. With hesitation, she took it, and he smoothly dipped her into an incline. It was as if they were dancing.
Sensing her unease, Garin chuckled. Mirth played along the constellations in his eyes and he flashed a disarming smile. Cradled in the monster’s grasp by choice, just as she had at the inn, she clenched her eyes shut.
“Ready?” he murmured. Whether he’d intended it or not, his voice was low, almost tantric.
It did nothing to smother her hesitant fear, but she smiled and nodded bravely.
His hand twined with Lilac’s slipped away, and suddenly the top of the tunic was being tugged gently down to reveal the gashes on her bosom. She felt herself gasp involuntarily. If it went well, she would either be healed. If it didn’t… it wouldn’t be her problem any longer.
“Not to worry. I’ve kept you decent. Now, stay very, very still. Do you understand?”
She sucked in sharply just as his mouth grazed her bare skin. In contrast with the rest of his body, it was surprisingly warm. He ran his tongue along the top curve of one breast, then the other. He did this twice, carefully, then pulled away with a slow exhale.
Opening her eyes, Lilac looked down. Her skin was smooth and rosy, seemingly untouched by Darkling hands. Awestruck, she glanced up at him; he looked just as relieved as she felt.
“A
re you all right?” she whispered.
“It is I who should ask you.” He looked rather pleased with himself. “That wound was fresher than the bite mark on your neck, and it wasn’t horrible. I don’t want to hurt you, is all.”
“You won’t. It isn’t possible.”
It was a lie, they both were well aware, but in the moment she forced herself to believe otherwise.
Two kinds of instincts raged within her body now—between fear, and something equally as powerful—pulling at her subconscious with the force of two stallions, charging in opposite directions. One was her instinct to run as far as she could from him. The other stoked the twinkling embers within her, urging her to consume him as wholly and with as much passion as possible.
As if prompted by the sudden, forceful pulse of adrenaline, Lilac reached up to cup his face between her hands.
His unnatural eyes widened.
Then, she pulled his face toward hers.
In a besetting surge of brimstone and smoke, he was on top of her. This time was nothing like the slow-building fire she’d experienced back in the grotto. Lilac let him into her mouth, and he kissed her back with a molten madness that destroyed all hesitation in its path—a kind of chaos, one hundred and ninety-two years in the making.
It was urgent. Furious.
The tips of his fangs dragged roughly against her lips as his tongue teased against hers. When she dug her fingernails into his shoulder to pull back and gasp for air, he didn’t blink once, instead distracting himself with her jawline, down her neck until he reached her wound. Her wince quickly turned a soft purr as he slid his tongue delicately around the edges of the bite mark, careful to avoid his own teeth touching her in the process—
Then, he was gone.
“Garin?” Her eyes fluttered open. Lilac scuttled back against the pillows, embarrassingly yanking the hem of the tunic down over her knees.
“I can’t.” He stood, bending over the edge of the bed, trying to catch his own breath. “It’s just—it’s wrong.”
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