Page 132 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

“Yes, the ammunition,” replied Lilac impatiently. “We’ve been over that. Can you remove it?”

“Me? Not without potentially blowing his leg into smithereens.”

“ I’m not getting close enough to try.” Kemble stumbled back, unable to tear her eyes from Garin’s oozing wounds .

“Can’t you levitate them out?”

“I can’t without being able to see or visualize the bullets lodged inside him. It would take immense concentration—arcane levitation is not meant to substitute the skill of a surgeon. If I try, and it rouses him, then we’re all in trouble.”

“He saved my father outside of Monfort-sur-Meu.” Lilac felt pathetic, like she was begging. Because she was. “He saved Henri’s life, and that of two of his men.”

“I’m sorry. It’s impossible, yet even if there was a chance…

” Kemble sighed. “Vampires might not be the sole reason we’re so widely regarded the way we are, but pillaging Paimpont fifty years ago certainly didn’t help.

They set us back decades. I refuse,” she said, chin quivering.

“Vampires are no friends of mine, certainly not some primordial version of them. Unspell the door, Myrddin, or I’ll flag down the Midraal Market, too. ”

Myrddin smiled begrudgingly down at Garin. “Actually, my score with them has been settled by that very Strigoi.”

“This isn’t funny. Don’t you see? Does anyone understand the gravity of the queen being the thrall to a Strigoi? Once he drinks and is reverted to himself, it is just a waiting game before it happens again.”

“Not if he remains fed, though,” Lilac asked. “Right?”

“Once a regnant becomes a Strigoi, he is always susceptible to it if he hasn’t been sated.

At times more easier than others. Sanguine magic is fickle.

” Myrddin cleared his throat with a sideways look at Kemble.

“As I’ve said before, if it were a branch of arcana studied more freely, we’d have far more insight on the matter than we do tonight. ”

“This implicates everything ,” insisted Kemble. “With France, with Maximilian. A regnant would never willingly secede its bond with its mortal for anyone. Even an emperor. Even for a king with his armies at our throat. What do you think a Strigoi would do?”

Lilac looked down. Garin’s hand had twitched against hers, his thumb rubbing her knuckles—then stilling once more.

She grabbed his hand, sweeping her fingers across his inner wrist. His weak, slow pulse was imperceptible now—if he even had one anymore.

The only things that told her he was alive were his shallow, ragged panting and the occasional wince.

Daemon as she was, Madame Kemble was a person who’d chosen comfort over resistance for years, apparently.

Lilac couldn’t blame her for that and that alone, but it was at the cost of camaraderie.

Solidarity. Of everything else. It had provided her the ultimately grand illusion of safety, which was a cage, much like Lilac’s tower; Henri would’ve had her executed the moment he’d discovered her pretense.

“You’re wrong, Madame Kemble. About everything.

The cruelty you’ve once endured would’ve persisted, with or without their Raid.

Stripping anyone of their right to exist freely, shrouding them in a society that forces them to exist on scraps of justice—all while that same society has continued to benefit from their roots and magic—makes people do terrible things.

I will never blame them if the ones in charge, my ancestors and otherwise, were not held accountable, either.

You were never doing yourself any better by hiding here.

It does not make you strong; it does not make you safe.

It doesn’t make you free.” Lilac squeezed Garin’s palm in hers.

“And you have no idea what he is willing to do for me.”

The good, the bad . And the bloody.

Kemble said nothing, hesitancy and self-disgust written upon her pursed lips. But the disdain in her eyes was stronger.

“Well?” said Lilac. “You heard the witch. Get to it. Unspell the door.”

“What? Why ?” Myrddin frowned so disapprovingly, even his blonde mustache furrowed.

“I mean,” he stammered, glancing at Kemble, “not that I anticipated trapping you, or incapacitating you and tying you up. Certainly not with—” There was a pop and cloud of smoke, and a large bundle of what looked to be a chain of thick iron links and rust-colored rope materialized before him.

His voice rose an octave, and he snatched it out of the air.

“ Gods —and we certainly didn’t use these last night. ”

Even Rupert glanced up from his hands. He looked like was going to be sick.

“For fuck’s sake, Myrddin.” Rupert shot up from the cot just as Kemble backed into him, causing her to fall flat on her ass.

He was so pink from the neck all the way to his ears, he didn’t even seem to notice; his ruby red glower was fixed upon Myrddin as Kemble scoffed in disgust, peeling herself off the floor.

“Out of my way, you beanstalk of a vamp—” She cocked her head at him. “Emma?” she screamed, shrill. “ Not Emma’s son? ”

Myrddin waved his hand, and the door was outlined in a shimmer of violet once more. Kemble scrambled for the door, fumbling the handle.

She never got there .

Rupert caught Kemble in a single stride. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, the chilling sound of his apologetic grief causing the hair on Lilac’s neck to stand. Yanna had already leapt out of her cot and was cowering behind Myrddin.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Rupert petted Kemble’s hair and clamped his hand over her mouth to soften the blood-curdling screams that cut off when he yanked her head back and feasted on the front of her throat.

If anyone couldn’t tell he was a fledgling on account of his pompous demeanor and poor coordination, they’d know by his bite.

It was messy—blood was everywhere. After he’d adjusted his mouth twice on her with Kemble crying and wrestling herself from him, it began to spray all over the cots and floor.

All that red.

Lilac stared as it stained her shoes. What a pretty color. The way the firelight from the hearth across the room illuminated it, pools of ruby—the color so deep and thick, not even sunlight could break through.

“Lilac, look out,” cried Yanna.

She tore her gaze away. Garin was sitting up, transfixed on the commotion before him. The adrenaline that instantly flooded her body was a beacon of distress, something that called out to him. He swiveled his head to her, a purely predatory movement.

For once, the vice of self-preservation snapped into place, throttling her; Lilac scuttled back, but not before Garin’s hand clamped around her wrist, digging his talons into her forearm.

She yanked anyway, successfully freeing herself on the second tug—and tumbled backwards into one of the poles supporting the beams of linen curtains.

Every one of his fangs were visible when he slid off the bed and lumbered toward her.

It seemed Myrddin’s blood was still in his system, but she wouldn’t be the one to test it.

Lilac quickly untangled herself from the thick material and clambered over the next cot, but her stomach lurched when his thick fingers wrapped around her ankle and yanked.

She slammed back down onto the cot then the floor as he dragged her back under the divider.

“I need to taste you.” His inflection, his hulking shoulders, the girth of his clawed fingers creeping up her thigh toward her ass tugged every inch of her heated flesh toward him .

She flipped over and flung her hair out of her eyes, tossing the remainder of the curtain off. A flash of regret suddenly crossed his part-human features, the traces of monster flickering.

Garin lifted his hand, nails dragging down her cheek and the line of her jaw, sweeping her hair off of her throat.

The scuffle beyond the curtains raged on—Kemble’s screaming and the crashing of glass along the apothecary wall, now—but Garin took no notice.

He snaked his arm around the small of her waist, pulling her under him.

Maybe Strigoi were vampires with their veneers melted away, any pretense of humanity shriveled off, for he was a monster in the flesh. He was the throbbing appetite of night unending. He wanted her blood; she wanted to play the strings of his dark heart and watch him come further undone.

The urge had snaked its way under her skin, a voracious acid eating at her will.

“I must have you,” Garin said, gazing upon Lilac as she would a table-length feast. “I am sorry.”

Lilac gripped his jaw and tugged his face toward her; brought her lips to his tapered ear and ran her soft tongue along his lobe. His shoulders shuddered against her.

“I’m not,” she whispered, twisting her fingers into the curtain hem and yanking. The beam snapped—and several iron poles came crashing down on them, one narrowly missing her. Another struck the back of Garin’s head.

He snarled and dropped her.

Lilac scrambled out from under him and crawled toward the room.

She barely dodged an amber bottle Kemble threw at Rupert and the violet flames and smoke that exploded at his feet, dashing for the door—upon which there was a light set of rapid knocks.

She quickly pressed her shoulder against it when the knock came again.

“Hello?” It was Isabel. “Is everything?—”

“Don’t come in.” Lilac pressed harder against the door when she felt the doorknob jingle.

“ Your Majesty? ”

There was a crash; Garin burst out of the curtains, tearing down the remainder of the beams. His gaze locked greedily upon Kemble, cornered and chased by Rupert. He bent his legs, readying to pounce, when Isabel knocked and spoke again. Louder this time.

“Let me in,” she demanded. “Where is my sister? Is she all right?”

Garin spun toward the door—to Lilac—and lunged. She shielded her face and threw herself to the side.

There was a heavy thud .

Across the room, Yanna and Myrddin had detangled themselves from the curtains.