Page 135 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

“By the time I escaped, I was so disgusted with myself, I wanted to claw my way out of my skin. I’d willingly tear my flesh from my own bones just to free myself of what I’d become and the life I’d inherited.

The things I’d allowed.” Tonight, she saw herself clearly.

The haunting glint in her wide eyes, the fevered flush in her cheeks, waves of her hair clinging to her shoulders like a damp shroud told the tale of a woman who no longer feared the cost of her desires.

For better or worse, she knew what she sought—and what she’d surrender for it.

“I’d never before known hunger that made me want to crawl into someone else’s. ”

You are a cataclysm forged in fire. The tug that came behind her navel was gentler, this time. A weary welcome, and not a command. Come to me if it pleases you. Save me if you wish. Or ruin me whole.

Lilac stood and stepped out hearthside, letting the fire dry her back as she toweled off her hair. Garin’s eyes returned to the mirror to watch her, softening against the reflected flame.

The nightgown Yanna had left for her was a pretty set; cream and sheer when she picked it up—transparent when Lilac slinked it over her head. The second piece was a comfortable undergarment that hugged her belly and hardly covered her ass. She donned her garter and dagger.

Garin’s palpable gaze trailed her all the way to her vanity, where she plucked the bundle of tools and stake from her dressing table, brought them over to her bed, and laid them out—along with the key.

She surveyed her weapons of choosing: Gauze, a pair of forceps, a scalpel, and a long piece of hammered metal with a small, hooked end.

She unfurled the stake, and her breath caught.

It was embellished, whittled down to smoothness and etched in intricate knotted patterns.

The handle came to a head, the ermine symbol of her kingdom etched at the very top, along with an L.T.

just below it. That end was so shiny, it had to be covered in some sort of resin. Lilac turned to him questioningly.

His eyes were bright over his muzzle. What do you think?

“You think this impresses me?”

My carving, at least. Impressed with my hands, you might be, but it’s been years since I’ve honed this skill.

“I’ll never use it on you,” Lilac said simply, but tucked it under her arm anyway, point facing away from him. She slipped the pair of forceps off the cloth.

Garin might’ve been stable, but he was still bleeding all over her chair. Was it even possible for vampires to bleed out? He’d been trickling blood for hours now. He diverted his gaze as she bent over him.

Lilac inspected his leg first. There was a deep wound in the middle of his left thigh, inches above his knee. The edges around it were already dark, but she couldn’t see much else with the material in the way and the fire on the wall. She needed more light.

“Hold still.”

Garin’s eyes bulged; he shook his head and grunted in protest when she tucked the forceps under her arm, gripped the sides of the chair, and tugged, jerking him and the chair across the room and towards the hearth. With every scraped vibration, he winced, cussing into the leather.

“Sorry,” Lilac said, wincing herself. “I’m so sorry.”

He was panting again, eyes no longer amused but narrowed. He fell silent.

She positioned herself over him, extending her arm with the readied forceps, widening the prongs slightly as she lifted them over his thigh.

He suddenly jerked, bounding the chair back and shaking his head.

“My god,” she snapped. “Don’t do that!”

He lifted his good leg, brushing it against Lilac’s outer thigh.

“Oh. Right.” Lilac pulled the weapon from her opposite leg. It was still silent; Garin was hungry enough to drink, but not to kill. Supposedly. “Good idea.”

She held the material of his trousers taut, adjusting her grip near his crotch and making him groan, low in his throat.

She carefully slid the blade of her dagger into the hole in his pants and began to apply pressure to slice the fabric away from herself and his leg.

As she did, all she could think about was the hilt pressed against her wet center; without looking up at him in case he was thinking the same, she pressed harder, sawing slightly until the material gave way.

She placed her blade aside, gripped both sides, and yanked with all her might, exposing his thigh nearly up to his groin.

Lilac then retrieved the forceps once more and held them above his leg. Her hands were shaking, and it wasn’t just because she was afraid of hurting him further. “Garin, you know I cannot concentrate with you staring at me like that.”

When she scorched him with a warning glare of her own, he snorted.

She shoved the thin nose of the prongs into the hole in Garin’s thigh.

There was a bone-curdling cry that came from behind his muzzle. He bucked again, followed by a muffled, real , “Take it off!”

She yanked the tool from him. “Myrddin said I shouldn’t. I’m not taking it off until I pry the ammunition from you. Your mouth is far too dangerous.”

There was a scrape against the threshold of her mind—one of his taloned fingers, prodding her chin up and digging into her flesh. Take. The muzzle. Off .

“You’re going to bite me.”

He held her gaze firmly. I will not.

Lilac’s sharp laughter cracked off her high ceiling. “Did you see what you tried to do back in the infirmary?”

You are on your bleed, he thought matter-of-factly. Your scent is everywhere, it is as if I’m drenched in you. I promise to remain perfectly merciful, as long as I am in these chains.

She groaned inwardly. She could already feel his power creeping over her, this time a throb at her lower back.

She circled him, glaring, noticing some of the chains she’d thrown had fallen to the floor; she scooped them up and fumbled with the clasps one by one.

The muzzle fell into his lap, where she quickly snatched it off.

Lilac tossed the horrid contraption and the chains onto the edge of her bed. Within reach.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“First of all, you look devastatingly beautiful.” Condensation slicked his face; the curl of hair that usually hung over his forehead stuck to it now.

His lips curved into a polite, closed-mouth smile—admiration edged in a sly look that indicated he’d rather do nothing more than reach out and touch her.

That he despised that he couldn’t. “Second, I just wanted to guide those precious little hands of yours.”

“You wanted me to remove your muzzle for this? You couldn’t have said it through this talent you’ve been hiding from me?”

“I haven’t been hiding anything from you. I discovered it sitting there, at your vanity. Didn’t know you could hear my thoughts until your body began reacting.” He shrugged. “Then again, its reacted to everything lately, hasn’t it? Just think of what my bite might do.”

“You sat there and imagined the things you’d say to me,” Lilac replied, ignoring her burning ears. “How pathetic.”

“You’d be surprised. I do it quite often. There are a lot of things I’d say to you but can’t.”

She shoved the stake at him. “Tell me what to do or I’m putting that contraption back on.”

Garin’s pupils grew, his grin salacious as he cocked his head toward the bed.

“There is a tool there. The long, thin piece of metal. You’ll carefully insert it into the wound.

You’ll hit the bullet, and that’s how you’ll know how far to insert the forceps so you’re not prodding around in there and shoving it deeper. ”

Lilac nodded, retrieving the long tool with the tiny hook at the end.

“Maybe the one in my arm first? It’s not nearly as painful.”

It wasn’t a demand; he’d been careful about his words so that it wasn’t an order. She did as requested, positioning herself above him once more. A shudder passed through him as she brought her face near and examined his bicep; it did seem a lot more shallow.

“You’ve done this before,” she said, hoping to distract herself from the pressure of his eyes on her.

“Why do you say that?”

“You know what to do. And the pain to expect.”

“We saw the use of hand cannons, or the arquebus , toward the middle of the Hundred Years’ War.

Alor refused to issue them, and so did the king.

I’ve never touched nor trained with one of those abhorrent weapons.

Neither had any of the men I’ve led.” His lip lifted into a soft snarl.

“But I have extracted my fair share of bullets. The ones that were removable, anyway.”

Now that he’d finally stopped squirming, she sucked in a steadying breath and inserted the fine tip of the hooked tool into the wound on the exhale.

It was hard to see with all the blood that oozed out.

The end of the tool hit something solid, causing him to wince.

This wound was much shallower, maybe just over a knuckle deep—one of her knuckles, she noted, peering sideways at his massive hands, which were clenched over the armrest. Lilac lifted the tool slowly, straightening and placing it back onto the cloth.

“Maybe,” he choked, and it looked like he was holding himself against the back of the chair. “Maybe put the muzzle back on now.”

She approached with the forceps this time. “Tell me about him.”

“About what?”

“About Alor.” Without warning, Lilac lowered the head of the prongs into him; they were wider, and had to hit the raw meat of his arm in order to grasp anything.

He groaned, the sound sending a wave of heat through her thighs.

“Emma told me a bit about him,” she said breathlessly. “I take it you heard.”

His knuckles paled against the armrests. “I’d gone to see him at the tents outside his estate when they were home on a short reprieve. I sent my father to act as medic for another battlefield with a forged letter maybe a week before. They were ambushed on the second day.”

“I take it he didn’t make it,” she said quietly.