Page 138 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

GARIN

H e placed Lilac down gently on the bed, sweeping the displayed bundle of tools out of the way.

Garin was reeling. The pain in his arm and thigh that had driven him to the point of delirium was finally gone , his strength instantly returned.

He was a new man. One, prisoner to an ancient hunger that had drawn out a side of him that had seemed to frighten and allure Lilac simultaneously.

He could think clearly now, to his resurfacing chagrin; he could smell the dew outside, and the dried yew crackling away in the hearth.

All tainted in the earthy, sweet aroma of her intoxicating bleed, but her veil had at least lifted enough for him to realize what was in front of him.

Lilac blushed and attempted to clean herself with the cloth he’d knocked aside.

And it all came barreling into him at once—the ring of the shots on the battlefield, losing himself in the gore of its aftermath. The sheer horror in Henri’s and his guards’ eyes in realizing Garin had been shot and did not collapse.

The farmhouse—the swinging bodies of Sable and Jeanare. His coven and its newfound members. Aimee and Pascal .

Maximilian’s letter.

His gut finally twisted. Garin was no man. He was a mere vampire, suddenly painfully aware of the passage of time. The way it slipped through his fingers like sand.

Garin did not want to think about the politics threatening to break them apart and burn his forest down, nor the insufferable emperor who now claimed her future.

He wanted a repeat of whatever the fuck just happened.

He wanted more than that. He wanted her again and again, in the way only monsters could want.

He wanted forever from a human woman who could barely afford a week. She’d be married in less than two days.

He could still taste her—not the taste of blood, but of her essence—still feel the ghost of her heartbeat hammering against his mouth in the moments he’d held her too close, kissed her too deeply; first in the grotto, and then at his farmhouse, when she’d opened up beautifully for him.

It hadn’t been a feeding those times, but his body had trembled like it was. His hunger curled inside him, vicious and relentless.

And yet, after everything, she’d trusted him… even as he had carved the path that led her straight into Maximilian’s hands.

This was the cost of his restraint. Of pretending to be anything other than himself. Lilac would be wed by-proxy to the Holy Roman Emperor—a gilded cage cloaked as diplomacy, meant to keep France at bay. Meant to keep her and her family breathing.

Garin had lied to her. Forged the letter from the count in hopes of facilitating a meeting with Lilac and her parents, knowing Maximilian’s offer was too good to pass up.

A throne across Brittany and all of his empire in exchange for her bloodline, her autonomy.

But… her own people had already turned on her once.

How long until they did it again? A queen without reverence was one subject to rebellion, wasn’t she?

They do not respect her , whispered the distant voice of reason, his once-clear logic now smothered beneath thirst and guilt. How easy it had been for Lilac’s own subjects to stage a coup against those she wished to protect most. Who would they have struck next? The castle? Her?

The thought made his blood boil. He’d been too distracted at the inn and at the castle, lost in her pull.

He’d nearly missed the large-scale Daemon hunt that would’ve swept across the High Forest. He , who was supposed to guard them from those things.

Now that Maximilian’s court had gotten wind of France’s movements—the quiet advances that even the Daemons hadn’t caught—the emperor wanted Lilac to travel to him, through enemy terrain.

A cold chill prickled Garin’s spine. He didn’t trust Maximilian with his own court, much less her. But he’d been the one who had condemned the one he loved to a cage because he couldn’t trust himself with her blood.

But wasn’t it already too late? She was already bleeding for him. Wet for him.

They don’t revere her like you do , another voice said then, not the voice of a well-meaning cherub on his shoulder, but something darker, older than the woods itself, coiled deep within. It was the thing that allowed him to reach into her mind.

It wasn’t reason. It was nothing that resembled it. This was his instinct. Hunger.

Mine , it growled. And she heard it, too.

Distrust flashed in those sparkling, bitter eyes—but it wasn’t stronger than the want that lingered at the upturned corners of her mouth.

She was going to be the end of him. The end of the world.

He dug his nails into her plump hips, dragging her to the edge of the bed. When Lilac instinctively tried to cover herself, he snaked his fingers beneath her undergarments and pulled them off, dropped to his knees, and bit her inner thigh.

Her body went rigid, but not in protest. Of course not.

Your blood is mine , his hunger rejoiced.

Lilac whimpered as he pulled from her, swallowing thickly and digging her heels into the mattress. Hit after hit, her blood sang to him. He nearly sheathed his fingers in her, but stopped himself in time.

Talons , he’d have to remember. He had not turned back into the man he at least thought he’d resembled—yet, the queen at least appeared unrepulsed by it.

She was holding her breath, resisting him and the orgasm that threatened to break her yet again.

Gods, he didn’t even need to touch her or be pumping inside her to drive her over the edge .

His hand slipped up to wrap around her left breast, tenderly cupping and squeezing, thumbing her nipple before he withdrew his fangs, tongued the messy crescent he’d left and felt her flushed skin smooth over.

Lilac’s chest shuddered before she let out an involuntary gasp that made his entire body coil with pleasure. Garin pulled back and shifted her legs to rest over his shoulder.

Your pussy is mine. She writhed before him, her mind registering the words.

Then, he parted her. He sucked her clit lightly into his mouth and moaned against her; he’d tasted her blood and arousal together at The Fool's Folly, but this was a delight. A forbidden treat. His.

Lilac’s hands rose. If she pushed him off, if she asked him—hells, even if her heart began to thrum in all the wrong ways—he’d promptly step away. He’d resist, chain himself if he had to.

But then her nails raked into his shirt, gripping him closer as she began to pant. She was enjoying it.

This was terrible. This was dangerous. Warning and his distant logic-turned-panic began to war with his instinct. Lilac was his thrall. In a traditional vampire court, it was her call to feed him, pleasure him, but it was he who needed to protect her.

She was… She was someone else’s wife, for fuck’s sake.

He should?—

Lilac’s entire body gave a violent shudder, and she finally jerked away from him, unhooking her legs and pushing herself up. There. She was done—maybe self-preservation had actually clicked, albeit weeks belated, for her. Lilac would fight him, and that would bring him back to center.

Instead, she wrapped her hands tighter into his hair and tugged him up. She rose at the elbows and kissed him over his pursed lips—his ruddy mouth dripping with her bleed and come—pressing herself into him with such force, he pulled back to look down at her.

Your lips are mine. He couldn’t help himself. The thought came, unwarranted and irreverent.

Her eyes blackened at the scrape of his insidious thoughts against the threshold of her mind. What was this creature that wanted him back in such violence ?

“Are you certain?” Garin said hoarsely, rising over her.

Lilac brought her lips back to his. “Never more.”

Her leg shifted, brushing against his inner thigh, sweeping across Garin’s groin as she cupped his face. He smoldered at her touch?—

Then, he was airborne.