Page 33 of Disillusioned
Her joints and muscles ached, but the greatest exhaustion was emotional, souring her growling stomach and gripping her chest. She’d planned and planned, worried and ruminated, but not for any ofthis. Kestrel and the threat he posed as she and Garin acted as his puppets—he was supposed to be the thing that scared her most.
It turned out that this was not the case at all.
“I’ll remind you, your grandfather catered to both humans and vampires after our raid. It was not without flaw, but he was generous in comparison.” He paused. “Perhaps that sort of thing skips generations. Empathy. Common sense.”
It did, evidently. Her father’s full reversal of her grandfather’s law that allowed donors to willingly give vampires their blood—which somehow resulted from the Raid of 1482—came days after Lilac was caught in their kitchen speaking to Freya, shifter and mother of two. She would have to dig for information on where Sable’s grandsons could be, maybe even issue posters and a reward for them if the old woman agreed to it.
Lilac dragged herself out of her circling overwhelm, preferring to focus on whatever information on Daemons Garin was offering. “When those humans frequented the inn, was the ward up for them, too?”
He was staring distantly at her hands on her knees, so she instinctively removed them and crossed her arms. “No. They came to us as donors, intending to help.”
“Donors? That doesn’t sound any better than cattle.”
Garin looked up. “I’m sorry. Do you have a name suggestion you’d like to bring to the vampire council? Perhaps we can make some changes at the next meeting.”
She ignored this. “Wouldn’t they be considered your thralls?”
Something about Garin’s grin shifted in the darkness. The low sound of his laugh made the hair at the back of her neck stand. “There are different types of victim proximity when it comes to interacting with us.”
She straightened, prepared to listen.
“Donor is the preferred term for anyone who simply volunteers to be fed on and enjoys it. They remain free. Cattle is an unofficial term used in our coven by Bastion, for those imprisoned against their will,” he said, staring out the window. “That has always been against Laurent’s code of conduct, and it will be against mine. But donors and cattle are the same in that they hold no connection to a single vampire. They are food. Sustenance. Nothing more.”
“What about vampires like Casmir?” She’d seen the foreign vampire romancing the woman at the bar the night she’d met Garin. Lorietta said he’d had his pick of human donors whenever he’d visited. “What are they to him?”
“He bounces between donors throughout cities, countries even. He’s very old, very rich, but enjoys coming to places like Brocéliande because of the seclusion. They remain donors.”
They swayed as the carriage shifted right to take a wide turn onto the main road. Lilac wondered about Garin. Did he have a favorite donor who gave their blood to be bottled? Maybe a preferred scent or taste. Had he seen any willing donors since his biting curse had been lifted? She frowned. Howwashe eating? A surge of hot jealousy ran through her at the thought of his hands—or teeth—on another.
“So they’re not attached to each other at all? Regardless if they’re having sex?” she asked quietly as the orange-green torches faded into the distance. After supper, that night they’d met, he’d brought her to her room and tried to entrance her. It was pointless to pretend she wouldn’t have invited him in even without his vampiric powers or even knowing he was a Daemon, because that was exactly what she had done.
“Not attached in the Sanguine Magic sense. It’s not the sex that binds them.”
Lilac exhaled and rested her forehead against the window, letting the glass cool her, feeling so, so stupid. Garinneededto eat to survive.
To ensure something like the Raid would never happen again.
She’d meant her inquiry to sound careless, merely curious. The heat radiating off her would give her away; surely her ears would melt her earrings off. Hesitantly, she peeked at him through her hair, expecting him to ridicule her insecurity.
But if he noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. Garin’s hands were clasped thoughtfully against his stomach, one foot propped upon the other knee as he said, “Whether they’ve been sleeping together does not matter. Ours are matters of blood, not the heart, though a donor technically could be romantically tied to any vampire, or several—and vice versa. But that alone would not tie them in the manner you’re referring to.”
“And thralls?” she asked, intrigued. Garin had demanded she pretend to be his thrall when he’d brought her to the Sanguine Mine. She’d received little to no instruction, but one thing was clear: they were supposed to be obedient. It was a role she’d certainly struggled with.
“Thralls are bound to us by the blood bond, which develops fully over three separate instances of deep feeding and blood revival—me feeding you my blood.”
She remembered the way he’d confessed to needing to drink from her to the point of unconsciousness, then feeding her his own blood. “That’s what you tried to do to me at the inn.”
“Yes. Not fully, but a first-degree blood bond—invoked with a single blood exchange—would have made you agreeable enough to follow me from the inn to the Sanguine Mine without a fight. Or without running into Morgen-infested waters.” There was an empty beat. He adjusted his collar, loosening it. “Second-degree blood bonds are more complex and introduce a stronger sense of belonging between the regnant and its victim. They’ll feel agitated when separated for extended periods of time, and might eventually feel compelled to seek each other out. It also allows the vampire to entrance the thrall effortlessly, even when he is low on sustenance.”
What could be stronger than that?“And the third-degree?”
Garin studied her face. “That is the blight of a regnant-thrall pairing. A true blood bond. It is inviolate and all-consuming, invoking feelings ofpassion most will confuse with true love. It does allow for the thrall to maintain their free will in some sense, seemingly more so than the first and second degrees; they are able to go longer periods without being in the physical presence of each other, not feeling as distraught over it—yet, the regnant will consume every thought, every breath. As long as they are within earshot, the thrall is susceptible to obeying their regnant at the drop of a hat, no eye contact or entrancement required. Any request,anydemand. The willpower of the thrall becomes bootless, while the regnant’s will remains openly exercisable over them.” Garin paused, as if processing his own words. He grimaced. “At this point, the thrall will act in defense of the regnant regardless of what he has done—even going so far as hiding or denying his existence entirely, resorting to aggression to protect his master.”
She imagined a corrupt vampire creating an army of devoted humans. “Can a vampire have multiple thralls?”
“No. Never. After the blood bond is built through three separate instances of deep feeding andvitaeexchange, the active thrall must die or be released in order for another to be sired. Any attempt at siring additional thralls won’t produce any effect.”
Lilac picked at her nails, unsure of why this fascinating information made her so nervous. “And your entrancements?”
