Page 75 of Disillusioned
“You and Bastion?”
“Yes. You have my word.”
She glanced at the stairwell again. It swirled to the second floor, which cut off at a balcony overlooking the dance floor. There was a door at the start of the hall, closest to the bannister and apparently locked, as told by the lone unmasked woman knocking, listening in, trying the knob, then leaving in frustration.
There it was again, that deep sense of knowing in her body. The building anxiety over Myrddin’s words left her in a rush, warm relief replacing it as she merely laid eyes on that door.
He was there. She knew it.
Fear struck her as soon as she looked away to see Myrddin also staring at the balcony door.
There was something obviously critical that she was not understanding—that no one else was bothering to explain to her. “You got him into this, you’re going to help me.” She lunged for him, but her hands only grasped air, the thin cloud of smoke wisping around her.
Myrddin was gone.
Lilac waved the biting scent of black powder away and stuffed down her panic, freezing and allowing herself to be swallowed by the dancing crowd, holding her breath against the suddenly overwhelming stench of the room. The sounds of sex, the stifling perfume, the stench of sweat that invaded her nostrils and mouth. She ended up being pushed along, her feet finding motion as a new song started at the front stage to the right of what seemed to be the door, where a trio of fiddlers had replaced the mandolin players and drummers. She found her fingers brushing another wall and turned, pressed her back against it, coughing, willing the wood to soak the heat from her body.
Two women brushed past her, the same ones she’d seen descending the stairs—those stairs that first led to Garin’s room, if her gut feeling was to be believed. They dragged an unmasked blonde along with them this time, one who hadn’t been there before. Arms interlinked, they tugged her toward the stairway, giggling coyly into the woman’s ear with the stems of drink glasses in their fingers. One of them had what looked like a large bottle tucked under her arm.
She should warn them. They were clueless; they had no idea what they were dealing with if what Myrddin said was true. But she would not save them, or Garin.
What was there to save him from? Pussy and fresh, pumping blood? He’d spent years unable to drink from people. He should indulge, shouldn’t he? She’d wanted it for him, although she hadn’t been able to dwell on it long without feeling most envious.
Lilac turned this way and that, clinging to the wall, suddenly burdenedwith the pleasant thought of marching up to them and yanking them back down the stairs by their hair. She almost could not bear the thought of his mouth on another woman’s neck, possibly buried deep inside her… even when he’d refusedherthroat as he’d fingered her in his chamber.
Giggles erupted from the balcony. There was a clink of glass, and cool droplets rained down on the crowd. No one else seemed to notice. Lilac cursed and wiped the liquid from the mask as some dripped into her eyes. She licked her lips, salty-sweet from her tears and whatever drink had spilled.
She gritted her teeth when she heard a door—Garin’s door—open, and the laughter continued before it clicked shut again.
Lilac had never felt jealousy like this. It came in waves of sadness, then ebbed out in white-hot fury. She was sweating.
One of the masked women walked past with a tray of drinks. Maybesheneeded liquor. Even a tankard of ale would do—anything to take the edge of envy off long enough so she could focus on leaving. Finding the bar required her to leave the spot of safety she’d just uncovered, but she felt like she’d burn up without something to drink, and soon.
A couple brushed past her, a woman pushing her masked partner into one of the alcoves that lined the wall next to her.
Lilac held her breath, bit her tongue, watching the man stroke the woman’s hair, one hand cupped against her throat as they both settled into the round booth. The woman slid into his lap as soon as he was seated. Then her eyes met Lilac’s, and she beckoned hungrily with her finger.
Lilac turned away, blushing immensely, only to spot another masked man stalking past her from the far corner. The first man felt the bulge through the newcomer’s trousers and slipped his cock free, beginning to slowly jerk him as the woman began to bounce in his lap.
She should join them. With this mask she blended in—no one would know. The swirl of temptation in her stomach danced at the thought of being sandwiched between all three of their beautiful bodies.
No sooner did she consider it, when the image ofhimspiked in her memory, an unwelcome intruder; the thought of his hands slipping between her thighs, of him tasting her. As much as she hated it, she wanted Garin. Needed him.Hewould know it was her if she went to him despite her mask.
But his attention was elsewhere. Angrily, she shoved the thought from her mind.
The crowd shoved and pulled against her like a current as she peeled herself from the wall, the candles high and bright, surrounded in golden halos. The music sounded like it had grown louder, faster, but she could still hear everything, the groaning and whispering. The bodies around her seemed to be pulsing, and soon enough the pounding beat of the jig played on stage was in her chest, behind her navel. Between her thighs.
She blinked and found herself at the front of the tavern, at the door, hesitating with her hand on the knob. Rennes was a large city, after all; she could catch a carriage home without trouble. Bastion and Myrddin were here. They could deal with him.
An arm appeared next to her, a hairy hand slamming and pressing the door shut just as she’d opened it. Lilac spun and came face to face with two mesmerizing red eyes, so dark they would’ve appeared black if not for the torch near her head. He smiled and stepped back to give her room, but his aroma of fine wine and blueberry cologne had already enveloped her. Her sensitized body reacted to his closeness, her feet immediately following; as soon as he offered his arm, she linked hers through, and he pulled her back into the heat of the crowd. They came to a stop, and to her own surprise, she leaned in.
“Your Majesty.” His breathy accent tickled her ear, sending chills down her back.
Lilac softly shut her eyes, hearing her own syrupy voice. “Hello, Casmir.”
Casmir chuckled, pulling away just enough to peer down at her. He towered over Lilac, glancing down at her with a soft smirk. “Why good evening, Your Majesty.”
He was dressed handsomely in a black leather vest, hand-carved filigree across his broad chest. His shoulder length hair was half up in a bun, the rest of it falling in umber waves. An amused, fanged smile was sandwiched between his thick mustache and beard. He inclined his head and barely pressed his lips to the back of her hand before releasing her.
