to the fence. Even in her desperation for a bath, and in her roaring hunger, she knew her blood-stained skin and dress would draw more attention to them than it was worth. “Slow down. I’m nowhere near presentable.”
“So now you want to change out of that dress?” Garin said, but he slowed down and obliged.
When she reached for her sack, he pulled it out of reach once more.
“Garin, look at me,” she said. “I’m covered in blood. I reek of it, everything’s a mess. I’ll have to rinse off.”
“That’s what entrancing them is for,” he said impatiently.
“You can’t—it didn’t work on me,” she protested. “If they make a commotion, surely that’ll draw attention.”
She ignored Garin’s annoyed glare and studied the farmhouse. She wouldn’t be able to wash off in time—they were running out of it, fast—but maybe they could use her appearance to their advantage, after all.
Lilac glanced back at Garin, who wore a subtle smile as he regarded the pine needles in her disheveled hair, the streaks of crimson across her skin, and the deep, unhealed bite marks over her jugular.
She swept a hand, motioning at her bodice. “Ruin me,” she commanded decidedly.
The vampire cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”
“Ruin this dress for me.”
“Why?”
She scowled impatiently. “I’ve got dozens like it at home, it’ll be fine. My neck is perfect, but we need to make it look like I’ve just been mauled.”
Garin shook his head, trying to follow. “What are you rambling on about, princess? That’s hardly believable. There are no bears in Brocéliande.”
But Lilac shot him a wuthering look, and his eyes widened in realization.
He neared, raising his hands cautiously. “May I?”
She nodded urgently. “Hurry.”
Before she could blink, he was up against her back. Then came a loud ripping noise, like the sound of torn fabric. The night breeze was suddenly cold against her front—it was torn fabric. He’d effortlessly raked his nails through her dress like butter.
She shuddered and clutched the now-limp material to her front, but Garin gently released her and sidestepped
to lean against the vegetable garden fence, busying himself with inspecting the half-grown radishes and carrots.
“As I was saying,” she continued awkwardly, grateful for his decency. At least he’d acquired some basic form of manners some point along their journey. “We can tell the homeowner I’ve been attacked.” She smiled through her words as Garin’s skeptical grimace turned into a look of adoration. “I figured it was better than entrancing them to allow us in.”
“So just to be clear, we’re swindling them? I’m impressed.” Then, he made a face. “One of them is a horrid snorer.”
“Swindling indeed.” Her resolve was almost unrecognizable, but she couldn’t mask excitement that accompanied the flowing adrenaline. “I was thinking, we come up with a story, and—"
But he ignored this. He carefully scooped her up, cradling her sideways. She clutched the ripped material to her chest as he made his way past the vegetable garden.
“Wait, we have to plan—”
Garin grunted above her. “I’ll go along with your plan of deception. However, you’re leaving some improvisation to me.”
As they approached the porch steps, her heart began to race. They weren’t prepared—what would they say?
He bent his head to brush his lips along her earlobe, sending chills up her spine. “Must you be so dramatic? Please play along.”
He reached up with one hand and tousled his hair in his fingers. Where his luscious hair usually fell perfectly, it now looked disheveled as she probably did. Garin’s usually soundless feet were boisterous as they clambered up onto the porch. Then, with a force that made the timber rattle in its frame, he pounded his fists on the door.
17
“Help,” he cried in despair. “Somebody, help!” He knocked frantically again. “I beg of you!”
She stared at him in shock, but an odd shuffling sound broke the thick silence. Out in the field, past the garden, the hay bales were moving. Lilac’s hair stood up on end. “Garin—”
He swore under his breath. “We’ve woken the sheep.
Go limp,” he commanded, as a few of them began to bleat.
“Excuse me?”
“Limp.” He slammed his closed fists upon the door again.
“You’ll wake the neighbors!” she hissed, dread crawling down her limbs.
“The sheep will first, their sound carries.” Garin spun halfway, lips pursed in frustration. “I’ll kill them all,” he groaned.
Just when Lilac was so sure no one would come, that they’d be stuck outside like bumbling idiots they were until Garin was forced to turn the garden into a fuzzy bloodbath —a flurry of footsteps rumbled from within the bowels of