reflecting the clouds, Garin’s penchant for provocative banter seemed to dissipate altogether. Lilac eventually grew sick of the silence and even attempted small talk; her efforts, however, were futile.
“Are you sure?” Lilac grumbled, her toes throbbing violently. Her heels would be covered in blisters when she finally had a chance to remove her damp flats. She was sure of it.
They’d come to a halt before an unremarkable hill, covered in heaps of dry leaves and brambles. Two massive, moss-covered boulders sat side by side, half burrowed into the side of the hill where the ground began to incline, but those looked no different from the rest of the mysterious stone structures scattered across the moors of Brittany.
“Is your Mine warded?”
Garin gave a sharp laugh. “No, the witches would never—” He frowned and squinted at her sideways. “How do you know about that?”
“The group of korrigans I came across before Sinclair found me had a ward around their campsite.”
“If their wards were up, how’d you end up finding them?”
She shrugged. “I heard them. I ended up making contact with them, and then the ward vanished.”
Garin leered impatiently at her, as if he couldn’t be bothered with her insanity. “Stand back,” he warned, advancing toward the boulders.
Lilac did as he asked. Garin nestled himself between the boulders, settling his back against the one to the left and planting his feet onto the one on the right. The ground beneath her rumbled as he pushed, and the boulder at his feet suddenly jolted out of place. It slowly moved until Garin stopped pushing. Something large glinted dully through the dirt.
Her mouth fell open as he dusted thick chunks of damp earth off of the metal plate protruding from the cavernous indent the boulders had left. It looked like an ogre-sized shield, except it wasn’t a shield at all—but a door. He sidled up next to it and yanked hard; the door opened at the second pull. The orange flicker of torchlight and surprisingly warm air enveloped them as the plate creaked outward, making Lilac feel oddly welcome.
Just beyond the crude doorway, she could make out a dim passage that curved off into the unknown. Garin waved a hand into the dark from beside her.
“After you.”
Lilac took one step forward, then stopped herself. What was she doing? Had she continued any further, she’d waltz right into her own doom. But hadn’t she done that already? The vampire before her had been pretty accommodating toward her since they’d met, minus the entrancement; but that was just Garin. There were more like him—possibly unlike him, not as tactful, not as forgiving. Wringing her hands, she glanced up at him.
“It would be in your best interest to ensure that I am back on my way to Paimpont by tomorrow,” she said, needlessly adjusting her dress sleeve. “If not, my family will have your head.”
“I know,” he whispered urgently. “You’ve mentioned it countless times. You have my word, and that has to be enough for you right now. Trust me?”
The hair on the back of her neck rose when he lightly placed his hand upon her arm. Trust him? Under normal circumstances, never. For now, it was the only choice she had.
Lilac nodded, silently accepting that whatever happened to her from this point, on—including the very real possibility of her demise—would be the sole result of her own choosing.
After ushering her inside, Garin effortlessly hooked his hands into two grooves chiseled into the closest boulder and pulled it toward them until it covered the opening over the door. Then, quietly as possible, he swung the metal plate shut.
“You don’t have a lock on that?”
He put a finger to her lips and gave a warning look down the hall before waving a hand dismissively. With a wink, eyes gleaming in the flicker of the distant torch, he whispered, “You tell me who else can shove a half-tonne boulder? Plus, we’re happy to devour any unwanted visitors.”
Lilac wondered if his morbid sense of humor was his own odd way of trying to make her laugh. Or maybe he was being completely serious. “Now, what do you need me to do?”
Motioning for her to follow, he began making his way through the passage, which followed a gradual downward slope. “You are here as my thrall… My underling, erm, personal servant—”
“I get it. And that’s strange,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“What? There’s nothing—God, it’s only strange if you make it strange,” he hissed, slowing as they continued around the bend. “So that’s