Disenchanted

by Brianna Sugalski

  She decided and paddled further toward the outer bank, but Garin’s raised voice followed her. “Lilac, I’m not kidding this time. This is dangerous, come back!”

  “What could possibly be more dangerous than you? Swimming back is the exact opposite of what m-my instincts are telling me to do.”

  “I beg of you—”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Just past the midpoint, the moon’s reflection on the water ahead of her moved. At least, she thought it did. Ripples surrounded her—a school of minnow, she thought as they circled her slowly. But the ripples only intensified.

  Something was wrong. Something was here. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand in spite of the moisture. Off to her right, a faint blue-white glow shone under the water. It wasn’t the reflection of the moon at all.

  Garin roared something unintelligible after her. His voice was enough to shake her bones even from the shore. It was the first time she heard genuine fear in his voice, and she didn’t like it at all. “Don’t move!”

  “Garin?!” The frantic shrill of her own voice was just as unrecognizable.

  “Stay there! I’m coming in.”

  She sucked a sharp breath in as another flash of cold shot through the water under her, this time numbing her toes. There was no mistaking it this time—something lurked in the depths of the Argent, and it was moving right beneath her. The light beneath the surface had taken the shape of an orb, and now there were two more encircling her, shimmering as they danced closer to the surface. Lilac paddled frantically, spinning in place to keep them all in sight. Something slimy brushed up against her bare leg under her dress, and she heard her own scream pierce the night. A cold hand grasped her shin and yanked down with tremendous force.

  The last thing she saw before she was sucked under was Garin, bounding frantically toward her through the shallow end of the river.

  She was enveloped in darkness. She clawed her way up, to what she thought was up, struggling beneath the icy plane. Fighting for her breath, she kicked and scratched until the bony hand on her ankle finally slipped off. It didn’t take long for her to lose track of the moonlight in the murky water; Lilac gave one last, hard kick. Panicked bubbles erupted from her nostrils, and she followed them up with the last of her breath.

  As she broke the surface, she gasped and didn’t even have time to suck in a full lungful before two more pairs of brittle hands grabbed her and she once again found herself submerged, this time entangled in limbs and fine, slimy strands of seaweed. The pain in her lungs intensified, like a knife caught in her sternum as she struggled weakly against the fingers dragging her down. As her consciousness began to fade, the vibrations of an echoed, distorted giggle shook the water surrounding her.

  Suddenly, a new set of hands, these ones sturdy and full of vigor, grasped under her armpits. The giggles turned into furious hisses. Helpless, she fought to hold the last of her breath—she was viciously yanked, between the hands on her ankles and the ones under her arms, until the hands pulling her up gave a vicious tug. Her legs broke free, and she shot toward the surface. Lilac sobbed and inhaled the air in desperate gasps, feeling as if she would never be able to breathe enough in. An arm curled around her waist and she screamed and thrashed in anguish.

  “Stop that! Stop—it’s me,” Garin gurgled next to her, spitting water out. Hair slicked over his eyes, he slung her arms over his shoulder and around his neck.

  He immediately began kicking his powerful legs through the water, one-handedly swimming back to shore. He moved faster through the growing current than Lilac thought possible. When they reached the shore, he pulled her out and then dropped her, just before she retched chunks of pie and river water, indiscernible between the mud and stones between her fingers.

  Shivering and panting, she shrugged off her drenched cloak and began wringing it out the best she could. Her dress now clung to her torso even tighter.

  “My clothes,” she coughed, wiping the spittle off her chin and staggering to her feet. “They’re ruined.”

  “Ruined?” Garin spat from somewhere over to her left. He sat in the mud, emptying his boots. “They’re wet.”

  “Precisely,” she snapped.

  “To someone whose life spans a mere century at best, I’m sure that must seem terribly important.”

  “Pity,” came a harmonic inflection from behind them. “Is the poor Darkling upset that his meal got taken away?”

  “Ignore them,” Garin instructed quietly as he wrung out the front of his black shirt.

  Them.

  Lilac spun to face the river and couldn’t believe her eyes. Three bare-breasted creatures sat in the shallower water just beyond the riverbank. It hadn’t been seaweed that Lilac was tangled in, but their long, golden hair. Below toned stomachs, porcelain skin blended seamlessly into what looked like a wide serpent’s tail adorned in aventurine scales. Their complexion glistened with patches of gold smatterings, glinting impossibly in the moonlight as they turned this way and that to wring their hair out. As Lilac gawked, three sets of razor-sharp teeth grinned back at her, like the mouths of sharks.

  She shuddered. They were the most aesthetically pleasing and terrifying things she’d ever seen.

  Garin paid them no mind. He was too busy wiping the clay off of the baldric belt, taking extra care cleaning off Sinclair’s longsword. “They are why we don’t fancy the rivers,” he muttered, side-eying her. To her surprise, he grabbed her sack off the ground and slung it over his shoulder, then held out his other hand. This time, she gladly accepted it and allowed him to pull her upright.

  “G’day, sweetheart,” another one of them purred, scales glinting green and purple as she slithered further up onto the bank. “By the moon, you’re ripe and plump. Once the curse is lifted, he’ll go right for it..”

  Frowning, Lilac threw Garin a look of concern, only to find him observing her with the same expression. “Curse?” Lilac repeated. She shifted uncomfortably. How could they have known? It was public knowledge she could speak to Darklings, sure. But no one else knew she had come to Brocéliande to get rid of the ability to do so. Not even Garin.

  To her relief he didn’t press further, only offering a grunt of annoyance. “Ignore them. The Morgen speak in riddles and lies.” He stretched the kinks from his free shoulder, re-secured the baldric belt across his torso, then took Lilac under his other arm.

  She didn’t have the energy to do anything but accept his help. She knew she should run, scream, call for help… But what good would it do? She was physically and mentally drained. Through the haze, a small part of her mind latched onto the muscular torso beneath his damp tunic, brushing against her side. She forced herself to look away.

  “Morgen,” Lilac repeated wistfully, glancing back just in time to see three glimmering tails disappear into the water.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “I’ve never even heard of them. They’re not mentioned in any of the journals I’ve read.”

  Garin scoffed. “Are you referring to the same journals that told you I’d be allergic to running water?”

  Lilac thought back to the preventative bundle in her sack, which hung from Garin’s shoulder. “Are you allergic to anything?” she asked casually, just in case he was. In case she’d somehow gotten the opportunity to grab the bundle and…

  And then what? Lilac bit her lip, suddenly peeved at how little she actually seemed to know, in the vast scheme of things and, despite her studies. And then… Throw it at him? Crush the garlic into tiny bits and blow it into his eyes? All options seemed foolish. If she tried, she’d never hear the end of it.

  “What, pray tell, what would make you privy to that information?” He stifled a laugh as they shuffled slowly up the bank. “Most of those scribes were human men. The Morgen, as I understand, are an ancient species of water-bound Fae. They’re always female, thriving on their affinity for luring unwitting sailors to their doom. It’s their favorite pastime.”

 
Her surprise seemed to amuse Garin; she could hear his growing grin in the shadows as he patiently matched her measured stride.

  “It seems to me no one has lived to tell the tale, or retained their sanity enough to document it well,” he continued.

  “Are there many of them?”

  He shrugged against her in response.

  “Rumor has it, they’re from an island off the Quimper coast, though they’re sometimes spotted lounging on the shores of Brest. They don’t appear to anyone unless they are confident of their victory, and they don’t put up much of a fight… but in numbers, they’ve been known to overwhelm entire sailboats once the sailors are enamored enough to join them for a swim.”

  He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “I myself have only encountered them once, long ago, at the edge of the High Forest. I was disposing of a body in the river, closer to the town to make it seem like a drowning. As I was walking back, the Morgen swam up alongside me, using the floating corpse to lounge upon—”

  “That’s quite enough,” Lilac burped, suddenly overwhelmed with a mixture of nausea and exhaustion. She didn’t need to hear the rest of his revolting tale to get the picture.

  “You’re fortunate I was even there to see you pulled under.”

  He leaned against her, gently urging her left and away from the riverbank as they gingerly made their way further into the trees. They walked for a moment in silence, no sound but the slow chirp of crickets serenading the night. Lilac trembled against the breeze and was mildly grateful for Garin’s assistance, despite his shocking lack of body heat.

  He only spoke again when they were finally far enough away that the rush of the river had grown distant. “May I ask you a question?”

  She blinked and gave a hesitant nod. She had a great many for him. “You may.”

  “What did you mean, when you said I was no better than Sinclair? Right before you darted off like a madwoman.” He stuffed his free hand in his pocket. “Not that I care. Only curious.”

  “Last night,” Lilac managed through her chattering teeth. “You… I had drinks with you.”

  “Yes.”

  She shuddered, remembering the night entirely, but also remembering doing and thinking things that had seemed alarmingly unlike her. She knew alcohol had a way of making people act upon their innermost desires, but she certainly hadn’t had enough to warrant her near-scandalous behavior. Suddenly realizing the implications of such a chain of events, she froze and wiggled out of his grasp to face him. “Did you do something, that thing you can do, to convince me to invite you into my room?”

  Garin quickly smoothed his expression. “I did, I entranced you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Or at least, I tried. Maybe the wine made it easier.”

  She’d half been suspecting it, but his admittance still shocked her. Welcome heat surged through her body, all the way up to her ears. How could he discuss it all so casually?

  “That. That is how you’re like Sinclair,” she said, backing away. “You’re disgusting!”

  But Garin’s face twisted into puzzled doubt. “I can assure you it wasn’t personal—”

  “Entrancing me to sleep with you wasn’t personal?” Her hands and lips were quivering, no longer with cold but fury. She felt just as violated as she was confused.

  At that, he took a long step back, finally processing her words. His eyes widened.

  With her adrenaline from the Morgen incident finally fading, her gratitude towards him quickly faded into an inconsolable rage. She lunged forward to shove him and stumbled on a jagged stone protruding from the dirt. He caught her at the elbows before she could hit could the ground.

  Garin set her on her feet and then bent so that their faces were level. “First of all,” he said, clasping both of her hands firmly between his. “I just saved you from a bunch of naked water demons who would have rejoiced in drowning you. Surely that must have garnered at least a tiny sliver of trust.”

  His voice remained controlled, but his eyes were black as coals. His chest rose and fell in uneven waves.

  Lilac glared back. Her short spurts of breath plumed in the cold air, while his weren’t visible in the slightest.

  “Second,” he took a step back and she finally remembered to breathe deeply— “that is not what I entranced you for. I only did it so that you would think to invite me in.”

  She scrutinized him unabashedly, somehow feeling her fury gave her strength, an upper hand, even over the monster before her.

  He held her gaze unblinkingly. “I intended on biting you. I’m sorry—”

  A hard laugh bubbled up. “You’re sorry for entrancing me, or sorry for trying to eat me?” Lilac fired.

  He ignored her, rushing to explain. “My ability to entrance isn’t as strong as it once was. In fact, I was surprised it had worked at all; without warm blood in my system, my entrancement usually makes a person more agreeable at best.”

  “How do I know you aren’t making that up?”

  “When you tried to take your clothes off, I stopped you. In the moment, I thought I’d too easily convinced you to let me bite you. It eventually became obvious that wasn’t the case.”

  Lilac glowered in his direction, unseeing. Instead, the memories of the night prior replayed in her mind, making her grimace. If the wretched vampire told the truth…

  Her ears grew hot.

  “It’s fine,” he added quickly at her mortified glare. “It was probably my entrancement gone awry, in addition to Meriam’s potent bathtub wine. Plus, the victims who are deeply entranced by us have no recollection of their actions after it’s worn off. So, the fact that you remember any of it is reassuring. Reassuring for you, that is.”

  Lilac nodded slowly. She did remember. Every embarrassing moment. “I do. I know I was a little drunk, but I do remember.”

  “An abomination as I am, princess,” he added grimly, “I’m not that kind. Never.”

  She didn’t reply, only staring in response and clinging to a fragile truth she hoped was true.

  Garin fluffed his drying hair and leaned back against the nearest tree trunk. He looked like a destroying angel in the moonlight. “And, I didn’t want to eat you,” he said, echoing her word choice and frowning. “I intended make you more compliant by invoking a blood bond. To do that, I merely needed to bite you. It happens when a person is bitten moments after being entranced, but it all went wrong.”

  Lilac inhaled sharply, processing his words. “Compliant for what? And you trapped me back at the inn,” she snapped. “That’s blatant treason, you know.”

  Instead of answering right away, Garin pushed himself off the tree trunk, a black curl of hair flopping down over his forehead. He brushed it back and dusted the moss off his hands. “Frankly, princess, do I look like I lose sleep over whether or not my actions are permissible?”

  Something felt off. Despite the vastness of the woods, she felt cornered. His carelessness wasn’t a façade; her threats truly meant nothing to him. As charming as he could make himself seem, he was still a Darkling with ulterior motives. Each moment spent with him was another of her journey wasted.

  Everything came flowing out of her like the vomit on the riverbank. “What do you want with me? I don’t even know where you want to take me,” she said in exasperation. “What I do know is that you won’t stop following me.”

  “No, I—” Then, Garin paused. “Hold on. No. You’re my captive.”

  “But you haven’t harmed me at all,” she continued, her thoughts flowing freely now. Perhaps she’d spoken too soon with the way the unscrupulous vampire stared at her now, but… He hadn’t. If anything, his dire need for her company—whatever it was for—had made him protective of her.

  “At least, tell me this,” she said, the tremors in her voice evening. She had to be sure of one other very important detail. “Will you kill me?”

  He said nothing, but his eyes were desperately sad.

  “Do you want to kill me?” she prodded, searching his face for the sma
llest bit of sympathy.

  He shook his head. “I will not,” he said decisively, as if to convince himself. “You have my word. While we’re together, you’ll be safer than you are anywhere else in Brocéliande.”

  Incredibly, impossibly, hope flared in her frigid body. While we’re together sounded like he intended on releasing her at some point. After all he’d put her through, maybe Garin could accompany her the rest of the way to Paimpont. He at least owed her that much, didn’t he?

  He eyed her apprehensively, brows softened and lips slightly parted, almost as if giving her a choice.

  Lilac stared back. Stared hard. There was no choice; like his off-kilter beauty, it was an illusion for her benefit. He was a Darkling, through and through—and caring about someone was not the same as preserving them for some other nefarious plot.

  But maybe—

  “Let us make haste,” Garin said. He held out his arm, again, offering a choice she didn’t actually have.

  Her flame of hope died as quickly as it had ignited. Hands balled in fists, she willed herself to relax. Fighting him would not change what was already done. There was no resisting or running from him. She’d tried.

  “Where?”

  “I’m taking you to the Sanguine Mine.”

  “And what exactly is that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  It took a moment for the information to register. Followed by the initial wave of horror, Lilac couldn’t help the flutters of wonderment. Humans still knew so little of the Darklings’ permanent habitats; the dusty tomes and journals she’d poured over in her studies mostly referenced legend, or third- or fourth-hand accounts when trying to place most of the species’ homes. The Brocéliande vampire coven was rumored to live in the northeastern reaches of the High Forest. Maybe the books were half right. And, based on her scant knowledge of the forest layout, following him there—following him east—would bring her that much closer to town. At least she’d have an escort part of the way.