Page 94 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

Well then, let’s hope he’s very discreet. As all innkeepers should be.

“Congratulations, you two,” the man said finally.

My brow creased. “I beg your pardon?”

“I see you’ve booked the marital suite,” he continued, unperturbed. “Rest assured, it’s got a massive bed. If you know what I mean.”

Heat seared my cheeks. I opened my mouth to protest, but Enhart interrupted me before I could choke out any words.

“We need two bedchambers,” Enhart said, leaning over the desk. There was an edge to his voice. “You do have two bedchambers, right?”

The man tutted, shaking his head from side to side. “I’m afraid not. We’re completely booked this evening.”

This isn’t happening.

My palms went clammy at the idea of sharing a bedchamber with Enhart. Let alone a marital suite. I could picture it now: a massive bed with fluttering curtains, rose petals littering the threshold, a roaring fire. What would Mordric say?

“I know it’s completely booked, because I booked it,” the prince said flatly. “I sent a courier with the coin days ago.”

Relief flooded through me. The innkeeper’s disbelieving gaze flicked back and forth between us before dropping once again to his ledger. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, his finger tracing the slanted script. “Oh yes, I see that you have, Mr. Smith. My mistake.”

A muscle twitched in Enhart’s jaw. “It’s no problem.”

The innkeeper cocked an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “So, two separate bedchambers, is it?”

“Yes,” we said in unison.

His smile faded. “If you insist.”

I inched away from Enhart as the innkeeper dug behind the desk for the keys. Feigning interest in a dusty painting of a farmhouse that hung over the hearth, I noticed a cloak hung from a hook beside it. The dark blue fabric was soaked through. It was also too tall for the innkeeper, from the looks of it. Perhaps it belonged to another guest.

The innkeeper emerged from behind the desk with two brass keys. “Have you got bags?” he asked.

Enhart gestured toward the door. “With the horses.”

“I’ll have the stablehand bring them up after she sees to them,” he said. He gestured toward the staircase. “Up you go then. Supper will be up within the hour.”

I maintained a healthy distance from Enhart as we traversed up the stairs. The walls were crowded with landscapes of what I assumed was the surrounding area. Nearly every surface was covered with mismatched pots of flowers. Their sweet perfume hung in the air.

Enhart dropped me off outside my quarters then disappeared around the corner. My bedchamber was decorated with floral-patterned curtains and matching upholstery that looked like it belonged in the home of a wealthy, elderly widow. Flowers were stuffed into vases around the place, their petals wilting ever so slightly. Warmth radiated from the fireplace.

It was good enough for me.

I peeled off my coat and kicked off my boots, collapsing into an armchair embroidered with pink and gold roses. The heels of my socks had been rubbed down to the threads, revealing bloodied flaps of skin. That’s what I got for wearing new boots for two days straight. Grimacing, I stripped them off. I pinched the dead skin of my right heel between my fingers, gagging as I peeled it away.

I glanced up at the sound of knuckles wrapping against the door.

“Luggage!” came a woman’s voice.

Groaning, I stood and limped toward the door. By the time I pulled it open, the stablehand had already disappeared. As I swung my pack over my shoulder, I locked gazes with a stranger exiting the chamber opposite mine. The owner of the dark-blue cloak, I imagined. His wavy brown hair fell to his shoulders, the same shade as the stubble on his chin. He stilled, his gaze raking over my frame.

Dread coiled in my stomach as his nostrils flared. Curiosity oozed out of his pores. It was sticky. Wanting. His lips curled into a smile, revealing a pair of sharp fangs. I resisted the urge to slam the door in his face. Instead, I offered a curt nod before retreating into the safety of my bedchamber.

A chill ran down my spine as the door clicked shut. I pressed a hand against the wood, willing myself not to panic. The look in the vampire’s eyes was too familiar. I’d seen that same morbid curiosity in Mordric’s gaze after he’d tasted my blood for the first time. The invisible scar he’d left in my throat prickled. The walls around me seemed to shrink as I recalled how it felt to be trapped in his iron grip. Helpless while he drained the life out of me.

I took a steadying breath. Enhart wasn’t far. And I wasn’t helpless.

Still, I bolted the door. Just in case.