Page 109 of Dhampira

Lorcan stood across the room, his dark head bent over a table stacked with bolts of fabric. He jerked his head up as the dog dragged me forward. Our eyes locked in the mirror.

“Don’t touch that!” Iggleboddle snapped, his eyes on Lorcan as he bustled from an open doorway in the back of the room. Stopping, he spread his arms wide and glared. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Lorcan faced Iggleboddle, the look on his face like a child caught pillaging a cookie jar. “I wasn’t touching—”

“Clothes off, up on the platform,” Iggleboddle said again, striding forward. He snapped his fingers. “Come, Grigory.”

The dog released me and trotted to Iggleboddle, his measuring tapes clicking.

Lorcan and I looked at each other. A rhythmic sound filled the air. In one of the mirrors, a pair of scissors cut along a dotted line on a length of fabric suspended above a table littered with swatches, pincushions, and rulers.

Iggleboddle swept his glare from Lorcan to me. “His Majesty expects your wedding clothes to be ready by dinnertime. Do you want to tell him why they’re late?”

My throat went dry.

“Come, Corinthe,” Lorcan said, crossing the room. He took my hand and drew me to the platform. Just get it over with, he said in my head.

My breath caught as I met his eyes. Sometime between kissing me in the forest and entering Iggleboddle’s workroom, he’d drained a witch with the gift of telepathy.

“Let me help you, Princess,” he said out loud, a warning moving through his eyes. I let him assist me onto the platform, which was about two stair treads high, and I held my breath as he stepped beside me.

Iggleboddle looked at Grigory. “Fetch the black silk.”

With an agreeable yip, Grigory trotted across the room to a set of tall wooden shelves. As he approached, a bolt of fabric wriggled from a shelf in the middle and tumbled toward the ground. Grigory caught it and returned to Iggleboddle.

“At least one of you can follow directions,” he said, patting the dog’s head. He raised his voice without taking his eyes off the dog. “I can’t say the same for the rest of you!”

With a glance at me, Lorcan began unbuttoning his coat. As my face heated, his voice ran through my head. This won’t take long. Turn around, and I’ll unlace you.

It was no different than standing for Mama when she measured me for clothes. No different than letting Delphine remove my gown. I’d still be covered—and it would be quick.

Still, my heart sped up as I turned away. The mirrors showed me from every angle, dozens of copies of my flushed face staring back at me as Lorcan worked at my laces. He was slower at it than Delphine, which was to be expected. He was a man, after all. And he preferred men…

I shoved aside the images of him and Vander. My gown loosened, and I held my breath as Lorcan brushed the sleeves off my shoulders and worked the fabric down my hips.

“Step out of it,” he said aloud, bending in the mirror and holding my petticoats out of the way so I could step from the dress without falling.

Iggleboddle came to the platform and took the gown. “Petticoats need to come off, too,” he said.

Lorcan went to work on the ties at my waist, his fingers hot through the thin fabric of my chemise. My nipples were shadows under the gauzy material. With my hair pinned in a coronet around my head, I had no way to cover them.

My petticoats rustled as they fell to the platform one by one. Iggleboddle fetched those layers, too, and then I stood next to Lorcan in nothing but my see-through chemise, stockings, and lace-trimmed drawers that stopped just above my knees. The slit in the drawers that made it convenient to use the privy in a full gown offered little modesty now. Face flaming, I squeezed my thighs together.

Lorcan stripped quickly, shedding his jacket, boots, and trousers. His thin britches rode low on his hips, and his white shirt clung to his muscular chest.

“The shirt, too,” Iggleboddle said, bustling from the table where he’d dumped my petticoats.

In the mirrors, dozens of Lorcans frowned. Then, with stiff movements, they pulled the shirt over their head.

My breath hitched, surprise and horror twisting through me. Scars webbed Lorcan’s back, the flesh twisted into thick pink and red bands. It was as if someone had held a torch to his back in an attempt to melt the flesh from his spine and ribs. The injury had to be magical or nearly fatal. Probably, it was both. Vampires didn’t scar unless they were injured to the point of death.

When I looked up, Lorcan watched me with wide, startled eyes. He blinked, and the expression was gone.

Don’t say anything, he said in my mind.

I faced forward, my heart pumping faster. Iggleboddle fired off more orders to Grigory, and the dog bounded around the workroom to fetch additional bolts of fabric. The tailor didn’t appear shocked by Lorcan’s scars.

“All right,” Iggleboddle said when Grigory returned to his side, his tail beating a steady rhythm against the floor. “Measurements.”