Page 112 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

WAS IT REAL?

VALE

V ale’s arms were bound behind his back, and the muscles in his thighs ached from gripping his steed so he wouldn’t fall from the saddle.

Smoke billowed from his mouth with every raging exhale, and a litany of violent images played behind his eyes with every blink.

He shoved the thoughts away.

Do not shift, he warned his dragon.

The beast merely growled in response, raging with protective instincts at the memory of Luella in pain.

Angel wings.

An angel.

Fuck, Vale didn’t know why they didn’t think of it before.

The Queen of Luna was an angel, and as the Princess of Luna, Luella was half angel, half fae. But why, of all times, did her wings make an appearance after her first climax?

Take, his dragon chanted. The echoed hisses made Vale’s head pound as the beast decided to torture him with recounting the images of her on the altar… The way her head had tipped back, revealing the unmarked skin of her neck—fuck, she would look so perfect with his bite.

Luella’s pale thighs had gripped the mage’s waist so perfectly. Even for a bastard like the Prima, she had been so wet and pliable and trusting, her arousal glimmering on the seat of his pants from how she had rubbed herself against him. Would she do the same with Vale?

Ours.

He choked on smoke, fingers curling as he strained against his bindings.

"You’re not proving you can be let free."

The words made Vale’s head turn, where the smug vampire rode at his side, red-tinted eyes scouring the trek before them.

The Prima’s Aer magic confined Vale’s arms, swirling air wrapping tightly around him. The tendons in Vale’s neck strained as he flexed his arm muscles. No give.

"You cannot possibly think to keep me here much longer, Advisor," Vale seethed. "My dragon has been dealt with, and now my patience is wearing thin. Do not think I’ve forgotten you used your Mind magic on me in the Temples."

Bastian’s hands tightened on the reins. They both cast a glance behind them, where Luella was bundled on Tharen’s chest. Graves’s cloak was wrapped around her front, falling open slightly at the shoulders, and revealing hints of the slowly healing skin there. But it was a… mess.

Ribbons of skin fell open around the pure angel wings, the feathers tipped in maroon, with drying blood crusted on her moon-touched skin, coating the ends of her white hair.

She looked like she had been ripped open and stitched back together haphazardly, dunked in pools of red.

And her screams… Gods, they echoed around him.

Her pain had numbed as her fae healing took over, combined with Bastian putting her to sleep after she had awoken and been fed by the mage.

She was but a dim light inside his soul, and he cursed how far away she felt.

His dragon reared his head. Mine, mine.

Protect.

Contrary to what the rest of them thought, he was not at risk of shifting and burning them all to a charred crisp.

No, the only thing Vale was at risk of was ripping her from the Prima’s arms and keeping her tucked into his chest as he rode hard and fast to the castle, only one thought in mind: warm, dark, and safe .

A place where she could heal in safety and privacy, without fears of being attacked by Umbra.

Which was a duty Graves was severely slacking on, with his wide-eyed staring of their Vincire, which had left them a bit more vulnerable, as the male had not wanted to shift and leave to scout the trail ahead.

The Umbra had gotten too close for comfort on one too many occasions.

At least Bastian and Azgorath had the sense to deal with them swiftly before they could see Luella’s current state and report back to the Tenebrae.

She was weak, and thus, so were they.

They could not afford weakness.

Everything he had done so far was to keep her safe, even if she hated it, even if she didn’t believe him.

He was just lucky that the Temple Mothers had not suspected anything.

While Vale had been out of it—he hissed at the thought—Bastian had stayed behind, hidden, long enough to gauge the Temple Mothers’ minds regarding their quick departure.

The only thing the vampire had been able to glean was a sickening realization that Luella had been gravely hurt when Vale had supposedly lain with her.

At least the blood was accounted for. Though, it made his stomach roil with wrath at the notion they would think him to be so vile, that he would fuck her so roughly.

It was quiet between them, the only sound the steady thump of hooves on the rarely traveled path.

They were taking the longer route—fear of being seen outweighing urgency.

It made rage kindle low in his gut, a combination of his and the dragon.

She needed rest, a warm place to sleep off the pain of her wings erupting from her back.

Gods, he would never— ever —get the emergence of her wings out of his mind.

After battling with his dragon on the merits of staying the fuck inside his cage of flesh and bone, Vale finally felt resolved enough to decree:

"Release me."

Bastian looked away from where he had been staring at Luella, curled in Tharen’s arms. "Why?"

"I am in no danger of shifting. If you do not believe me, see for yourself." Vale stared, unwaveringly, at his Advisor, silently permitting him to see inside his mind.

The brush of Mind magic was soft like a whisper; Vale barely felt as Bastian sifted through his thoughts, ignoring the chants of possession in lieu of testing his beast.

The dragon was curled up inside him, watching with slitted green eyes.

Bastian’s Mind magic pulled away. He regarded Vale with deep red eyes. When was the last time he had blood?

The vampire was silent. Vale knew him well enough to know he was speaking in Tharen’s mind, showing him Vale’s resolve.

The bindings on Vale’s body released with a whisper of air, making blood rush back into his numb limbs. He rubbed his arms with a low hiss, cracking his neck.

Now able to grip the pommel, Vale turned in the saddle, gripped with a desperation for her.

"Bastian." Vale spoke low, hating what he was about to say, but it was the only way to keep his beast in check. "I need her."

Understanding crossed Bastian’s features.

Through the mind link established between them all, Bastian’s words echoed. Tharen, ride alongside us.

Slow down, Tharen replied. I don’t want to ride any faster and jostle her. She’s sleeping.

Bastian and Vale both pulled back on their reins at the same time, forcing their steeds to slow as they waited for Tharen to catch up. Graves led the rear.

As she drew close, the bond thrummed in his chest, tinged with pain.

Tharen made his way to them, directing his horse to walk on Vale’s other side.

The King knew the demand would not be taken well, as he said:

"Tharen, give her to me."

The mage’s ice-tinged eyes went wild, reverting to the reverent, awed male who had held her through the violent blooming of her wings.

"Fuck, no," Tharen seethed lowly, careful of the sleeping Princess on his lap.

"I released your bindings, but you can’t have her.

She…" His words tapered off as he stared down at Luella.

Vale was desperate enough to beg, if that was what it would take.

So he did.

With effort, however.

"Please."

That singular word seemed to suck all the wet, wintry air from around them.

"You’ll plead for her?" Tharen asked.

Vale swallowed. "Didn’t I?"

Pretty.

Protect.

His dragon’s rumblings were muted, understanding that what she needed right now was not a fire-scaled beast, but a warm hand.

Mine.

From his other side, Bastian spoke. "He won’t harm her. If you’re going to do it, do it now. While she rests. But we must hurry."

He looked out at their surroundings. The untraveled path before them, the thick stormclouds, brewing with the promise of a tempest. They were on borrowed time. It was a waiting game for her storm to break free.

"You’re right," Bastian commented.

Vale hissed, so wrapped up in her that he forgot their link was still open, and he was sending his thoughts to them.

Pride made him bristle. His thoughts were his own. "The sooner we get to the castle and out of the open, the better." Vale shifted back in the saddle to make room and held an arm out. "Give her to me." His tone brooked no argument.

"You’re my King, so I will obey," Tharen said lowly, anger coating his every word, "but know that I’d much rather gut you for taking her from me."

"I understand," Vale said.

He could not look away as Tharen gently—so, so gently—lifted Luella. Vale directed his horse closer, his leg brushing against Tharen as he took her. She whimpered in pain, and Vale hushed her, keeping his hands far from her bloody, healing back.

"Careful," Tharen barked.

Vale was too busy getting her situated to reply .

Finally, he found a position that didn’t make her sleeping face pinch with pain.

Luella faced him in the saddle, her thighs on top of his, her cheek pressed against his chest with Graves’s cloak pooled in her lap, stuck between them.

He carefully tugged it free and wrapped it around her front.

Her back was exposed to the air, her fragile wings trembling with every brush of frigid wind.

The thin gown she wore was in tatters, barely clinging to her.

Vale gripped the reins with one hand, the other curling around her shoulder carefully. She sighed against him, her wings jerking softly. The action made a fresh wave of blood ooze from the tears in her skin. His jaw clenched. She needed a healer; fae were too delicate.

Entranced, Bastian reached forward, brushing his fingertip against the base of her spine, right above the curve of her backside. His touch was featherlight; she did not stir. A smudge of red was on the pad of his finger, and he brought it to his mouth, sucking on it. "Bloody strawberries. Divine."

The blood… Will you make it to the castle? Vale thought, careful not to wake Luella.

Bastian gave a terse nod in response. And that was that.

His dragon was soothed by her presence, possessive claims turning to low rumbles in his chest.

After some time riding, when the trees had thickened, marking the true halfway point of the journey, Luella stirred in Vale’s arms.

She hummed sleepily, head lifting as she looked around. "Vale?" she murmured. High in the treetops, faint birdsong drowned out the sound of his name on her lips. He wanted to hear her say it again like that—drowsily.

The air was wet and thick, and among the scent of trees and petrichor, he found himself ensconced in the illusion of privacy. "Yes, darling?"

She blinked up at him. "Was it real?"

His hands hovered by her shoulders. He had to be careful. The only thing keeping the storm from raging was her, and her control could snap in the span of two pain-tinged inhales.

"You’re in no state to hear of this now. Let me hold you. You need to sleep. We will be at the castle soon," he lied—they were halfway there, but she didn’t need to know how much more of their journey loomed. He switched the hold on his reins to one hand, cupping her pale cheek. "How do you feel?"

"Better?" She leaned into his touch, a soft sigh leaving her. The delicate feathers on the tips of her wings fluttered, making her breath stutter. Her small body shook against him. "M-maybe not."

He raged with anger at her pain.

How could Vale keep her safe from something he did not understand? Wings were Graves’s domain. Not his.

"Try not to move." Vale’s attention was stolen by Azgorath ahead. The demon jumped off his horse, using his bare hands to remove a tree trunk from where it had fallen in the path.

In a brief moment of lucidity, Luella whispered, "I cannot… focus with the p-pain. Talk to me… distract me."

Vale felt a pull of curiosity. "What do you wish for me to speak of?"

"The Solstice." Luella exhaled raggedly, mouth a pinched line. "The traditions… the trials. Where did such cruelty come from?"

Of course, she would ask him of this. Wounds better left to fester, untouched, but she plucked at the edges with her delicate fingertips.

But the sight of her, trembling against him with waves of pain, tugged at his soul. Loosened his tongue. Made him weak.

Ours, hissed the dragon.

And Vale agreed.

"My grandfather. He was a…" Vale licked his lips, staring out into the thick greenery before them, cast in shadows from the cover of clouds.

"He was a bad male. He enjoyed hurting others, females especially.

To him, there was no greater joy than preying on weaknesses, turning it into a spectacle.

When he was King, that was centuries ago.

And when my father killed him"—Luella jolted against Vale—"he decided to keep up with tradition. Until I killed him."

Her cheek rubbed against his chest. "You k-killed your father?"

"Yes. To save someone I… someone I once cared for." He had torn the heart out of his father to free Caliban from his slavery in the pleasure houses.

"Oh," she breathed .

Vale didn’t want to look at her and see pity, so he continued:

"Serpentis needed a cruel King. When I took the crown, I vowed to rule with a fist of iron, like my father and grandfather." And he loathed himself for it.

"You don’t like the traditions," she whispered against him.

Vale kept himself as still as possible as his horse maneuvered through a small, shallow stream, ice cracking.

"The Winter Solstice—and Summer Solstice—used to be a celebration rooted in worship of the gods.

During this time, Vincire had grown scarce.

Everyone started to fear what an existence without Vincire would be like…

Worshipping with our bodies became a way to beg for their return.

And to offer up the one thing the gods so freely relished in—pleasure.

But my grandfather twisted the meaning. It was never supposed to be like this. "

Vale’s words grew soft at the end, as he recounted sneaking into the library as a youngling, reading hidden histories filled with the truth of their worship, something to be celebrated by the masses, instead of shouldered alone.

As he spoke, he realized Luella had fallen asleep.

Good. She didn’t need such horrors to follow into her dreams. He stared down at her sleeping face, lashes casting shadows over her pale cheeks. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, watching as her wings fluttered sluggishly at her back.

Luella was haunted enough.