Page 120 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

And on the glimmering, golden throne, sat King Vale. He wore his golden crown atop his golden hair, and a golden mask with gilded edges covered the top half of his face, green eyes slitted as they fell upon her. At his back, white wings. Pure and supple as they arched up behind him.

The King did not stand as he spoke, words only for her:

"The Chosen. Come to me." An order laced his tone, making the Binding mark on her chest flare with soft awareness.

All eyes fell to her, and a hush blanketed the room.

Luella forced her chin up, infusing steel in her weary spine, even though it made pain lance throughout her being, sending waves down the threads. Az and Tharen stiffened at her side in answer.

Vale’s nostrils flared, smoke clouding the air before him.

Luella wobbled on her heels, toes scrunching as she forced her spine straight, trying to balance her weight just so. The space between them felt insurmountable, but somehow, she had crossed it in only a few breaths. Thunder rumbled outside the confines of the castle.

Hands reached out to touch her as she passed—whispered words and propositions.

"So pretty."

"Let me taste for the night."

Vile, as the words slithered over her skin from the hissed tones of the serpents and dragons.

None were able to breach the circle of protection that the mage and demon crafted for her. Az growled, warning them away, while rings of blue fire swirled at Tharen’s free hand.

She kept her eyes trained on the King. Only?—

"Wings suit you, conquered Princess. "

Luella’s steps faltered.

Tharen spoke low. "What is it?"

Her red lips parted as her eyes flicked over the crowd, scanning hungry faces and exposed skin. Some had not even stopped touching and tasting as she had entered—legs entwined, flesh dotted with sweat—watching her march to their King.

That voice.

She had heard it before.

The well of power inside her reared its head with curiosity.

But no sentient shadows flickered in the dark corners, only the normal sort. She had dreamed of the Tenebrae so often that she had imagined the sound of his voice.

She shook the thoughts away, but they clung to her like pools of ink.

"Nothing," she whispered.

Finally, she stopped before the King.

"Kneel," said Vale.

The Binding mark pulsed, and Tharen lowered her, his hand braced on her shoulder. When her knees hit the ground, she hid a grimace at the pain in her back.

"The Chosen has fulfilled her duties." The crowd cheered, their knowing laughter making her skin prickle with heat. "Her pleasure has been sacrificed to the gods as a gift to the land."

A hand adorned with glittering rings appeared before her. She stared at the King and his awaiting hand. Tharen nudged her softly, and she placed her palm in Vale’s awaiting hand, allowing him to help pull her up. She breathed raggedly at the strain.

Rumbles emitted from Vale’s chest as he tugged her carefully to sit on his lap, angling her body so her wings would not brush against his chest.

When she was settled, he said, "Now, we can make our own sacrifices." His lips turned into a prideful, possessive smile as he stared at her. "Revel!"

The courtiers cheered, the cloyingly sweet scent of Rys mingling with heady wines and sweat.

It was rapture. A commemoration of innocence and corruption.

Hers .

Her innocence had been corrupted. In more ways than one.

With the crowd turning on each other with the promise of pleasures and celebrations, Luella was left trapped with the King.

"How do you feel?" His tone was low and smoky, making her mouth dry.

She felt like the embers that coated the room, shattered and scattered. "I’ll manage," she said instead.

"The truth, Chosen. Tell me."

At his demand, her next words were dripping with broken candor, as she nearly gasped, "Terrible. It hurts."

The rumbling in his chest grew louder, as if to soothe her. "You will sit here with me and rest."

She sighed, wings shivering with torment. Behind the King, his fake wings were white, like freshly fallen snow. "An odd choice for such a cruel King."

Burning embers tickled her senses.

"But a perfect match for the half-blooded Princess."

She stilled. She had known, somewhere, deep inside her heart, that the wings were a testament to the truth of her lineage.

She didn’t want to focus on that anymore—shoved it deep, deep down.

Thunder rumbled, so loud that she felt it reverberate throughout her bones.

Or maybe that was because it was in her bones, etched into her marrow. Rattling inside her, as if to remind her, you cannot run from this.

After some time of rest, where the King was quiet, leaving her to simmer in her thoughts, Bastian appeared, draped in silken finery and sensual prowess.

His reddened eyes were hidden behind a mask that had small ripples on the edges, as if giving it the illusion of being crafted entirely from dark silk.

His silken shirt was undone to his navel, revealing his pale, toned chest, marked with delicate swirls of ink, glimmering under the blue embers.

Though his outfit was all black, his wings were pure white. She swallowed a breath as Bastian approached the throne, eyes lowered as he held out a hand.

"My King, may I steal a moment with the Chosen? "

Vale grabbed her chin, pulling her face to his. "Do you wish to go with him?"

She stared into his green eyes, then back to Bastian. "Yes," she whispered.

"Very well." The King took her hand and placed it in the vampire’s awaiting one, gently nudging her to stand. Their hands never left her, steadying her as they transferred their hold.

Eyes on me, pet, Bastian whispered into her mind.

She obeyed him as he led her to a small, private alcove in the corner of the room, holding the blue drapes away for her to enter, a hand on her shoulder. Once inside, the sound of the courtiers dulled.

From the walk, she was out of breath, her body aching.

There was a soft warmth that bloomed under the glamor-hidden bandages, and she bit down on her lower lip. Blood.

Bastian made a sound she had never heard from him before. Guttural and raw.

Ravenous.

She turned, a question lingering on her lips.

Only to find his eyes a deep, dark maroon. So red, it appeared black.

"Fuck, pet. You have to?—"

With preternatural speed, he pinned her to the cushions. She fell back, wings aching, making more wetness spread. She knew Tharen’s glamor would hide it—but not the scent.

Bastian loomed over her, a hand braced by her head, thigh notched between hers, making the feathers on her gown crinkle.

"Bastian, what are you?—?"

He nosed along her neck, fangs brushing her skin. Her pulse pounded. Fear skittered down her aching spine, mingling with…

Arousal.

A now familiar wetness bloomed between her thighs, and the vampire above her groaned deeper.

"You temptress. You’re taunting me," Bastian growled.

Her thighs trembled—half in fear, half in some wicked anticipation that shamed her more than anything else .

He was going to drink from her. Kill her. And everything she had suffered thus far would be for naught.

"Bastian, Bastian, you have to s-stop. Please," Luella implored, eyes wide as she stared up at him. "Look at me." She gripped his face, pulling him away from where he had buried his head in the crook of her neck. His brow touched hers. "Please, look at me. It’s me. Luella. Don’t… don’t do this."

Had she gotten through to him? Could she?

"Please," she whispered, her breath rustling stray pieces of his hair.

Her trembling voice cracked through his hunger. For one breathless moment, he blinked, eyes filled with horrified clarity, before the moment snapped like a frayed piece of thread.

"Gods." Bastian squeezed his eyes shut. "Get out of here. Get her out ."

Blue light washed over them as the curtains parted. In a blink, Bastian was pulled off her, leaving her staring up at the dark ceiling with her eyes wide behind her mask.

What had just happened?

Graves, the dark Knight. Black wings arched high behind him. Proud. And beautiful. Even fake, they were so much bigger than hers. His hood concealed his face, but in their scuffle, it fell back. He did not wear a mask; he didn’t need one with his hood.

"Luella," the raven shifter called. "Did he hurt you?"

She sat up, feeling wet, hot blood slide down her back and drip down the curve of her backside. She braced a hand on the wall as she stood, reeling. Bastian was going to hurt her… He had almost?—

Bastian growled and cursed.

Graves pulled his gloved hand back and hit Bastian hard across the cheek.

The vampire’s head whipped to the side, and he stayed there for a moment, breathing deeply.

She swallowed, taking a hesitant step forward. "Bastian?"

Graves pointed a finger at her. "Wait there." He gripped the back of Bastian’s hair and tugged his head up, revealing his flashing, red eyes and pointed fangs. "You’re an idiot for letting it get to this point. "

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—" Bastian stared at Luella. "Pet, forgive me. I…" He seemed to want to say more, but could not muster the words. Pain flickered in his eyes as he warred with his base instincts.

Graves shoved him away, and the vampire smoothed down his hair, brushing a shaking hand over the silk of his shirt.

"Sort yourself out, before you grow too weak to control your bloodlust," Graves warned.

Bastian staggered away, but not before staring back at Luella. His mask was askew, hair sticking up. She wanted to go to him, smooth down the stray silken locks. But she froze, scared. His eyes flashed deep red, and the curtain almost ripped under his hands as he parted it to leave.

The bloody, dripping bergamot thread between them cried out as Bastian left her.

Luella’s lips parted. "Will he be okay?"

Graves walked to her, gently taking her elbow to steady her and helping her away from the rumpled cushions. "He will be." He stopped just before they left the privacy of the alcove, brushing her white hair away from her neck as he swept his gloved fingertips over her skin. "Did he bite you?"

"No," she whispered. Bastian had been stopped just in time, but what would he have done if Graves hadn’t shown up? She shuddered.

Graves dipped his chin, then tugged his hood back over his head, and led her from the alcove.

Blood dripped steadily from the wounds on her back, and she staggered, her head light.

The sound of the revelers was too much after the quiet of the alcove.

"Dance with me," Graves said. He stopped on the outskirts of the crowd—a space that was fitting for them both. Not truly in, but on the outside. Watching.

"Okay." She swallowed a sigh as she took his hand, eyes flicking out to the shifters around, who stared.

As Graves started to lead her in a soft sway, mindful of her slowly healing body. She found herself staring at the black wings at his back .

"Why black?" she couldn’t help but ask.

Under the shadows of his hood, Graves’s lips tipped into a smile. "Why not? You don’t like the look of them?" His words were strangely vulnerable.

"No… They’re pretty." And they were. Too pretty. Too real. Her eyes narrowed as she stared.

Under her scrutiny, they seemed to flutter proudly. Such a small movement, she wondered if it were imagined. The throne room was filled with a soft breeze from the swirls of dancing bodies. It was all in her head.

Graves leaned close to her, the fabric of his hood brushing her cheek. "I think your wings are breathtaking, sweetheart."

At his praise, her wings trembled softly behind her. A couple danced too close to their small bubble, sending delicate wafts of air their way. The dark feathers fixed to Graves’s back fluttered in the breeze, an answer to her own.

And so, like that, they danced among the outskirts of the crowd, half encased in blue shadows, while the dark clouds moved swiftly overhead, leaving faint flashes of moonlight that filtered down through the skylight above.

The raven shifter’s hands were sure on her body, expertly avoiding her back. Their steps were slow, mismatched to the heavy tune of the music that thrummed throughout the throne room.

As she danced in Graves’s arms, she realized he wasn’t wearing his amulet.