Page 17 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

VIOLENT NEED

VALE

V ale tapped a finger against the tabletop. "They should be here by now."

Tharen rolled his eyes. "They’re coming. I don’t think you have to worry about Bastian trying to kill the beast. If anyone ever could, it would be me. Just for the fun of it."

"Enough, Tharen." Vale stared the Prima down, and his finger continued its restless tapping.

Bastian and Azgorath should have been here by now. It was not like the Advisor to be late for a meeting, especially one in his advisory room.

Vale, Tharen, and Graves all sat around the dark oak table. The King, with anxious energy unfurling low in his gut as his dragon paced and his mind whirred, snapping back constantly to a certain white-haired heirus no matter how hard he tried to get his thoughts off of her.

The Prima, with violence simmering just under his skin, twiddled a dagger in his palm, running his finger up the serrated edge as his icy blue eyes kept being drawn to the doors, waiting for the vampire and demon to arrive.

And the Knight, with silent contemplation and heavy glances—the male was withdrawn, and he gripped the stone of his amulet in deep thought, scar on his lips tugging with the beginnings of a frown .

Vale knew Graves was growing unhealthily obsessed with their Vincire, and the King worried what it would mean for him…

"I do not think that is what you have to be worried about," Graves said without inflection.

Vale arched a golden brow. He knew what the male was getting at, but he decided to humor him. "Tell me, what do you think it is we have to be worried about?"

Tharen snorted a harsh, uncouth laugh.

"What is it that’s making them take so long with her?" Graves scrubbed a hand over his jaw, irritated, even if his voice was monotone.

"I doubt they’d fuck her at the same time," Tharen taunted. "Bastian would certainly try, but the demon’s too kind for his own good. He wouldn’t want to overwhelm her."

His dragon seethed at the insinuations. Sweat-slicked skin and the slide of bodies. Hands on her that were not his own.

Go to her, his dragon urged.

Stop, Vale replied. Give me time. You will be able to publicly claim her in less than three days when it is time for the Choosing Ceremony.

Not soon enough. The dragon’s claws clacked across the bars of Vale’s ribcage, testing their strength .

Cease. You’re testing my nerves, Vale warned.

A huffing laugh was the only reply, echoing throughout the inside of his body like his thundering heart. Like the song of the call.

A vision of white hair and blue eyes assaulted him every time he closed his eyes.

Godsdammit. His blood flowed in his veins for her, alone, now. She owned every beat of his heart, and she didn’t even realize it. He hated her, but he had to have her.

Have her, echoed the dragon.

The King had been called to the Princess before her awakening, but once she had awoken and her power had risen to the surface… Vale had never felt such a pull to someone in his entire existence.

A gloved hand pressed against his elbow. He looked up to find Graves staring at him with keen intent. "Are you okay?" the male asked .

Vale nodded, swallowed, then uttered a soft, "I am trying to be."

The Knight sat back against his chair, shaking his head quietly as though he understood. If the way Vale had found small black feathers outside the Princess’s balcony was any indication, he knew that the male did understand.

He had his own temptations and urges, just as Vale did.

They all did.

The sound of the double doors opening nearly jolted him from his seat.

Bastian and Azgorath entered the advisory room with a cloud of severity hanging over them.

Sickly strawberries and not-quite curdled cream stuck to their skin.

"What happened?" the King demanded. He rose from his chair so swiftly that it nearly clattered to the ground.

Graves stared at him knowingly. They all needed a release—either violence or pleasure. They couldn’t keep going on like this.

Vale ran a hand through his hair, tousling the strands.

"She’s fine, everything’s fine," Bastian said; though, the vampire seemed to be reassuring himself just as much as the rest of them.

Azgorath seethed, pacing along the length of the room with heavy steps.

"She’s not fine." The demon pointed at Bastian before swinging his hand to gesture to Vale, then Graves and Tharen, forcing them each under an accusatory finger and even more accusatory amber eyes. "She’s not fine, and you know it. She’s changed… different. I’m scared for her."

Bastian looked frazzled, scrubbing a hand over his jaw and smoothing over the front of his shirt. He did not argue with the demon.

The Advisor’s silence spoke volumes.

The King settled back in his chair with agitation nipping at his heels. He barely stopped himself from fleeing from the room and going to her. The only thing giving him pause was that if she were truly hurt, Bastian would have used his Mind magic to call them. He wouldn’t be standing before Vale.

The bond was a steady and constant thrum in his chest—Vale wasn’t sure what it would be like if she were in danger, but he hoped that, perhaps, it would alert him.

"Tell me," Vale ordered, "what happened."

Bastian took his seat, but the demon remained pacing.

"You could do with a good fight, beast," Tharen taunted, kicking up a booted foot on the edge of the table.

Bastian sighed heavily and reached over to knock it back to the floor. He was particular about the cleanliness of his advisory room.

Azgorath bared his teeth in answer to the mage. "Are you volunteering?"

"Obviously. I don’t think I could fuck someone without thinking of her"—his lips curled in disgust—"so fighting it is. And you certainly won’t lay with anyone. It’s been, how long?

" the Prima taunted. Growls filled the room, and Graves’s fingers curled into the edge of the table, ready to jump in if the two came to blows.

"A male can only do with the company of his hand for so long before he snaps. Let’s hope the Princess knows what she’s in for by then. "

And…

That certainly did it.

Azgorath snapped under Tharen’s purposeful goading, the demon surging forward with amber eyes flashing and hands curled into fists.

Tharen jolted out of his seat, poised to fight.

They clashed in a flurry of male pride and pent-up anger.

Vale sighed and rested his head in his hands as he watched the pair. Azgorath swung at the mage, his neck muscles straining under the weight of his demonic strength. He wasn’t well-versed in the ways of his magic. Even though he had preternatural strength, he was no match for the Prima.

Tharen didn’t duck away from the punch.

It landed with a loud thud against his cheek, his head whipping to the side, a few white braids hitting his cheek from the sharp movement.

He pressed a hand to his cheek, half-bent as he stared up at the demon with violent glee.

He pulled his hand back. It came away wet with red blood.

His lip was split, the skin around his lower cheek and jaw already swelling .

Vale looked to Bastian, who was pinching the bridge of his nose. The vampire was used to blood by now, and with his age, could control the urge to feed—usually, that was. Vale knew the vampire had not been feeding as regularly as he should.

The taste of blood is not appealing, knowing I have a fae Vincire. All I want is to see if she tastes like berries, too, the Advisor had shared with Vale a few nights prior, when he had expressed his concerns.

He knew the demon didn’t mean grave harm or death, or else the hit would never have landed. That was the only reason why he allowed them to continue.

This was good for them. They needed this.

"Godsdamn, that felt good." Tharen rolled his shoulders and volleyed back with a punch of his own. His fist hit right against the demon’s temple, making him stagger back into the wall.

"I’ll give you another," Azgorath hissed, charging forward and knocking the Prima back.

They fell in a heap of muscles and large limbs on the floor, and Bastian swiftly shot out of his chair, barking, "Don’t get blood on my floors!"

Graves tapped a gloved finger on the stone of his amulet, and Vale still had not picked his head up from where he held it in his hands, watching everything with half-lidded amusement and the desire to join the bloodshed.

The thud of flesh against flesh and masculine growls filled the room, the tang of iron and sweat quickly blotting out the faint tinge of watered-down strawberries that lingered on Azgorath’s skin.

Graves sighed. "Should you call it?"

"It’s not getting any earlier. I have an engagement with my bed and a bottle of wine, and I’d like to leave before I have to wake up for the morning’s duties and help prepare for Solstice.

" Bastian’s words rushed out of him with weariness.

The vampire had reclaimed his chair while the two had been fighting, and he, too, rested his head in his hands, long, pale fingers still pinching the bridge of his nose.

His eyes shone red, and Vale knew he wanted to do much more than drink wine and sleep… What had Tharen said, the company of his hand …

Bastian huffed a laugh from beside him, and Vale glowered at the vampire. "I thought I ordered you to tell me when you use your Mind magic on me."

"Oops," the vampire replied.

Vale resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Kill him, his dragon hissed.

That’s an overreaction, Vale hissed back, stamping down the violent urges of his beast.

"Enough!" the King boomed.

Tharen sighed but disentangled himself from where he sat atop the demon, a hand loosely fisting his neck as flames flickered upon his fingers, licking against Azgorath’s dusky skin and leaving dark ash in its wake.

His nostrils flared as Tharen pushed himself off of him, the demon brushing the ash from his skin and standing.

"You two are a sight," Bastian commented.

Blood streaked their skin, their clothes were in utter disarray, and twin black eyes marked each of their faces.