Page 23 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)
THE BINDING
THAREN
T haren tried to temper the roil of emotions inside him.
Feelings, ugh .
He never did well with those.
But as he eyed the small fae Princess, he felt something akin to regret nip at his soul.
They were all inside the King’s rooms—all except the demon—in a private sitting room with drawn curtains and luxurious chairs draped with many blankets and decorated with pillows.
The Winter Solstice decor had not made its mark on his space, so the walls remained as gilded stone, warm amber flames casting eerie shadows over their faces.
She stared off into space, and he stood before her, resisting the urge to grab her and shake a reaction out of her.
"Prima," Vale ordered roughly. "On with it. We must complete the Binding before the moon reaches its peak and the new day truly begins."
Tharen nodded. "Right, right." He left her side to grab his instruments. Luckily, Graves and Bastian had the forethought to bring them here for him.
He collected his vial of magical black ink, a sharp tool with a hollow inside to use to tattoo the ink on her skin, and a bandage to place over it once he was done.
The metal tray the items rested on also contained a leather bit, and his tanned fingers paused over it, contemplating—magical tattoos were not easy.
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. She was sitting upright, on her own, but Bastian hovered by her side.
He ignored the bit and went back to stand in front of her. If she wanted to bite down on something, she could use his hand, if she wanted.
Kneeling, he placed his palms on her silk-covered thighs.
The gown was sinful, clinging to every curve on her body and leaving nothing to the imagination.
His fingertips walked up her thighs and trailed over her waist until he rested them atop her neckline, tugging it down obscenely.
The swell of her chest was inviting, and her pale skin was so lush and creamy he wanted to see if she tasted as good as she looked.
"Prima," growled Bastian from where he sat beside the Princess.
Tharen tugged her neckline down further. "Sorry. Got distracted."
"Even after what we’ve done, you still can’t help but think of only her body," the Advisor spat. His pale fingers gripped her shoulder, threatening to pull her away from him.
Tharen stared the vampire down. "Back away, Bastian. As the King said, I must complete the Binding before the moon signals the day’s end." The mage’s lips tipped up into a smirk. Bastian glowered but stood, pacing anxiously as he watched them.
Tharen set about preparing his instruments.
He lifted her limp hand from where it rested on her thighs and pricked the tip of her finger, squeezing it and watching a bead of blood well, which he quickly dropped into the vial of ink, shaking it to disperse the droplet of her blood.
Then, he handed the vial of ink to Vale, who took it silently, repeating the action with his own finger, mixing a drop of his blood into the ink, as well.
All the while, she stayed silent.
"She’s in shock," Tharen announced as he moved her just the way he wanted, arranging her limbs and forcing her to rest back against the chair.
Vale cleared his throat, smoke wafting from his nostrils. "It was too much for her. "
"I went inside her head—I heard her thoughts," Bastian revealed. "She… she thought about not agreeing."
"What the fuck." Graves finally broke his silence, gloved fingers tunneling through his hair. "You cannot be serious. Tell me you aren’t serious."
Bastian was saved from responding by the soft sound of the door opening. Azgorath stepped into the room, and Tharen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Just when he thought he could be free of the demon and his fussing for one evening…
The demon’s amber eyes were sharp as he took in the Princess’s near-comatose state. He took a lumbering step forward, but Tharen nipped whatever oafish, overprotective thing he was going to say right in the bud. "If you cannot shut your fucking mouth and let me work, beast, get out."
Azgorath halted. "I just—" He stared at her as he spoke. "I want to be there for her."
Tharen poked his tongue into his cheek, warning, "Not one word, beast. Do not make me force you to leave."
He nodded, the warm candlelight in the room making his horns cast strange, pointed shadows on his dusky skin.
And the Prima continued with the Binding, but not for one moment did he forget what Bastian had shared before the demon had arrived.
He reached for a bottle of alcohol, uncorking it and taking a deep gulp, before tipping it over a cloth.
He intended to clean the skin over her heart before needling the ink onto her, but as he brushed away the silk of her gown, just barely leaving it to cover her nipples, he saw a faint red mark on her chest.
"Oh." He arched a brow, brushing a thumb over it. "And what is this?"
"What?" Vale demanded. "Is she alright?"
The King moved closer, kneeling to see what had snagged Tharen’s attention. His green eyes immediately fell to the red mark of a blood vow on her chest.
"Who? Who did she make a vow with?" Vale’s voice was molten and laced with violence, a deep rumble starting in his chest. "Was it one of us? "
Tharen looked to Graves. The male did not break his stare, but that didn’t mean anything—he was shifty and well-trained in secret-keeping.
Azgorath remained silent but turned, punching a deep hole into the wall, his fist indenting the stone with ease. The noise was loud and jarring, and the Princess did not even flinch. It was not him, then. The demon was as pissed as the rest of them.
Lastly, the mage watched Bastian. The vampire’s fangs dug into his lower lip, and he was utterly still.
Looks like we have a winner, Tharen mused, projecting his thoughts loudly.
Bastian only gave the slightest of indications that he had heard Tharen’s taunting thought.
Vale followed Tharen’s sights, lip curling as he watched the vampire riddled with clear guilt.
"Gods, remind me to never tell you anything, Bastian. You’re a godsdamned terrible liar," Tharen teased.
Vale stormed forward, only just stopping himself before he crashed into the vampire. "You will tell all of us later," he ordered.
Graves only stared at them all. Tharen wondered if he already knew.
Probably.
"Continue." Vale refocused his attention on Luella.
Tharen swiped the alcohol-covered cloth over her chest, quickly discarding it on the chair and lifting the hollow needle from where it sat beside him. He filled the inside of it with the ink, imbued with her and Vale’s blood.
All that was left was to tattoo her.
Tharen carefully hovered the tip of the needle of her skin right next to that small red mark over her heart. And he began.
He pressed the sharp point of the needle onto her pale, delicate flesh, watching as the simple swirl of the Binding mark came to life on her skin.
He drew it with ease. He had been tasked with the Binding for all the Chosen, but none had made his mouth water like this one.
Her skin indented under the press of the needle, and her eyes had fluttered shut sometime while they had been talking, her head lulling onto the back of the chair.
Her breath hitched. Not asleep, then. Just drifting.
Tiny little whimpers escaped from her lips with every pass of the needle, and her flesh burned hotter. But the snowflakes on her skin did not melt. Tiny little flakes clung to her lashes and dotted her white hair. A wintry temptress. Made for him.
Tharen could make her melt. Turn that ice into fire.
He wanted to try.
Just as he was starting the final swirl of thin lines on the outermost part of the tattoo, her blue eyes fluttered open.
"What?" she asked, limbs beginning to fidget slightly.
That wouldn’t do.
"Graves," Tharen called, intently focused on the tattoo lest he make a mistake.
The male silently sat at her side, pinning her arms down and forcing her to still.
Her breaths grew more rapid, every little inhale made her chest press into the sharp point of the needle, causing a wince to fall from her lips.
"Almost done," Tharen said. "Do not move."
As he began to pull the needle away, he pressed his other hand over the design, allowing his Spirit magic to flow freely, pulling on the essence of her and Vale that had been imbued into the ink with their blood. A heaviness settled over the room from the pressing force of his magic.
He fused their blood into one and forced it to meld into the ink on her skin, sink deeper into her flesh, and flow throughout her veins. Her back nearly bowed from the intensity of it all, and Graves pressed her further back into the chair, almost sitting on top of her to keep her still.
The Prima’s power thrummed, and finally, it was done. His palm fell away from her chest, and he pulled the needle back, seeing her pale flesh reddened and raised slightly around the tattoo. It was smaller, the size of his palm, but intricately woven, every mark carefully thought out and designed.
"The Binding is complete," the Prima announced, standing.
The little lamb groaned, a weak hand fluttering to her chest, which Graves quickly pulled away before she could touch her tender skin.
"I don’t—" she started, voice thin. "I don’t feel well…" Her blinks grew sluggish, her head tipped to the side, and her limbs relaxed.
Lazy, pained blue eyes held his own before she could no longer stay awake, and her lids did not reopen.
Tharen felt an overwhelming sense of twisted triumph at being the last thing she saw before slipping off into unawareness.