Page 24 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

THE CHOSEN

LUELLA

E verything ached.

Luella stretched out her limbs, body rolling in the sheets without the usual languorous morning feel she typically relished in.

Strange.

Her brow crinkled, toes curling as she arched her back, arms thrown over her head.

A sharp spasm of pain radiated out from her chest.

And a strangled cry left her lips.

She pressed a hand over her chest—well, she would have, at least, if her wrist had not been gripped and tugged away before she could touch her chest and see what was causing such a sharp ache.

"Ah, I don’t think so." Her hand was tucked back by her side, and she turned her head toward the sound of the voice. Crisp and cool, the masculine rumble washed over her, and she found her head lolling against the soft pillow under her head.

She could rest for a moment longer. Right?

A soft pat against her cheek. Fingers underneath her skull, forcing her head to straighten.

"Careful with her." A gravel-like voice. Deep and low. She suppressed a shudder.

"I know you’re awake," crooned right by her ear. Her hair fluttered from warm breaths, and finally, she opened her eyes .

Gold and white filled her sights. A ceiling with pristine golden borders, little webs marked into the walls like the purest of marble.

Her vision was blurry, and she took in the wavering sights with a pounding head and sore throat. Her fingertips weakly gripped the rumpled sheets. Not the cool silk she was used to, but something warmer, thicker. A fine and luxurious linen.

She was not in her room.

Luella turned her head, seeing wintry eyes boring into hers. She jerked back slightly, a sound of alarm spilling from her mouth.

Tharen’s brow arched with glee, and unease rooted her to the spot.

The mage rested his chin on his hands as he stared at her.

His white braids were messy like he had been running his fingers through them, and she saw a few faint lines on his cheek from where his face must have been smushed into a pillow.

Her gaze traveled to the bed she was in, seeing a sea of blankets and pillows on either side of her.

It was grand, and the mage by her side rested half on top of the mattress, chest pressing into the blankets and elbows indenting the blanket over the top of it.

Had he… slept with her?

"I can see your thoughts spinning." Tharen leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "No, I didn’t fuck you. If I did, you’d know. Trust me."

She blushed, and her hands fumbled in the sheets, tugging them up to cover her chest.

"Leave her alone," Az boomed. At the sound of the demon’s voice, she melted.

"Az?" Luella called, voice thick with sleep.

"I’m here, Lu." The bed dipped on her other side as the demon sat. Amber eyes were a comforting heat against her skin, and the warm glow of the many flames in the room did nothing to subtract from his kind features. Soft toward her, only, she knew.

The candlelight cast deep shadows under his eyes and made the line of his jaw harsher, but she could not help but lean toward him for safety—even as the back of her eyes burned with tears at all the things left unsaid between them…

His hand raised, hovering between them before he let it fall back down to his lap. A chill swept through her, and she shivered, the jolting action making her head pound harder.

"Why does my head hurt?" Luella asked.

Az’s eyes grew stony as he looked to Tharen at her other side. "Ask him."

"T-Tharen?" She looked to the mage. He was no longer resting on the bed but had sat up, knees pressing into the side of the mattress from how close the chair he was sitting in was.

"How do you feel?" Tharen’s ice-like gaze raked over her skin.

"Achy. Sore," she replied. "Can I sit up?"

Suddenly, she felt a tug deep in her gut, and Bastian stepped forward.

He appeared withdrawn, and his elegant features were shuttered.

She could not tell what he was thinking, but as his eyes fell from hers, down to her lips, then dipped further to her neck, memory washed over her like the cool lick of waves against bare toes.

Graves had held a blade to her neck. And what else…

Luella blinked. Silky black hair and eyes like emeralds. Pale fingers entwined with a soft, small hand. Laughter.

She blinked again. The images turned darker. Violent. Shattered wine bottles and teary eyes, running through woods, and a name being called out into the treetops.

If only she could remember what that name was.

Cold hands gently touched her shoulders, urging her to sit up. Bastian fluffed a few pillows behind her. "Okay?"

She nodded. Her head felt too heavy for her neck to hold up, so she rested back against the soft pillow the vampire had placed under her head.

Sitting up, she could see more of the room. The bed was large, placed right in the center of a room laced with gold and white decor, a few bits of black were interspersed with taste—a fluffy rug by the fire, two dark armchairs sitting before it, drapes over the windows that were pulled tightly.

A table was by the bed, and she saw a few empty glasses resting on it next to a half-empty bottle of amber liquid.

Luella cleared her throat. "Water?"

Bastian’s hands left her, and he went to the side of the room, gathering a pitcher filled with clear liquid. He poured it into one of the glasses and pressed it into her hands before settling back down on the side of the bed.

The glass was cold in her hands, but pleasantly so. Her skin felt hot, and she took greedy sips of the water, draining the whole glass.

Tharen took the empty glass from her hands before she could ask for more. "No more," he said.

"You’ll make yourself sick." Bastian reached a finger out and traced over her white hair, following the path he made over the sleep-rumpled, frizzy strands like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

She already felt sick.

"Where am I? What happened?" The pounding in her head had eased slightly from the cool water, but her chest still ached. She tried to reach up and touch again, but Az caught her hand. He was so warm, and his hands shook. Her lower lip trembled.

"Do you feel… pained?" The demon looked pained, himself.

She took a moment to ground herself. Her chest burned, growing hotter if she focused on it. Her limbs ached like she had run for days. Her legs were sore, and her head was still throbbing, but less so with each breath she took.

It was nothing to the mental anguish that gripped her with ferocity. The not-knowing, the gaps in her memories where they could have done anything, waking up in a strange room in a strange bed with her captors crowded around her with guilt flickering in their eyes.

"I’ll survive," she said softly. Tharen’s lips pursed as though he was proud but did not want to say so. "Tell me, where have you brought me to?"

Burning embers and spiced, dull sweetness tickled against her nose.

The King and Graves stepped into the flickering light.

The raven shifter wore simple clothes, and his face was uncovered.

The King’s green eyes burned as they swept over her with unwavering focus.

She felt like a specimen to be studied under such a stare.

"What do you remember?" King Vale inquired, perching on the foot of the bed. Graves stood at his back, a silent sentinel.

"We… There was a celebration and…" Her skin grew hot under all five of their stares. "Did I pass out? "

Graves shook his head, reaching down to settle his hand over her foot where it was tucked under the blankets. "The Winter Solstice," he prodded.

It was as she met the King’s eyes that a sudden memory stole her breath. "Y-you… Your dragon. All of those females. Why ?"

"It is tradition," the King merely responded. "You were Chosen."

"What does that mean?" Her voice bordered on a sob as she recalled the females standing around her; the white dress, the shattered skylight, and the King’s dragon sweeping down and staking a claim on her, being herded somewhere, the sharp point of a needle against her chest, mumbled voices, then… nothing.

She tugged the linen sheet down, seeing a simple nightgown on her body— who had changed her? —and a white bandage over her skin. "What have you done to me?"

Tharen spoke. "It is the Binding mark. I tattooed your commitment to uphold the Winter Solstice tradition as the King’s Chosen onto your skin." He looked to the King. "Your blood is connected now. It flows within the ink, and the ink’s magic flows within your veins."

Her mouth parted with shock and rage. The air in the room grew frigid, and though the curtains were pulled, she could almost see the heavy fall of thick snow as it coated the land.

She tugged her hand harshly from Az’s grip.

She needed to not be touched by them, not be clouded by their scents, or distracted by the way sparks zipped throughout her veins.

"What does that mean?" She gritted her teeth.

The King watched her. "You remember. Do not pretend you don’t."

The barest of touches against her mind. Bastian looked away from her when she tried to meet his gaze.

Memories filtered in slowly, then all at once.

Flashes of ice-coated bodies, shimmering blues, and crystalline flakes.

Hot dragon breath on her face. Forced to stand before them all in a slip of white silk.

She remembered it all.

Including the words that made her chest grow tight with anxiety.

An icon to be venerated …

Her pleasure will be a sacrifice .

"I am the Chosen." It was not a question, but they all nodded. "And I will sacrifice…" She could not say it.

The King took pity on her. "Every Solstice, the reigning King of Serpentis must select the Chosen. The Chosen will give her pleasure to allow the lands to flourish for our coldest months. The pleasure is a sacrifice given at the altar in the Temple of Aedis."

"Given to whom?" Her voice shook.

"Me," the King murmured.

Suddenly, the bed she was in seemed far too small.

"No," she managed. "I will not. You cannot f-force me to do that ."

Tharen chuckled smugly. "That’s where the Binding comes in. Even though it is an honor to be the Chosen, it is still tradition for the Binding to take place, forcing the King’s will onto yours. You don’t have a choice."

No choice. The words echoed around her.

Bastian’s presence was the faintest of feelings in her mind, growing soothing and taking those words and sweeping them away before she could be drowned by their waves. Taking the anxiousness inside her and replacing it with the softest of calms.

She could not bring herself to be mad at the vampire for tampering with her thoughts and feelings.

Not with such peace flowing through her veins; thoughts of warm hands and fingers gripping her thighs.

The tickle of stubble against her skin. The memory of Graves’s lips pressing against her own and the blood vow on her chest—a promise to kiss the very male who had stolen into her mind and manipulated her thoughts into such sickly heat and wanton curiosity.

It was in the absence of fear that she found it in herself to say, "It is not enough for you to take me prisoner, but you must force your marks upon me. Force your will upon mine?"

A sob threatened to spill over her lips, but Bastian brushed it away.

Calm, Bastian said. Ease flowed through her veins like the cool drip of liquid. A lake shimmered just out of reach, and his presence in her mind grew curious.

"You are deplorable, King Vale. You cannot find affection, so you steal it." Chills raced over her skin, and the ache grew deeper. She needed to rest, to dream it all away.

"What was our deal?" The dragon shifter inquired. "No more titles."

Luella’s chest burned, and her hand quickly pressed over the bandage. "Ah!" Her face scrunched up in pain.

"Say it. Say my name."

"V-Vale," she spat, and the burn cooled.

He— Vale —stood and came to a stop by her head, reaching down to tuck a strand of white hair behind her arched ear.

She wanted to lean into his side and wrap her limbs around him and never let him go.

Cry and hit and scream and flee—and never see him again.

The call in her soul roared, then grew faint like it had had enough, just as she had.

Vale’s green eyes flickered as he stared down at her.

Harsh pings resounded from the glass windows, and six heads looked to where the thick, black curtains were pulled tightly to ward off the light. Silent as air, Graves walked toward them and pulled the curtains back.

It was bright and white outside. The silence of snow no longer blanketed the lands of Serpentis, but harsh sleet rained down from the sky in tune with every weak beat of her anguished heart.