Page 33 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

BITTER BERRIES

LUELLA

T haren entered the alcove with a spring to his step.

Casting a long, hard look over her body—Luella had made herself decent in the short amount of time it had taken the mage to arrive—he shook his head, white braids falling around his shoulders.

The tattoos on his neck were thick and dark, and she pressed a soft touch against her own tattoo.

She never knew she would be forced to have ink on her skin.

The mage’s tattoos were not a style she liked, but the ink decorating Bastian’s skin… that was something she could have wanted for herself, perhaps, if given the choice.

"You and small, dark spaces make for trouble, lamb," Tharen intoned. "Good thing that kind of trouble is my favorite." He loomed over her. The tips of his dirtied boots brushed against her delicate slippers.

Her neck ached as she stared up at him. He was so large that his frame cut out the scant light filtering in through the cracked curtains.

Words escaped her.

A tanned, scarred finger rubbed over her lower lip, and she felt her mouth drift open slightly under his touch.

"It’s so obvious what you’ve been doing in here.

Your rouge is a mess." Tharen leaned down over her, bracing a hand on the wall behind her, caging her in—she was at eye level with his thick, muscular thighs.

"When I passed Bastian in the corridor, he had more red on his lips than you do. Care to share?"

"N-no," Luella stuttered.

" N-no ," Tharen mocked her, and she scowled up at him. What was it about the Prima that turned her into a simpering, stuttering fool? "As much as I would love to stand here and stare at how fucking wrecked you look, Vale has requested your presence."

She gave a soft nod. Better not to keep the King waiting for long.

Luella stood, eyes trained on the mage before her, not breaking away from his stare for a moment. With her forced between his imposing body and the cushions behind her, her head brushed his chest, and her back arched slightly to accommodate the position.

Icy eyes fell from her swollen lips to her still-heaving chest. "Did he give you pleasure?"

" What —"

Tharen took a moment to regard her before saying, "If you have to think about it, he didn’t. I don’t know if he’s a godsdamned idiot or the most disciplined male in all the realms…"

"I don’t want to talk about this with you," uttered Luella.

"I’ll ask Bastian." Tharen surged forward and grabbed her shoulders before she could move away. His grip was punishing, and she winced. "If he hasn’t brought you pleasure, then you must be feeling a little… wound up, no?"

"I— No," she asserted. This topic of conversation was not good for her flushed state. "Vale is waiting." She ducked under his arm and stood by the curtains. This time, she waited for him.

Tharen gave a sound of annoyed amusement, waving his hand with a mock flourish. "After you, then."

She bit her already abused lip, parting the curtains fully. She took a step away from what was on the other side, her back bumping into Tharen’s chest.

Skin. Sinful and plentiful.

Revelers engaged in a manner of sensuous acts.

She saw a couple on a blue velvet chair.

A female sitting atop a male’s lap with her skirts bunched around her waist, revealing scandalizing hints of her tanned, strong thighs every so often.

Bodies danced and swirled on the frost-coated marble floors, gowns billowing out .

Silk dressed the bodies of the courtiers—blues and incandescent whites; though, most were dressed scantily. It seemed Luella’s thin, silken gown, which bared her shoulders and arms, was a more modest cut compared to the rest in the room.

Tharen was a hot presence at her back. He didn’t touch her, but he might as well have been for how aware she was of him as she hesitantly ventured deeper into the room. At her back, he warned off any that dared to come closer.

A sharp whistle behind her, and she peeked back at him, seeing his fingers poised at his lips.

Who had he called? What had he called?

She didn’t have to wonder long.

From the shadows as if made out of nothing, three large beasts with fur of the purest white—like snow.

Her body shook.

Bloody maws, rending flesh, snarls, and howls.

A body, toppling from a tower of rubble…

And standing at the precipice: Luella, staring down at the male she had killed ? —

The trio of wolves prowled closer.

The smallest was in the middle, the other two flanking either side as if in protection.

"Keep going," Tharen ordered. When she made no move to continue, his hot palm touched her lower back, shoving her forward. She stumbled but caught herself in time.

Something odd happened, then.

The largest of the wolves bent, head lowering to the ground with a snarl, pulling back its maw from its long, pointed teeth. A string of saliva dripped from its mouth, pooling against the marble floors. The other two stood by its side, waiting with raised hackles.

Tharen sighed, exasperated. "Well, godsdamn."

Luella looked to him, and his head whipped from the wolves to her. Tharen shoved her forward again; the beast snarled and slowly moved closer. Tharen moved his hand away from her, and the wolf’s snarl tapered off.

"Fuck me," the mage mumbled under his breath. "Fine, fine."

He raised his palms before him and jerked his head to signal her to continue.

She did so with caution, watching the trio of wolves out of the corner of her eye as she walked deeper into the crowd of sinful revelers. The wolves spanned out at her sides, prowling throughout the crowd, making unsuspecting courtiers jump and scurry out of their way.

With the Prima at her back and the wolves making a space for her in the crowd, she made her way with ease. The sea of swirling dancers parted, revealing the King as he sat upon his throne.

He was already looking at her.

The enchanted dust that fell from above was almost like snow, and it coated the ends of his golden hair, swirling between them. She came to a stop before the dais, and Tharen gripped her nape, forcing her head to bow.

"Kneel before your King, Chosen," Vale ordered, looking down his nose at her.

Tharen forced her to kneel, and her muscles strained as she tried to stave off his forceful touch; though, it was no use, her body bowed under his weight, knees thudding against the marble as she was forced to kneel.

Luella did not falter as her blue eyes met the dragon shifter’s green.

"Not broken." Vale held out a hand, ordering her to stand.

"Not yet," Tharen added from behind her.

The wolves let out low growls, joined by one she knew intimately well.

Az.

Her demon barreled through the dancing bodies, chest heaving as he stopped by Tharen.

She swallowed thickly. He had not forgotten her.

As though he heard her thoughts, meeting her sad, soft eyes, Az breathed out, "Always."

Tharen scoffed. "Enough with this. She’s all yours, Vale.

I have some wolves that appear to need more training.

" With that, the mage turned, a sharp whistle cutting through the air as he called his beasts to heel.

They wove throughout the crowd and disappeared.

But not before the largest of the wolves looked back at her, muscles rippling under its fur coat and eyes gleaming.

Luella shuddered.

"How did you get Dyara’s attention?" Vale inquired.

She stood and ignored his proffered hand, taking the few steps onto the dais before she stopped right by his thighs. Her legs bumped against his knees.

"I don’t know," she said softly, assuming Dyara was the largest wolf.

Vale reached out for her, fingers tangling with her skirts. "You have a way of collecting protective beasts." He stared pointedly at Az, who loomed at her back.

Her breath hitched when his hands skimmed up over her waist, tracing the shape of her. His eyes fell to her lips, then lower to her chest.

Vale touched her collarbone and swept his fingers over the skin of her heart—tracing the three circles of her Binding mark and the naked space by it. "Bastian collected on your deal."

She realized that he was tracing the spot where the blood vow had been on her skin. She had barely noticed when it had disappeared, only the faintest recollection of a fizzling sensation on her chest when Bastian had first pressed his lips to hers.

Vale reached up and traced over her lips, staring at them with rapture. "How did it feel when he put his lips here?" His voice was soft and held a strange gentleness as he stared at her mouth, something just for them amid such overt displays of sensuality—it was almost… sweet.

She was too aware of Az at her back, the deep fondness she felt for him, and how a small part of her yearned to let him taste her of her own volition. "Awful. I never want that again."

Lies, lies, lies.

At least the vampire was not here to rifle through her mind and speak of her deceptions.

"No?" questioned the King. "Not even from your demon?"

She licked her still-swollen lips, unable to respond.

"I’m parched," Vale suddenly announced. He waved a hand, and a servant appeared by the steps of the dais, holding a silver platter with pitchers of sweet wine, an amber liquid, and empty glasses. The King’s prideful eyes held her own as he said, "Fetch me a drink."

The mark on her chest pulsed with the threat of pain if she dared to disobey. Her feet carried her to the servant, and she lifted an empty glass, noting the few cubes of ice that clinked inside. Her cheeks warmed. She eyed the two pitchers—one with sweet, fruity wine and the other a potent liquor.

Luella poured the liquor into the glass, ignoring the sweet wine; he did not deserve sweet things.

The servant disappeared into the crowd, and she took the glass to the King, feeling the condensation against her palm. It reminded her of…

She stumbled on a step. Az caught her before she could fall. "Okay?"

She nodded, unable to meet the demon’s scrutinizing stare.