Page 6 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

Her white hair was a fan behind her as her head shifted on the pillow, watching him. "I didn’t mean for anyone to s-see." She curled her hands against her chest, well aware of how the thin fabric of her gown brushed against her chest.

Graves finally lifted his head. His nostrils flared as he stared at her, the sheets still held halfway up to his face.

"So," he started, "you’re not embarrassed over what you did? Just that you got caught?"

She rolled her lip between her teeth, and his eyes fell to watch her mouth. "I don’t know," she whispered.

Would she have been embarrassed if he had not been there when she awoke?

Maybe? But perhaps not. She had never touched herself there , never felt that sort of dampness between her thighs.

She had lazily drifted from the land of her dreams to being awake, and in that short, soft space between, she had only known an intense desire, the urge to touch and feel.

Maybe when she woke up a little more, she would have started to feel shame over what she had done.

The raven shifter seemed to read everything playing over her face. His eyes grew understanding, and he pulled away from her, standing.

"Sweetheart, you’re killing me," he grumbled.

"What?" she inquired, still lying splayed on the pillows where he had left her.

He rubbed a hand over his face. "Vale wants you for breakfast. He sent me to check on you."

She nodded, sitting up and gathering the sheets back to cover her, pulling them far up to her chin. He huffed a soft laugh, like he had not just done something much more intimate than seeing her in her thin nightgown.

"You don’t have to check on me every few hours, you know?" Luella wrapped the sheet around her shoulders and stood.

The rain beat an incessant rhythm against the glass doors of the balcony. It was almost peaceful. She was sad that her sleep had been interrupted.

"I know," Graves replied. "But we worry. After what happened—" He cleared his throat. "It’s been a week. We still do not know much about your powers or the glamor that was put on you. We want to ensure you continue to be healthy."

She bit her lip to stop herself from saying what she truly wanted, but the thought was loud and clear in her mind, regardless. You do not want me to die, so you can use me as you planned.

"I’m not going to suddenly drop dead…" Her words trailed off as she spotted a platter on her bedside table.

The oak surface of the table held a chamberstick with an unlit flame, an empty cup of tea, the rim still stained with her rouge, and a tiny white plate, topped with dark, sweet chocolate bark. Her brows drew low over her eyes as she stared, forlorn.

She knew where the treats had come from.

"Bastian," mumbled Graves. "He brought them while you were asleep."

Luella did not look at him, still staring at the gift. "I know. He’s been leaving gifts for me nearly every morning."

The raven shifter sighed in response, a sentiment echoed by her.

The vampire wanted her forgiveness—Luella was not sure if she would ever give it.

That would not stop her from enjoying the gifts, however.

She was never one to turn down sweets or books, both of which the vampire left for her, silent offerings, buttering her up and making her soft until she had no choice but to give him what he so desperately sought…

"I shall call for your maids." Graves’s words broke her out of her thoughts, and she turned to him, trying to forget the simple sight of the chocolate on her bedside table.

She hummed, pulling the sheet around her tighter as she went to her wardrobe and pulled out a thick robe from within.

Graves’s eyes followed her like he was tracking prey.

She disappeared behind the partition in the corner of her room, dropping the silken sheet to the floor in a pool of rumpled paleness, her nightgown following shortly after.

She was bare save for the thin material clad around her hips, and they were alone.

Luella quickly fit her arms into the robe, tying the sash around her waist and stepping back out into the room. She left the silk sheet and her gown on the floor for later. She could barely stand to look at it, knowing what he had done, what he knew she had done.

She paused by the doorway to her bathing chambers, a hand notched against the frame. The inside was cool and dim. Her maids usually arrived to prepare it for her before she awoke. But not this morning, it seemed.

Graves tapped a finger against his thigh. If she didn’t know any better, she would say he was on edge, but that wasn’t so, was it? He was not the type to be ruffled so easily, especially not by the likes of her.

His mouth popped open, then closed, as if he were thinking of ways to tell her something. Finally, he grew resolved, a finger gesturing animatedly between them as he stated, "We’re Vincire."

And a frown fell upon her features, turning her soft morning of languorous melancholy and desire into a cool drip of water against her frozen skin.

"Do not remind me," she said.

He took silent steps forward until he was standing right before her, and she had no choice but to tilt her head up to stare into his eyes.

Her neck craned, and her breaths were short and shallow from his proximity.

The call crackled between them like tiny bolts of lightning.

She wondered if she reached up to touch him, if his skin would shock her like his presence does.

"You should not be shy." His gloved hand hovered in the air between them.

She looked away from him, finding her attention snagging on his amulet again. "We may be Vincire, but I will never accept you." She took a step back, into the coolness of the dark bathing chambers. " Any of you."

Graves gave a soft nod, hand falling back against his thigh. He looked down at it like he was offended it had even begun to reach for her in the first place.

Honey swept through the air between them, interlaced with notes of cloves and spice. She blew a breath out between her teeth and entered the bathing chamber, shutting the door with a resounding click.