Page 73 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

TOO FAR

LUELLA

D ays passed in a blur of exhaustion. Training pushed her to her limits, but the storm inside her only grew.

She refused to let them see.

The threads that bound her to them tugged, insistent. She ignored the sick, relentless gnawing, the ache coiling deep inside her.

She could not let them see.

At night, she curled in on herself, shivering. Fever licked at her skin. She imagined green eyes, peering at her from the abyss of her blindness.

Her strength unraveled, thread by fragile thread.

She did not want them to see.

She dreamt of drowning. Not in water, but in shadows.

A thought seized her chest, sharp and cold.

What if they already saw?

"Stop, stop." She was breathless, could barely get the words out.

The rain was slow again today, falling in lazy splatters against the treetops and misting her. The chill was welcome against her overheated flesh.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she collapsed onto her back, basking in the rain on her skin and frigid air on her cheeks.

It had been nearly a fortnight. The mourning period was almost over, and Luella was no closer to accessing her power. If anything, it felt further away than ever.

"Get up," Tharen snarled.

"Just a moment," she panted. She wanted to sleep. Her body hurt .

The Prima was a merciless teacher. Good for soldiers, but not for a pampered princess turned prisoner like herself.

"I said, get up ."

A low rumble came from the outskirts of their makeshift training grounds—Az, even muzzled and chained, defending her as always. She stretched her hand out, reaching for him.

Days of hard training and nights of terror-filled visions of the past left her bone-weary. She had no time for herself, let alone her demon.

"Luella…" Vale’s voice rang out, a warning that if she did not follow the mage’s demands, he would be forced to step in.

She rubbed a hand over the mark on her chest, soothing more than just the soft pulses of the tattoo, but also the ache in her soul.

The threads greedily reached out. Punishing, when she dared to relent.

Her body twinged with pain as she pushed herself off the ground. She stood with balled hands, ready for what new torture the Prima would wreak upon her.

She didn’t have to wait long.

A rushing cyclone spun around her, whipping her hair into her face with stinging intensity.

Her body swayed with the rush of the wind, and her fingertips tingled with the promise of retaliation.

Tharen’s voice pierced the cyclone as she felt him step inside it with her. "Feel the ground, feel the wind. Take it. Use it. Don’t let it be used against you." He grabbed her shoulders, stilling her wobbling form as he pressed his hand over her lower stomach.

The thread between them trilled. Tiny cracks radiated from the invisible lock on her power. His hand moved lower, pressing under her navel.

"I-I’m trying. "

"No, you’re not." Tharen’s voice was like silk over frozen steel. "Give in." His breath warmed her face as he held himself before her, so close, and she was so aware. "Let it out."

His lips brushed hers. She knew it was no accident.

The cracks splintered as tiny tendrils of power escaped, mingling eagerly with his. But it wasn’t enough. She tried to relax her body like he had taught her, loosening her muscles, but no matter how hard she concentrated, she only tensed more.

Luella gasped against him. Amid the roar of the wind, he took her mouth fully—demanding and consuming.

The wind blocked out her small noises and his taunting grumbles. With bruising force, he tasted her lips, holding her still with harsh hands as he ate her alive.

Until finally, he jerked away, keeping her steady with a hand on her nape.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

"Is this what it would be like… between us?" she whispered, unsure if he heard her.

Tharen’s fingers dug into her scalp as he held her head between his hands. He could crush her skull like a ripe fruit. "It will be more ," he promised. The wind threatened to sweep the words away.

Tharen’s hands left her, and she swayed unsteadily.

Desire consumed her—but did not sweep her away. Her hand pressed over the mark of their bargain. She could not escape when the very one she had made the deal with was the one to evoke the feeling.

The wind increased, and her hand moved from her chest to her stomach, chasing after the feeling Tharen had ignited.

Fight back , Bastian urged. Before he decides to drown you again.

The cracks splintered outward from his warning, growing, growing.

"H-help," she managed.

And everything blew up around her.

The wind turned to crackling flames, licking against her skin, the heat burned. She whimpered from the scorching intensity. Caught in a maelstrom of fiery air, surging around her and Tharen both. He grabbed her side and pulled her into him; she stumbled, weak .

Her head was pounding, and Tharen yelled, filled with urgency as he worked to combat her magic.

Something dribbled from her nose and down her chin. She reached up, feeling slippery wetness lingering on her lips.

Blood.

Violent shakes swept through her body. Her heart ached as it pounded against her chest.

Oh, she was going to be sick. Truly, this time.

Bile rose in the back of her throat as magic continued to pour out of her.

But all at once, the fiery winds ceased. She was hot. Sweat beaded upon her brow, forcing her clothes to stick uncomfortably to her skin. From more than the heat of the flame, but from overexertion.

In the absence of the roaring winds of their combined powers, her breathing stood out to her—loud, worryingly so.

"She does not look well, Tharen," Vale called. "This cannot continue."

Hands held her. She felt rough fingers on her face and lips as the blood was wiped away, but it kept trickling from her nose.

"She’s bleeding. It’s too much for her." Graves’s voice pierced the fog around her.

Luella’s head thumped on a hard chest—Tharen?

"I’m f-fine." She waved them away with a weak hand.

"You’re not fine." Vale’s voice was strained.

Her stomach roiled with nausea, a constant unsettled feeling, combined with the pain and exhaustion in her body, she couldn’t stand it any longer.

"I need to sit down. Please." She was breathless. "Just… just for a moment. Then we can go a-again."

Low growls made her hair stand on end.

"No," Vale snarled.

She had to strain just to understand the simple word.

Bastian gently took her arm and led her a few paces to the side, away from the burned grass and thick, smoky air. "Okay, pet. Whatever you say," he placated.

Behind the blindfold, her eyes watered. "I really d-don’t feel right. "

"I know, Luella. I know." Bastian’s hands tightened as he helped her lie down. He pressed his lips to her temple, tickling against the silken blindfold as he whispered, "I am so sorry."

Immediately, Az grabbed her and pulled her to him, pillowing her head on his lap. Cold chains brushed against her skin with every brush of his hands over her hair. His breath whooshed out strangely through the muzzle, loud and foreboding. But he could never be scary to her.

"You’re here," she mumbled dazedly.

Bastian pressed the back of his hand to her temple. "Gods, you’re burning."

"No, I’m okay," she lied, weakly struggling to get out of his hold and sit up. But the hands on her turned forceful, urging her to stay lying down.

Brittle and cracking, the threads splintered like the pieces of her soul, splayed outward from her overuse of magic.

Rings cut into her cheek as Vale gripped her face. She sighed at the contact, feeling the fraying of the threads stall.

"You cannot defeat the Tenebrae if you die before you can use your magic. It’s too much. It’s killing you," Vale said, his warm breath ghosting over her sweaty cheeks.

"Too much power," Tharen mused. "But that might not be all…" He trailed off, and she was too tired to ask what he meant.

"We can’t keep forcing her to do this," Graves implored; his deep voice shivered over her, music to her ears.

"She will die if we continue. Do you want her blood on your hands?" Bastian let his words linger. "But not just hers, the deaths of us all. Thousands have already died, and there will be thousands more if this ends now."

She wanted this—a purpose. Strength. Control.

"No," she breathed. She made her voice firm, even though her throat ached with every word. "Let me have this choice. I can do this… I want to do this."

Vale’s hand tightened. "If you would willingly walk into your death, that makes you a fool."

"It would make me light in the darkness," said Luella. She reached up with a weak hand and locked their fingers, pressing their joined hands to her chest, over the mark. "Don’t take another choice away from me."

Burning embers and cedar did nothing to quiet the unrest within her.

Vale’s touch left her, and fragile bits of the thread between them turned to ash. "I’ve made my decision. We will return to the castle, you will rest and eat, and we will try again tomorrow."

The Binding mark pulsed. But at least he did not take the choice away from her fully.

Az bundled her to his chest and stood. Her head fell to his shoulder, and she nosed along the crook of his neck, feeling cool chains against her.

He rumbled, unable to speak, but for her, it was more than enough.

She pressed her lips to his neck. "I’ll be okay, Az."

As the demon walked the short pace to the horses, she found herself drifting, barely aware as she was lifted upon a horse and settled back against a broad chest. Wintry tendrils melted against her flushed skin as she breathed Tharen in, too exhausted to care she was nestled against him—her torturer.

Thunder rumbled distantly. The air was charged with electricity and heavy with moisture, but there was no storm. Not yet.

As the fire roared around Luella, she realized something was truly wrong with her.

They had barely been in the forest for an hour before she started to feel the effects of overusing her power.

It had started small, as all dangerous things do—thrust into a nightmare of the past where Caliban had held Enora against the edge of the water, lovemaking turning violent.

She had been shown various pieces of the past; none of it had made sense.

When she had awoken, she only wanted to fall back to sleep.

Sleep escaped her as she was stolen away to the forest.

Her limbs felt stiff, movements awkward, as Tharen exacted his preferred method of torture for the day .

Fire.

It roared around her and filled her lungs with ash and soot. She coughed as she ran. Every breath burned.

She couldn’t get enough air in her lungs.

A night of sleep—no matter how restless—and a full meal had done nothing to ease the sickness in her body. It had only gotten worse.

"Extinguish the flames!" Tharen ordered, voice rippling through the crackling heat around her. "Push your magic out and let it save you."

Her bare feet dug into wet earth. Sightless, she tried to ground herself as he had taught, feeling the wind in the air, tinged with smoke, the lick of the flames on her skin, the slowest drizzle of rain, evaporating around her from the heat.

The well inside her swelled.

Her breaths were loud, and she focused on every inhale and exhale, counting the moments between, feeling the way her chest rose… and fell.

She dove deep inside her, hands curling around tendrils of power like starlight in her palms.

A sharp tug as she yanked the tendrils out from inside the well of her soul. They were free.

For what may have been the first time in her life, she took a full breath of air, feeling her lungs expand.

Relief—it was sweet.

Something sparked playfully between her fingertips, little zaps dancing over her skin.

Luella was one with the power. It was as much a part of her as her arms and legs. So, she extended it like she would any limb, forcing it out, away from her body, and into the expanse around her.

Further.

Sweat beaded her brow.

A little further.

She whimpered. The beginnings of fear trickled in.

The intense heat cooled, fizzling out in short bursts as her magic dispelled Tharen’s flame.

Her heart pounded dangerously .

The males around her did not speak as if scared to disrupt her concentration, but the quiet praise she felt running along the threads made her want to push further.

She moved the tendrils away, spanning out, reaching up, brushing against the treetops, and winding their way to the lake. She felt every ripple of water.

And she pushed…

A.

Little.

Too.

Far.