Page 74 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)
LOATHE TO LOVE (LOVE TO LOATHE)
VALE
G old and blue tendrils crackled around Luella like living electricity. Her hair was coated in shimmers, and standing there, amid the snuffed-out flames, Vale could only stare.
The bond between them was a constant pull. His dragon roared, desperate to go to her.
Not okay, not safe.
Take, take, take.
The dragon stilled, teeth bared, as he waited.
Vale held his breath.
No! the dragon hissed.
He exhaled, and smoke filled the air.
The dragon roared. Stop her!
The magic around her flickered, like the dying embers clinging desperately to the grass and mud. Thunder rumbled; he winced from the harsh beat radiating in his skull.
Azgorath strained in his shackles. His breath puffed behind the muzzle, amber eyes glowing with rage. The demon gave Vale a long, hateful stare as he clenched his fists. Chains groaned, but he was no use against the enchantments Tharen had imbued them with.
Luella wavered, and Vale took a step forward, unbidden.
He clenched his jaw, holding a hand up to ward off Bastian and Graves, who started toward her. An infinitesimal shake of his head held them back.
Not safe.
The dragon was restless.
No, no.
No.
Crimson trickled from her nostrils as rain finally broke through the thick, black clouds.
And three things happened at once.
The sparks of power clinging to Luella vanished, the lingering embers of Tharen’s flames extinguished completely, and she crumpled to the ground.
Vale’s dragon roared violently, causing him to stumble.
Go to her!
He found himself by her side, lifting her limp body with violent urgency as his dragon seethed commands. Rain pelted his skin, but he did not feel it.
"Fuck," Vale snarled as he held her. "I need you… I need you to wake up." He resisted the urge to shake her, and from his dragon’s insistence, his hands tightened in a bruising grip. Small and trembling, she was unresponsive. "Prima, what happened?" Vale demanded.
Tharen’s unflinching gaze found his, icy eyes filled with knowledge. "Her body is rebelling against her."
Bastian shrugged off Graves’s hand, which rested on his shoulder. Stalking toward the mage with fury, he flashed his fangs. "Explain," the vampire said.
Azgorath stormed forward, muscles rippling as tiny cracks spiderwebbed in the chains on his wrists.
His breath was labored, making whooshing noises with every rough exhale.
The chains clinked as he reached for her, and Vale hissed as the demon’s hands brushed against her rain-soaked hair.
Blood trickled from her nose, and Vale wiped it away roughly with the back of his hand.
"Prima, you will tell me"—Vale did not look away from her—"or I will let my dragon feast upon your flesh. Fuck the curse."
Tharen’s jaw ticked. "She is being punished for refusing us."
Vale stilled. She was small and unresponsive in his arms. Her blouse stuck to her skin, her waist curving inward invitingly from the tight fit of her corset. The three circles of her Binding mark were barely visible from the translucent sheen of the blouse.
The mark on her skin was still not enough for him. He needed more .
"What do you mean?" Vale’s voice was strained.
The Prima couldn’t possibly mean…
"If she does not consummate our Vincire bond, she will eventually die."
They rode hard back to the castle.
Vale never let Luella go, his rage a choking thing.
Anger pounded against him like war drums.
Anger at himself, for everything he had done. At Tharen, for keeping secrets.
And at her. The small, wretchedly sweet thing in his arms, for pushing herself too far, for trying to fit a mold she was not crafted for. She wasn’t ready for any of this.
He tightened his arms around her, feeling the sharp sting of rain against his face as he shielded her with his body.
The horses kicked up mud with every pounding beat of their hooves.
Vale’s cloak billowed out behind him in golden swaths. She twitched against him, small hand curling against his chest before she stilled. Dried blood crusted above her lip, marring her too-pale skin.
He spurred the horse onward with a snap of the reins, urgency pushing him forward.
"Stay with me," Vale said. "You have to stay with me."
She stirred against him, fingers tightening against his chest.
Vale held his breath.
Her pretty pink lips parted with a soft puff of air, and even over the roar of the storm, he heard her mumbled words clearly:
"You have his eyes."
And then she relaxed against him, hands slackening as she was stolen back into sleep—into dreams.
He was alone.
Luella lay in her bed. The white, fluttering drapes cast delicate shadows on her skin. The blindfold was as pure as she, painting her as an untouchable goddess. Or the angel Azgorath likened her to.
Vale ran a shaking finger over her hair, fanned out over her.
"This reminds me of before," he whispered in the quiet of her room, "when you first fell into an endless sleep.
" He rubbed a strand of her white hair between his fingertips, feeling the softness.
"But now everything is different, and I cannot?—"
He bowed his head, damp, golden hair falling into his eyes.
"I loathe you, but I need you more than I have ever needed anything."
The admission was painful, pulled from his lips as if by the claws of the godsdamned beast inside him.
Smoke filled the room.
Taste her, hissed the dragon.
"No," Vale said.
Even knowing if he did take her, taste her, it would help her. She would have to give in to them—to her Vincire. Or the sickness plaguing her would only grow.
Vale leaned over her, bracing an arm by her head.
"I need to possess you," he breathed against her face.
He traced over the edge of her silken blindfold, hand trailing down her jaw, along her lithe neck, before pressing over the Binding mark that peeked out from the sheets draped over her—the rest of him was taut as a bowstring above her, afraid to move closer, to give in.
"And I will. But I wonder if by then, you will own me just the same. "