Page 75 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

YOU HAVE HIS EYES

LUELLA

E very breath hurt.

Luella dug her fingernails into her palm to keep herself awake, feeling crescent-shaped indents mar her skin.

The bed dipped as Bastian settled beside her. His coolness made her shiver, but she still leaned into him, feeling cracked open and shattered, desperate for him. The threads were weak inside her, slowly reaching out with lazy distress.

The rain was so loud outside the walls of the castle that it hurt her ears.

From her other side, Az gently took her hand, forcing her fingers to uncurl as he smoothed his rough fingertips over the marks. "Lu," he tsked. "You’re too special to hurt." He was without chains or a muzzle now, and the sound of his voice washed over her.

She hummed, head thunking against his thick arm. She was lying nestled in her bed between him and Bastian—the others were there, she felt them, the way the threads whispered in her soul, broken edges begging to be made whole.

She reached up with a weak hand to skim a finger over her blindfold, angry at her past self for making such a wicked bargain.

But the memory of power, all-consuming and…

and right … it filled her very marrow with a strength she had no idea she was ever even able to possess.

It had felt as easy as breathing to her—until she had overused it .

Like a muscle that wasn’t worked often. She just needed to train more, train harder.

Next time, she could be even better.

There will be no next time, pet. Not now. Bastian’s fingers danced over the back of her hand.

No , she projected the thought to him.

She turned her head away from the vampire, searching for Tharen in the darkness of her sightlessness. If Bastian would not help her, she knew the mage would.

"T-Tharen, I want to go again," she breathed.

The tension in the room grew.

It was not Tharen, but the King who responded: "Absolutely not, Luella. You are in no condition to put yourself through that again."

"But I… I can," she implored. "Please. I just need to rest for a bit, but I’m okay." Az grumbled beside her, the sound vibrating through her from how she was pressed so close to him. "I’ll be okay," she hastened to add.

"You almost died," Graves muttered.

She turned her head to him, trying to ignore the twinge in her neck from the small movement. "I was fine until I… used too much power but"—she was breathless, words coming out low and disjointed—"I just need to practice."

"No," Tharen snapped.

Az and Bastian both held her tighter at the anger in the mage’s tone. Her brows furrowed sleepily as she tried to keep track of everything going on.

"What do you mean, no ?" she asked. "You won’t h-help me?"

"I mean no , that’s not it," said the Prima. She heard his footsteps, loud on the delicate floors and soft plush rugs thrown about the room. "That’s not it. You almost died because you refuse to give in."

Luella shifted on the plush mattress, the action pressing her closer to Az. "I don’t understand," she all but begged.

She heard the faintest crackle of fire from the lit fireplace; she could still feel the intense flames licking against her skin. The magic of Ignis was not one she liked. Not at all. She wanted to stay far, far away from that part of her power .

"Explain it to her," said Vale. "Before I do something drastic."

"Like what?" Bastian shot back. His voice was a sensuous purr rumbling throughout her.

A loud hiss echoed throughout the room, like fire sizzling on rocks—or the sound of a hissing dragon poised to attack. "Like take her away and burn you all to the ground so you won’t stop me." His voice was garbled, low, and menacing. Luella stilled, terror making her throat close up.

She wished she could see. Blinded, the tension only felt sharper, prickling against her skin like the cool tip of a steel blade.

"Fine," Tharen spat, boots thumping.

Az growled quickly, fingers tightening to the point of pain on her already battered body. She winced, and Bastian soothed her with a low, "Stop squirming, pet." To the demon, he said, "You’re hurting her."

Az’s fingers loosened only slightly. The growls didn’t relent.

Icy tendrils wrapped around her, crisp air and frigid malice. She shrank back against the pillows.

"Not so fast, Princess," Tharen taunted. And then he grabbed her arms roughly and tugged her away from Bastian and Az. The demon growled; Bastian placated him, tone hard even though he was trying to play peacemaker.

She squeaked as Tharen lifted her with ease, bundling her against his chest as he sat further down the bed, placing her sideways over his lap. His thighs were hard and strong under hers. The strap of her gown fell off her shoulder, and she shivered as he tugged it up with rough fingers.

"What? I’m just doing what you asked. It’s not like you can’t watch," Tharen said.

His words made her flush. Even tired and trembling, he still had such a hold over her.

"Stop with the games, Prima." The King’s voice washed over her, making the unsettled, fraying threads in her soul perk up.

"We are your Vincire," Tharen whispered over her neck, fingers tightening along her skull as he threaded them through her strands.

"We are destined, made for each other. Your body knows it.

" He settled his palm over her navel. "Your soul knows it.

Yet, you refuse. Your body is rebelling against you for not giving in to us. "

Her lips parted as a small, shocked noise escaped her.

His hand moved lower, and the other banded over her chest, keeping her trapped against him.

This was the most settled she had felt in days, she realized.

The cloud that had blanketed her lifted ever so slightly, and she was all too aware of the truth to his words—even if they burned .

"I am being… punished for making a choice?" she said.

Tharen’s lips pressed against her ear. "Yes." She felt him smile against her.

He pulled away from her, and she curled her knees up to her chest and held them as she sat by his side. The absence of his scent made weariness grip her with a vengeance, and she listed toward him, unbidden.

"What does this mean," she uttered, "f-for me?"

"It means you will have to give in. Or succumb to sickness," said Vale.

A weary sigh fell from her lips. "How?"

A low hiss permeated the air, mingling with the roar of rain outside the walls.

Vale stepped closer to her. She felt him, sensed him, wrapping around her like smoke as he said, "There is an old ceremony from time past, when Vincire were prevalent, before the gods decided to take the gift away.

It is done to bind the Vincire in body and spirit. "

"Marriage?" she inquired softly, breaths short and labored. The silk sheets under her were cool, but she was burning.

"Not marriage, but more than. It is called the Rite of Vincire. To bind the Vincire wholly."

"That sounds… permanent." Luella felt their eyes on her skin. Another secret, another thing she had been kept in the dark on. And another way to rob her of her autonomy.

Tharen brushed a finger over her thigh. "It is, but no more permanent than we already are. You can’t run from fate."

"Nor us," Vale murmured, voice hard.

With this one revelation, she had a million more questions. What did this Rite of Vincire entail? Would she truly die if she did not bind herself to them? What if…

What if she refused?

One thing at a time, pet. Don’t ask questions you aren’t ready to receive the answer to, Bastian crooned.

She didn’t want this. Even weak and aching as sickness punished her for not giving in to her captors, she did not want to break.

Not on this. Not with all the lies. She could not trust any of them.

And a small, traitorous part whispered that perhaps her demon was not to be fully trusted either.

He lied once about their destiny. Who was to say he would not lie again?

Venomous green shadows made her breath stall. Was Bastian inside her? Did he see Caliban’s eyes, too?

But the vampire did not say a word.

She shoved the images down, deep—afraid.

Knowing the way things worked, the Rite was most likely as vile and treacherous as the Binding mark on her chest. She didn’t want to know, couldn’t bring herself to ask what would be expected of her.

So, she said the one thing she felt was right:

"I… I will not."

No response. The soft crackle of the fire made her sweaty cheeks flush a deeper red. She waited. And waited.

Until Tharen gripped her arm. She flinched away from him, but he only held her harder. "You’d rather rot than let us have you?" he seethed.

"Yes," she whispered.

His large hands held her head still, desperate and angry as he hissed, "You will die if you don’t let us in."

Even knowing what they had been saying all along, his words were a shock. A harsh truth.

A small sob welled up inside her as the threads reached for them, calling out. "I can’t." She felt tears burn the back of her eyes, small droplets absorbed by the silken blindfold. "I… can’t."

Tharen growled and let her go. His desperation was so confusing to her. Why did he care?

Another question you are not ready to hear the answer to , said Bastian. Out loud, he said, "Come here."

She felt herself obey before she could think it through. Slowly, she crawled on her hands and knees across the bed, feeling the mattress dip under her as she felt for him. Cool hands took her, and she settled on his lap. The uneasy shakiness of her limbs was quelled by his touch.

Luella sighed, nuzzling against him as she felt his chest expand with breath.

"You feel it, don’t you?" Bastian murmured gently—so gently and so differently than Tharen had handled her—cupping her face and holding her against him. "How right we are? We’ve felt it, too, the restlessness. I cannot imagine how hard it’s been for you, to feel what I have felt, only in five different directions.

" His soothing persuasions made her sniffle.

"I’m tired, Bastian," she managed shakily. "I never wanted this."

Az settled a hand on her lower back but did not speak. She wondered what he thought of this—her in the arms of another.

Bastian shushed her. "I know, pet. Just give in, let me help you."

She softened against him. "How?"

"If you do not wish for the Rite, there is another way," Vale announced.

She curled her legs up, chin knocking against her knees as she burrowed into Bastian.

"The sickness has taken hold because you haven’t placated the bond. We’ve been too busy to give you what you need. That needs to be remedied. Physical touch, for one." She heard the grin in Tharen’s voice as he spoke.

Bastian cradled her as if reaffirming the mage’s words. Her lungs ached with every breath, and confusion made her feel overwhelmed.

She was so wrapped up in Bastian, she recoiled when a gloved finger ghosted along her cheek, just the tip as if he were afraid of touching her fully—teasing her with the relief his touch could bring.

"Our scents can help," Graves mumbled, and she leaned into him, begging for him without words. "Your pain is useless, sweetheart."

Dazed, she found herself nodding before she realized it .

"We will share a bed from now on. This will not happen again," the King ordered.

She spluttered from his insinuations, cut off by a sensuous purr in her mind. Only to sleep.

"N-no," she managed, even though she wanted desperately.

"This is not negotiable. We either placate the bond in this way to ease your sickness, or I will force you to perform the Rite." The Binding mark on her chest pulsed with Vale’s words—a warning.

Her lip curled. She was being tricked, goaded into giving up little pieces of her, until one day, nothing would be left. "Fine," she said through gritted teeth.

"Don’t act so reluctant, pet. It won’t be a chore to share a bed with us." Bastian hummed

She ignored him. "I want Az."

"Very well," Vale said.

Sickness swept through her, making her body pliable as Bastian gently laid her on the bed, tugging the sheets up to her chin. She felt him as he held himself over her, breathing her in, before he pulled away.

Az took her, then, his heavy arm lying over her side as he pulled her into him, her back flush against his chest as she lay on her side. Small and safe in his arms.

She heard soft murmurs in the background and retreating footsteps.

The threads grew taut as they left. All but one.

"Make no mistake, Princess Luella, this is only temporary. Until you truly break. The Rite of Vincire is not just a ceremony, but survival." Vale’s voice cut through her subdued malady, and she grew rigid in Az’s arms. "You’re lying about something, refusing to let us in."

In the quiet of the room, held by her demon protector and locked away in darkness, she felt safe enough to reveal: "If I let you in… you’ll see. You will see him."

As she said it, she understood—it was more than fear that kept her quiet. She was protecting them, in a way. In her own way.

Silence.

Then, Vale’s voice, low and raw. "Caliban. "

She flinched at the mere name, hearing Enora’s screams and Caliban’s ominous, parting words.

" You have his eyes. "

"What?" she breathed.

"That is what you said to me… that I have his eyes," Vale revealed. "You know."

"I know." And she did. She had fit the pieces together in her mind like that of a puzzle; and finally, it had all come into focus. "He is your brother?"

Az’s palm spanned out over her stomach as he held her a bit tighter.

The King was quiet.

Az fit his chin over her head. "Half-brother," the demon supplied.

Of course, he knew. It stung. But the naive, hopeful part of her reconciled with the fact that his lies must have a reason. Or else she would go mad from doubtful wondering.

"Not any longer. He is no brother of mine," said Vale. His tone was hard, and the threads sang from just the sound of his voice.

Luella shifted, cheek rubbing against the soft pillow under her head, hips brushing against Az behind her. "What happened to him?"

The bed dipped at her feet as Vale sat. "He begged for help from the wrong god."

She knew that was all the answer she would be afforded for now.

There was a soft silence between the three of them.

With the revelation lingering in the room like smoke, she drifted off to sleep—filled with dreams of rippling water, Caliban’s cruel words, and his lover’s pleas. Only, it was not Caliban’s face she saw, but Vale, holding Luella under the water with glinting green eyes.