Page 88 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

TROUBLED

THAREN

T he door to Tharen’s room clicked shut, sealing him with her .

Luella stood in the middle of Tharen’s room, clutching a blanket to her chest. The scent of warm water and lavender soap clung to her, mingling with her natural scent that was ripe and heady with desire.

Her wide blue eyes were stuck on him. She had not changed out of her soaked gown after her bath with the demon.

Instead, she had grabbed a fluffy dark blanket from where it was draped over the corner of her bed, small hands keeping it tucked under her chin as she followed him silently down the darkened halls and to his room—his sanctuary.

And here she was, standing in the midst of his pristinely tucked beige sheets, stacks of scrolls, and thick books decorating every surface.

Glass vials sat upon a table, some filled with brightly colored liquids of his potions.

A fire crackled in the stone hearth, an empty pot swinging over it, where he usually mixed up a potion for his insomnia.

This night, he would not—not in front of her.

He could bear one sleepless night if it meant he could keep such a weakness concealed from the little lamb.

Tharen’s temples pounded, and with every passing moment—her standing quiet and scared in the middle of his room—he wanted to shake her, and force her to do something— say something. React. Anything would be better than this godsdamned quiet .

Luella went along too willingly. There had to be a breaking point.

Tharen knew he certainly had one. And it threatened to crack when he watched her behind that sheet, reached out with his Body magic, and heard the racing of her heart and the crinkle of fabric as she kept shifting, trying to find some relief.

But she could only find it in his arms. And that seemed like the last place she ever wanted to be.

Tharen wanted her. Fuck it all, he did.

He could say it was mere physical attraction. She was alluring. Small and sweet and perfectly breakable. But he didn’t want to admit anything past that—that it could be more than her body he wanted.

He always had a penchant for rescuing broken things. And she was so, so broken, yearning for a savior, even if she didn’t realize it. He had breathed life back into her after the water had almost taken her from him, and he never wanted to let her slip from his fingers. Ever again.

Tharen huffed a quiet laugh, and the sound made her look toward him, blue eyes wide as she stared. A doe trapped in the sights of a hunter.

He wanted to crack open her head and have every single one of her thoughts pool like blood before his feet.

Wanted her to talk to him, come to him voluntarily.

He might even want her trust…

Maybe.

However, it felt so wonderful to have her fear.

She was making him crazy. That was why he allowed her to see the beast she seemed so fond of, before bringing her to his room.

If he hadn’t allowed her that one thing, she would have been sleeping by now.

In Tharen’s mind, Bastian had whispered to let her see Azgorath.

Not to tame the beast, as he had put it.

But to soften her up, make her pliant. And reward her.

"Why so quiet, lamb? Don’t want to talk to me like you do with your demon?" Tharen stalked forward, the undone laces of his boots dragging on the ground. He tugged them off, placing them perfectly in their spot near the door. Straightened them.

For all the disarray of his tomes and scrolls, he hated disorganization. Everything had to be in its place .

"I’m confused," Luella whispered; her voice filled his room, coating everything with her unique cadence.

Tharen lifted a metal poker by the fireplace, stoking the flames. "Nothing to be confused about. I want you to sleep with me, and so you will." He turned his head, a braid falling over his shoulder. "So you’re here."

"But… but why?"

Her feet were dug so deep into the wood of his floors, he wondered if she’d grow roots.

The poker clanged as he placed it down. Turning to face her, Tharen could only stare.

He took a step forward. She didn’t move.

"You’re asking why you’re here?"

A tremulous nod.

Fuck, if he knew.

He only knew he had to have her, only knew that when she had plopped on his lap like a sinful, needy gift, it had taken everything in him not to taste her—not to devour her.

He had scented her arousal. The way her scent had turned sweet and ripe, the creamy undertones laced with roses growing bolder, enough to make him drunk. Enough to make him reckless.

He was close to her now, his bare toes brushing the long edges of her blanket as it pooled against his floor. "I want you in my domain, little lamb. So you won’t be confused about who owns you." His eyes dipped to her chest, concealed by her blanket.

Her throat bobbed with a swallow. She was begging for him. Even if she wasn’t aware of what she was doing. Desire clung to her.

His lip curled. "Get in the bed."

Tharen watched as her hands tightened on the edges of the blanket, but she obeyed him, and fuck if that didn’t make him hard.

Her actions were hesitant, as if scared to be too loud, to move too quickly. Her wide blue eyes were trained on him; she didn’t look away as she sat on the edge of his bed, and she didn’t turn down the thin sheets.

Just… sat there.

Tharen rolled his eyes and stomped forward .

Luella shrank into the pillows, head tipping back to track his movements. "What are you…?"

He didn’t wait for her to finish, put his hands on her shoulders, and forcibly shoved her onto her back. She fell with a soft sound, damp white hair leaving the tiniest little wet spots on his pillowcases.

He wasn’t even touching her, holding his body over her, but he might as well have been for the way her scent wrapped around him and pulled him in, the way he wanted to fit himself on top of her, fit himself between her soft thighs.

She peered up at him, holding the blanket up to her chin. "I won’t give in to you, T-Tharen."

The mage smirked at the way she always stuttered when she said his name.

"Sleep, lamb," he said, subdued. A small candle was flickering on the bedside table, and he leaned over her, bracing a hand by her head. She whimpered, and he smiled, face almost brushing hers as he blew a breath, snuffing the flame and casting them in darkness. "I won’t touch you. Go to sleep."

He pulled away and removed his belt, the leather clinking as he draped it over the back of a chair. He didn’t get into bed, just sat heavily in one of his desk chairs across the room, running a hand over his jaw.

The dim firelight flickered as he let his eyes drag over her. His bed was too big for her—she looked lost, drowning.

Sometime between her cautious staring and the soft drumming of his fingers on the tabletop, her breaths evened out. He was aware of her, how she lay so close to the edge of his bed, atop his blankets, as if scared to let herself relax.

The fire crackled, and the worn paper of a scroll rustled under his hands as he tried to distract himself. His breathing was too loud, and hers was too soft—had grown heavy and steady as she fell into dreams.

When the moon was high and exhaustion still evaded him, he looked at her.

Found a thin arm dangling over the side of his bed.

She shivered occasionally, her hair unable to dry well from how she lay on it.

Her blanket had shifted to her waist at some point.

The cuts on the side of her gown revealed tantalizing hints of skin that rose and fell with every breath.

His jaw flexed.

Tharen stood, making his steps light as he walked to his bed.

As if unbidden, he found his hands reaching for a throw draped over the edge of the bed, and he unfurled it softly, draping it over her.

She didn’t stir, only shifted slightly as she burrowed into it, letting out a quiet sigh.

Her eyes moved behind her lids as she dreamed, and his gaze flicked down to the amulet resting on her chest.

He had to try and rest. He wouldn’t be getting much in the coming days with another long night of celebrations and her last lesson tomorrow. And then—their journey to the Temples of Aedis…

With a heavy sigh, he moved to the other side of the bed, lowering himself to the edge. He stared at the ceiling, the distance between them vast. But he would not touch her. Not without her permission.

Luella’s breathing was melodious. Her scent pulled him under—thick with desire as she dreamed—and somehow, Tharen found himself falling into sleep. The first time in decades where he was able to do so without the aid of a sleeping potion.