Page 90 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

Tharen’s icy eyes met his, filled with questions as she sat on the stool with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest. Her lips were pinched, as if to keep herself from speaking. The rigid line of her silhouette was cast onto the sheet. She wouldn’t look at either of them.

The mage stood. "Wrong side, little lamb. Don’t try to run.

We don’t have time for your games tonight, as fun as they can be…

" He tugged the sheet to the side, a soft crinkle as it brushed against the rod that it was draped over.

"You’re sitting with me." He dangled the ribbon between two fingers; it looked far too delicate for his hands.

"What now?" Luella huffed. "Are you going to tie me up this time?" She did not stand, and Tharen’s eyes grew light with sick amusement at her words, finding Bastian where he stood watching their exchange.

"What’s this?" Tharen’s eyes raked over her skin, the sheet straining under his grip. "Did you finally grow a backbone? Or did it all become too much and you decided to give in to your anger?"

She tilted her head back, watching him. " No . I was, once again, forced to do something against my will. Vale ordered me not to tell lies or hide my feelings tonight." Her fingers tightened on her gown—a small moment of weakness. "So this is who I will be for now."

"Shame it’s not forever, pet," Bastian interjected. "You’re so wonderful like this." The vampire walked to her side and placed a pale hand on her bare shoulder. He allowed the words to drift into her mind: so wonderful that everything you try to keep hidden is finally out in the open.

Aloud, Bastian said, "This is who you are. Truly. And I cannot wait for you to no longer hide."

A white braid fell over Tharen’s shoulder as he jerked his head toward the two stools, demanding, "Now."

Luella met Bastian’s gaze with her kohl-lined, half-lidded pleas.

She would not find sympathy in his eyes—they must hurry.

He was torn, did not want the lessons to be over, but wanted desperately to have it all behind them.

So he might finally feel at peace with himself, finally feel like he could earn her forgiveness for the parts he played ever since they had first been called to the Fate’s lair.

This —all of this—was for her. She just didn’t understand. Not truly. And she might never.

But at least they did. The five of them.

Bastian arched a brow. "Tradition waits for one. The gods wait for no one."

"What gods do you worship to have such sinful acts of praise?" she whispered.

"When you enter the Temples and feel their presence," said Bastian, "maybe that will enlighten you."

Luella stood, hair tickling his forearms as she brushed past him, heading around the sheet, to stand by Tharen. "I doubt anything will enlighten me." Her eyes dipped to the ribbon in his grasp. "What is that for?"

The Prima grabbed her wrist, fingers enclosing it, as he held up the silky length of the ribbon and began to wrap one end around her wrist.

She started to protest, but Tharen cut her off:

"Unlike Vale’s demand to loosen your tongue, this will benefit you." He finished knotting the end, tugging it sharply to ensure it was tight enough.

She gasped.

Bastian knew it was not tight enough to cause pain—that was what the soft silk was for. He loved silks, loved seeing her wrapped in them, most of all.

The mage took the other end and looped it around his own wrist, tying it as best as he was able one-handed before bringing the loosely entwined ends up to his mouth and tugging it with his teeth until it tightened into a hard knot.

"Hey!" she protested, trying to tug her hand away, but it was futile against the mage’s strength.

Tharen merely rolled his eyes, fingers curling around the silk as he gave one harsh tug, forcing her to stumble into him.

His grip was possessive as he caught her, and Bastian watched with curiosity…

The mage held her shoulders tightly, yet she did not wince or try to pull away.

He was surprisingly gentle with her. Maybe Bastian had gotten through to him, after all, with his talks of treating her with care instead of being such a bastard.

The Prima hooked the toe of his boot under the leg of one of the stools, dragging it across the floor with a low squeak. He sat down heavily, using the ribbon between them as a leash, urging her toward the other stool.

Stumbling, she was forced to sit. And only when the air was quiet for a moment that bordered on too long, did she peer up at Bastian, watching as he raked his eyes over her.

The simplicity of her gown was tantalizing as it clung to her soft curves, but he wanted more—wanted to see what secrets the fabric covered.

Plus, clothing wouldn’t be of any benefit for this evening’s lesson.

"Take off your gown," Bastian purred.

Her pulse thundered—music to his ears. She suddenly grew interested in the silk ribbon tied around her wrist, distracting herself by attempting to undo the knot.

Tharen grabbed her other wrist and held it away from the ribbon.

"I don’t think so, little lamb. Can’t have you getting all worked up, and poof—you’re gone.

" The stool groaned as he leaned forward and said, "This is to keep you tethered to me. So your lessons won’t be cut short.

Bastian was right, you know. The gods wait for no one," he nearly sang the words.

Her eyes grew wide, and Bastian sent a thought to the mage: stop riling her up.

But it’s just so fun, he replied.

The vampire shook his head and pointed a pale finger at the mage in warning.

"Turn around, Tharen. You know you aren’t permitted to watch.

" To Luella, Bastian said, "He won’t look at you. He’ll keep his back to you at all times.

And neither will I see you—except your shadow.

" He inclined his head to the fluttering white sheet.

The orange warmth of the flames made her skin appear to glow from within. As though the moon and the sun simmered under her skin, dying to be let free.

The words of the prophecy flickered in his mind like flames:

A splintered lineage, to bring together the kingdoms. She will be one over all elements, the sun, and the stars… to defeat the malevolence.

The Princess’s splintered lineage had been revealed, her glamor had been ripped away, and the truth of her magic come to light. But that left one part yet fulfilled— to defeat the malevolence.

Bastian watched her, so small and delicate. Could she truly defeat the Tenebrae?

Even now, Luella’s storm roiled outside the castle walls.

A soft, ever-present rumble of thunder that ebbed and flowed with her intense, unchecked emotions.

No rain. But the air was thick and charged with anticipation.

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not—was she learning how to control it?

Or was it—was she —simply too much to be contained by storm clouds alone?

After the night’s end, when her lesson was through and she was carried into dreams in the night, would it, once more, be a tempest that shook through the sky?

What else could she do?

Bastian cleared his throat. "I will sit behind the curtain, and Tharen will keep his back to you," he repeated.

"Take off your gown. Allow yourself to feel, to give in, pet. After all, it’s not like you can lie.

" He made his tone gentle and calming, but that didn’t stop anger from falling over her face.

"If you look at me, I will… I will let roots drag you out to sea," she warned quietly.

Bastian smiled. "And I will let you."

"I’d like to see you try." Tharen’s lip curled.

Luella looked between them, and Bastian let the curtain drift from his clutches, falling to conceal her from him.

Her shadow was a strange shape with Tharen so close to her; he could barely discern her form from his.

It was a lewd image; he could trick himself into thinking their bodies were entwined, that perhaps there was no distance between them at all.

This whole night would be a lesson in restraint for him. His cock strained in his tight pants, and he angled his arm just so, allowing his shadow to reflect his actions as he reached down to palm himself. Not enough pressure. He gripped harder, releasing a deep, strangled moan.

"What are—" Her voice carried to him through the thin barrier of the sheet.

"I’m sure you remember my words from last night, pet.

Disrobe to your undergarments. I will not tell you again.

Even with that ribbon tying you to Tharen, it won’t be difficult with the shape of your dress.

" As he spoke, he imagined the simple white material pooling to her feet, unhindered by the lack of straps.

Her bare collarbones and lithe neck, the soft dip of her young curves.

He was achingly hard for her.

He reached up and tugged off his coat, folding it carefully and laying it by his feet.

His shirt underneath was simple silk, the laces already half undone, so it was easy to pull the remainder free.

It billowed open, allowing cool air to tickle his chest as he let his shirt slip from his arms and fall to the ground.

His silver belt buckle clinked as he undid it, letting it snake away from his pants as he dropped them to the ground, leaving him in nothing save for his black briefs.

Bastian sat on the stool, feeling the hardness of it under him as he spread his legs.

Her shadow shifted, as did the larger one behind her, as Tharen moved a bit to the side, revealing the soft, slim shape of her silhouette in its entirety. As the mage moved, Bastian saw a flashing sliver of light in the corner of his eye.

Pale skin, a white gown slowly, too slowly, dropping from her shoulders, hitching at her waist, before sliding down her legs and pooling to the carpet under her feet.

A mirror.

Bastian swallowed.

A small mirror was in the corner of his room, atop his dresser. A tiny circle that he used for aid when he changed his many earrings and jewelry. He had accidentally left it out earlier in the evening in his haste to hurry to the Solstice celebration.

And now that mirror allowed him to see every bit of her skin as she stood, clad only in the thinnest of fabrics—a brassiere that hugged her soft breasts, no straps, just a nearly see-through weave of material that grazed her pink, pebbled nipples with every breath.

He still remembered the way she tasted. How she arched up into him.

His eyes traced the gentle curve of her waist, down to her hips, seeing a thin pair of panties hugging her flesh.

"Gods," Bastian breathed lowly. He had to swallow to stop emotion from leaking into his voice. "What are you doing to me?" He shook his head. The sheet fluttered as he moved closer; her heart rate increased.

"The same thing you’re doing to me," she replied.

Bastian forced himself to look back at her shadow, watching the ripples and soft shifting movements from the wavering flames in the corners of his room. It was nothing compared to the real image of her—her skin and her softness.

Luella moved behind the sheet, and he was weak. Too weak.

He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. He had said he wouldn’t look at her—but it hadn’t been a promise, perhaps that was why he allowed himself to look.

Just once more. Only one.

His eyes shifted to the corner, finding her form in the mirror.

And there, in the reflection of the small mirror, he saw her as she sat delicately on the stool, once more, overtaken by Tharen’s sheer size as he sat, with his back to her.

The line of the mage’s shoulders was tense, and Bastian moved a step to the side, carefully, so he could devour even more of her that had been hidden by the angle.

Only, he was not granted more of her, but a pair of eyes like chips of ice as Tharen peered into the mirror, catching his gaze.

The mage smirked.

Bastian blew out a harsh breath through his teeth, caught.

Through the open doorway between their minds, Tharen’s words drifted :

You’re not as chivalrous as you claim, Bastian, even you succumb to sin when it beckons.

And the vampire promptly shut him out, turning to keep the mage out of his line of vision—leaving only Luella and her enchanting body.