Page 146 of A Dance of Water

And Tharenreachedfor her, wrapping tendrils of his magic around her spirit as he tugged her back, back, back and forced her into her body.

Spirit magic dwindling, he opened his eyes. Her face was under his, so close he could count the faintest impression of faded freckles against her nose. He licked at her lips, mouth hovering closely over hers.

A sharp inhale; a soft exhale that ghosted over his mouth.

By him, she breathed.

Tharen smiled against her lips.

Her body jerked as she gasped, desperate for oxygen. Waterbubbled over her lips and spilled out. Choking and coughing, her hands scrambled on the muddy ground. He quickly sat back and rolled her to the side. Azgorath soothed over her back as she threw up water.

Graves held her foot, not a flicker of emotion on his face. Bastian appeared transfixed by her, uncaring of the rumbles of violence that pierced the air—louder than the sound of her hacking coughs.

Slowly, her gasping turned to shallow breaths as she expelled all the water inside her lungs.

Tharen touched his lips absently, feeling her on him. "Punish me, then," he said.

No sooner did Tharen utter the words than a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him away.

Vale shoved Tharen, slamming him against a jagged cluster of rocks near the lake’s edge. Addled from saving her, Tharen’s steps fumbled slightly as the rock dug into his back.

The King’s green eyes glinted. Tharen knew, without their inability to kill each other, he would be dead a million times over by now—in the worst of ways.

"Tell me why," Vale seethed. His voice was garbled, and smoke left his nostrils and mouth with every syllable.

Fuck, he was close to shifting.

If that happened, it didn’t matter about their godsdamned curse, the dragon would try to burn him to ash.

"Because no one else would," Tharen said, ensuring his tone remained calm. Even though he wanted to gut his King for daring to question him."You told me, Vale. After you got over yourself and realized that our bargain would be a good thing—you told me to do whatever it took."

Vale’s eyes flashed a deeper green. "Not kill her."

"Vale," Tharen urged. "Look at me." He reached up and gripped Vale’s chin, forcing his head to turn. His touch met resistance. Vale glared daggers at him, but eventually relented, turning to look at Luella, who was sitting up with the help of the demon and Bastian. "Look at her. She’s alive. She’s fine. I would never let her die." The words were said with gritted teeth. It hurt to admit, but it was true.

Tharen would not have let her die. He hated her, but she was… What was she? Something to amuse him? Or more?

When they were under the water, he had felt every hitch of her chest, every desperate struggle for a breath… he never would have let things go too far. Vale knew this, but his dragon would not let him see reason.

Tharen held Vale’s gaze. "I was only doing what you asked of me."

The King gritted his jaw, but tension leaked from his posture; though, he still did not let Tharen go. The muscles in his face twitched as he fought with his dragon, and when Luella’s quiet murmurs carried to them on the wind, muted by the faintest drizzle of rain, Vale released him with an angered hiss.

"Gods Above." Vale ran his hand through his hair, looking from Tharen, back to Luella. Green eyes pinned Tharen. "She will never forgive you."

"I know. But she won’t forgive you, either."

And that was what brought them together.

Tharen understood Vale more than he did the others. They both had anger, but where Tharen had a loud and raging sort, Vale held a quiet, simmering kind, poised to pop at any moment. They both hated the idea of her from the very first moment they had been called to the Fate’s lair. Vale, because he saw what love could do to another. And Tharen, because he would not let himself be beholden to anyone.

They both looked toward Luella—their Vincire—nestled between Azgorath, Bastian, and Graves.

She was so small, breakable. Her white hair was soaked, hanging around her slim shoulders as she shivered. Azgorath kept her bundled against his chest as she sought his warmth. Bastian gripped her hands and pressed a soft kiss to her crown.

Tharen wrung out the ends of his shirt, feeling water drip from his hair and skin. He was drenched.

Graves tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and Tharen scoffed before saying, "I never would have thought he would succumb."

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