Page 248 of A Dance of Water

In shock, he didn’t even register moving, but he found himself standing by the altar.

Delicate wings jutted from Luella’s back, not with triumph, but with bleeding grace.

White feathers splattered with fresh blood that clung to the down like thick oil paint on parchment. They folded closely to her body as if to protect her and themselves, the soft tips brushing the stone altar at her back. Crimson droplets fell from the ends, whispers of agony, each one a silent echo of the flesh they’d torn through to emerge.

Her hiccuping sobs made his vision cloud with disbelief and anger as consuming pain carried down their connection.

"Lu." There was a distant thud as Az’s knees hit the ground. He couldn’t keep himself upright.

Luella’s face was buried in Tharen’s chest, the mage’s hands hovering over her shoulders, shell-shocked as she cried into him, her small body spasming with waves of pain they all felt.

Thick green vines with blooming roses tangled around her ankles, wrapping up to her thighs as they held her hostage.

The rumbling in the mountains grew louder. A harsh crack resounded through the stone room.

Voices tore Az away from staring at theangel wingson Luella’s back.

"Tharen," Bastian snapped, "what did you do? What happened?"

Flashes of orange and red lit up the greys of the room, thick, acrid smoke choking him from the burst of heat.

"Control yourself!" Bastian yelled. "Vale! You’ll bring down the whole mountain!"

Az could only stare at Luella, at the ribbons of her flesh, stained with blood, hanging from her back where the wings had seemed to burst free from within her. Her gown was in tatters, barely held up, revealing her entire nude back, the sides of her small breasts, and the soft line of her thighs wrapped tightly around Tharen’s hips.

Graves stood, the cowl under his chin and one hand raised, as if frozen, where he had tugged it down. His mouth was open. Unfettered shock lined his usually stoic face. Locked onto the unfathomable sight of her wings. Feathers trembled at her shoulders, thebeautiful white dulled by gore; even closed in protectiveness, they were unsettling against her small frame.

"Oh my gods," Graves choked out, uncaring that flames licked along the side of the stone walls, not far from where he was standing.

That seemed to snap Az out of it.

He charged forward, knocking the male out of the way of the slowly growing fire.

Lu’s sobs cut through the smoke and curses. He had a hard time tearing his gaze away. Couldn’t stop staring. It felt wrong to see something so pure and delicate drenched in bloody agony.

But Az ripped his eyes away, forcing himself to focus. So he could keep her safe.

Bastian was trying—and failing—to restrain the dragon shifter.

Smoke seeped from Vale’s nose and mouth, pupils slitted as he stared at their Vincire.

Constant hisses filled the room with the presence of his dragon. Onyx scales graced his cheekbones, his neck, the backs of his hands.

"Azgorath, a little help would be nice!" Bastian called, not looking away from the dragon shifter. "Come on, Vale. You don’t want to do this—come on.Think,you godsdamned idiot! You’ll kill her." Bastian gripped Vale’s face, but he tried to get out of his hold, tendons in his neck straining. "Look at me, Vale. I know you’re in there—I know you hear me. You don’t want her to die, do you? That is what will happen if you don’t stop!"

Bastian’s breaths were harsh in his struggle. "You’ll burn her alive. Until there isnothingleft."

He wasn’t getting through to him.

If anything, his words made Vale even angrier. Vale roared, fighting against Bastian.

"Shit!" Bastian cursed, ripping his hand away as smoke fizzled from his fingertips.

Vale’s skin was overheating; his shirt turned to ash, smoke sizzling off his flesh as it dropped to the stone floor. Small holes burned through his pants, leaving behind blackened tatters barely clinging to him.

Dull pain sliced against Az’s cheek. He touched his face with a shaking hand, fingertips coming away with blood. The ceiling shook,small hanging pieces of glass raining down from where they were suspended about the room.

He held an arm over his head, running for Vale and Bastian. Graves seemed to have the same idea—the male’s cloak fluttered behind him as he all but tackled the King, uncaring that holes were burned into his gloves as he locked his hands onto Vale’s shoulders.

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