Page 275 of A Dance of Water

She obeyed him as he led her to a small, private alcove in the corner of the room, holding the blue drapes away for her to enter, a hand on her shoulder. Once inside, the sound of the courtiers dulled.

From the walk, she was out of breath, her body aching.

There was a soft warmth that bloomed under the glamor-hidden bandages, and she bit down on her lower lip. Blood.

Bastian made a sound she had never heard from him before. Guttural and raw.

Ravenous.

She turned, a question lingering on her lips.

Only to find his eyes a deep, dark maroon. So red, it appeared black.

"Fuck, pet. You have to?—"

With preternatural speed, he pinned her to the cushions. She fell back, wings aching, making more wetness spread. She knew Tharen’s glamor would hide it—but not the scent.

Bastian loomed over her, a hand braced by her head, thigh notched between hers, making the feathers on her gown crinkle.

"Bastian, what are you?—?"

He nosed along her neck, fangs brushing her skin. Her pulse pounded. Fear skittered down her aching spine, mingling with…

Arousal.

A now familiar wetness bloomed between her thighs, and the vampire above her groaned deeper.

"You temptress. You’re taunting me," Bastian growled.

Her thighs trembled—half in fear, half in some wicked anticipation that shamed her more than anything else.

He was going to drink from her. Kill her. And everything she had suffered thus far would be for naught.

"Bastian, Bastian, you have to s-stop. Please," Luella implored, eyes wide as she stared up at him. "Look at me." She gripped his face, pulling him away from where he had buried his head in the crook of her neck. His brow touched hers. "Please, look at me. It’s me. Luella. Don’t… don’t do this."

Had she gotten through to him? Could she?

"Please," she whispered, her breath rustling stray pieces of his hair.

Her trembling voice cracked through his hunger. For one breathless moment, he blinked, eyes filled with horrified clarity, before the moment snapped like a frayed piece of thread.

"Gods." Bastian squeezed his eyes shut. "Get out of here. Get herout."

Blue light washed over them as the curtains parted. In a blink, Bastian was pulled off her, leaving her staring up at the dark ceiling with her eyes wide behind her mask.

What had just happened?

Graves, the dark Knight. Black wings arched high behind him. Proud. And beautiful. Even fake, they were so much bigger than hers. His hood concealed his face, but in their scuffle, it fell back. He did not wear a mask; he didn’t need one with his hood.

"Luella," the raven shifter called. "Did he hurt you?"

She sat up, feeling wet, hot blood slide down her back and drip down the curve of her backside. She braced a hand on the wall as she stood, reeling. Bastian was going to hurt her… He had almost?—

Bastian growled and cursed.

Graves pulled his gloved hand back and hit Bastian hard across the cheek.

The vampire’s head whipped to the side, and he stayed there for a moment, breathing deeply.

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