Page 46 of A Dance of Water

Everything ached.

Luella stretched out her limbs, body rolling in the sheets without the usual languorous morning feel she typically relished in.

Strange.

Her brow crinkled, toes curling as she arched her back, arms thrown over her head.

A sharp spasm of pain radiated out from her chest.

And a strangled cry left her lips.

She pressed a hand over her chest—well, she would have, at least, if her wrist had not been gripped and tugged away before she could touch her chest and see what was causing such a sharp ache.

"Ah, I don’t think so." Her hand was tucked back by her side, and she turned her head toward the sound of the voice. Crisp and cool, the masculine rumble washed over her, and she found her head lolling against the soft pillow under her head.

She could rest for a moment longer. Right?

A soft pat against her cheek. Fingers underneath her skull, forcing her head to straighten.

"Careful with her." A gravel-like voice. Deep and low. She suppressed a shudder.

"I know you’re awake," crooned right by her ear. Her hair fluttered from warm breaths, and finally, she opened her eyes.

Gold and white filled her sights. A ceiling with pristine golden borders, little webs marked into the walls like the purest of marble.

Her vision was blurry, and she took in the wavering sights with a pounding head and sore throat. Her fingertips weakly gripped the rumpled sheets. Not the cool silk she was used to, but something warmer, thicker. A fine and luxurious linen.

She was not in her room.

Luella turned her head, seeing wintry eyes boring into hers. She jerked back slightly, a sound of alarm spilling from her mouth.

Tharen’s brow arched with glee, and unease rooted her to the spot.

The mage rested his chin on his hands as he stared at her. His white braids were messy like he had been running his fingers through them, and she saw a few faint lines on his cheek from where his face must have been smushed into a pillow. Her gaze traveled to the bed she was in, seeing a sea of blankets and pillows on either side of her. It was grand, and the mage by her side rested half on top of the mattress, chest pressing into the blankets and elbows indenting the blanket over the top of it.

Had he… slept with her?

"I can see your thoughts spinning." Tharen leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "No, I didn’t fuck you. If I did, you’d know. Trust me."

She blushed, and her hands fumbled in the sheets, tugging them up to cover her chest.

"Leave her alone," Az boomed. At the sound of the demon’s voice, she melted.

"Az?" Luella called, voice thick with sleep.

"I’m here, Lu." The bed dipped on her other side as the demon sat. Amber eyes were a comforting heat against her skin, and the warm glow of the many flames in the room did nothing to subtract from his kind features. Soft toward her, only, she knew.

The candlelight cast deep shadows under his eyes and made the line of his jaw harsher, but she could not help but lean toward him for safety—even as the back of her eyes burned with tears at all the things left unsaid between them…

His hand raised, hovering between them before he let it fall backdown to his lap. A chill swept through her, and she shivered, the jolting action making her head pound harder.

"Why does my head hurt?" Luella asked.

Az’s eyes grew stony as he looked to Tharen at her other side. "Ask him."

"T-Tharen?" She looked to the mage. He was no longer resting on the bed but had sat up, knees pressing into the side of the mattress from how close the chair he was sitting in was.

"How do you feel?" Tharen’s ice-like gaze raked over her skin.

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