Page 86 of A Dance of Water

You know the King will not rest until he finds out how you dreamed of Caliban…

I know,she answered, eyes still closed. If anyone else walked in, they would think she was asleep.

What do you intend to do?

Try and figure it out. All Vale will have to do is ask, and the Binding mark will force me to tell him. In the meantime, I must evade him—at least until I know more about these strange dreams.

Bastian didn’t respond, merely rubbed a thumb over her cheek as he thought. Odd, that she would be so intent on evading Vale when she didn’t even know why she was having these dreams. Or so she said.

What if…

Was there something else she was hiding?

Hm. That would not suffice. Bastian would have to speak to Graves; with all his stalking, the male knew more of her than any of them combined.

Very well,he replied.

Will you...

He felt her fingers dig into his shirt; her skin was unnaturally cold, tempting with icy fingers promising innocent pleasures. Bastian had never been with an innocent before, but he found himself curious of how it would go between them.

Would she be nervous? Would she cry?

It had been too long since he had sunk into the tight heat of a welcoming body. He needed to fuck almost as much as he needed her forgiveness—synonymous desires he thirsted for more than what he needed most: blood.

Teary-eyed as she told him she forgave him, all while he moved over her amid black silken sheets.

Her soft voice broke him out of his lustful stupor…Will you help me, Bastian?

Shoving down images of fucking her senseless until she had no choice but to grant him her forgiveness, he murmured,Of course, pet.

25

FALLEN FROM GRACE

GRAVES

Graves loomed over the male. His golden hair was stringy around his face, golden eyes shining as he bore down against the pain inflicted upon him.

With his cowl and hood, Graves knew he appeared as an avenging angel.

Not quite, he huffed aloud at the thought, but some twisted fucked up version…

At the soft laugh, the male strained against the chains that kept his arms held aloft. The rusted, enchanted chains wrapped tightly around his wrists, fixed to the ceiling. The fae male before him was tall, a dominium, perhaps, if the strong, mature lines of his face were anything to go by. He stood precariously on his tiptoes to relieve the strain on his shoulders from the taut chains.

"Please," the male moaned. "I only know what I’ve told you. Nothing more. The Tenebrae has my family…"

Graves hummed as he regarded the liar before him. He was never one for talking, especially when torturing. Mental torture was sometimes more effective than physical pain, and this male was nearing his breaking point simply from Graves and his shadowed countenance. The threat of pain and suffering was enough to make one go mad.

He smirked under his cowl.

The air was dank and his boots stepped into a puddle of water—or piss, he didn’t know—as he faced off against Luella’sattacker.

"He has your family?" Graves stroked a gloved finger over the shattered bones in the male’s left wrist. He whimpered and tried to jerk back, but the action only made the chains pull against his ruined hand, and he let out a strangled yell.

"Y-yes," he blubbered. "He threatens to kill them if I don’t obey. Not just me, but he has leverage over all the able-bodied males and females of Solis."

Graves let the silence linger, walking around the male, standing at his back. He felt him shiver, not knowing what would happen next. A small cart stood at his side, gleaming knives with rusted, jagged edges—some blunt to draw the pain out and others sharp for precision.

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