Page 88 of A Dance of Water

26

UNLEASH THE WAVES

THAREN

Tharen walked into the dungeons with a bothersome demon at his heels.

"You’d better thank me for this, beast," the mage barked as they walked deeper into the darkness of the dungeons.

Screams carried on the stale air, and Tharen couldn’t contain his depraved glee at the prospect of bloodshed.

Fuck, the iron tang of blood made him aroused; his cock hardened, and he resisted the urge to palm himself right here in the dungeons.

He needed to fuck. Now.

All he could think of was the meek, white-haired Princess resting in the castle… He wanted to run back up the stairs and rip the clothes from his lamb’s body, taste every bit of her, see if the space between her thighs was as sweet as the rest of her. Make her big blue eyes fucking glassy with tears. Make her cry outhisname for once, and not the gods her kind worshiped.

"I’ll thank you for nothing," Azgorath growled. "I’m doing this for Lu—because he dared to lay a hand on her. He deserves to suffer."

"You’re only coming down here because I allowed it, beast. Don’t forget that," Tharen warned as they rounded the corner.

Azgorath said nothing.

Tharen watched the demon. Azgorath lookedat home here in the darkness of the deep dungeons. The firelight cast his deeply tanned skin in shadows, making the muscles on his body appear larger. His horns were menacing, towering over his head of dark brown curls.

If nothing else, Tharen would want the demon here just to make Luella’s attacker shit himself from fear—if he wasn’t already loose in the bowels from being alone with Graves.

The pained groans grew louder. As they rounded the corner, Tharen couldn’t stop himself from shoving past the demon and nearly lurching forward to get a glimpse of the bloodshed that lingered in the air, to see whatever Graves was doing to elicit such beautiful sounds.

The sight didn’t disappoint.

The hot scent of blood pierced the dank cold of the dungeons.

Tharen groaned low.

Azgorath sidled up to him, elbow digging into Tharen’s ribs as he spat lowly, "Deranged fucker."

Could Azgorath blame him for being so aroused by the sight of blood? He was soft-hearted, sure, but the demon was still just that: a demon. And demons were the most deranged of them all.

The fae male was strung up by one wrist, his fingers limp as they curled around the chain protectively. White bone jaggedly protruded out of one knuckle, and his entire body was coated with sweat and blood, lines crisscrossing over his bare chest and arms.

Tharen fixated on the male’s other hand, fingers bent and crooked. One of them fit with a screw, bloody bits of flesh oozing from the side and mingling with the already rusted, blood-stained metal.

But it was the stilted, pain-tinged conversation that gave the Prima pause.

Graves’s soft words lingered in the air: "You shouldn’t have touched her."

Aw. Look at that. Hecared.

The memory of Luella, soaked with water and shivering on the snowy shoreline, made Tharen’s hands clench into fists, jaw gritting.

Graves shifted his head, the rustling of his cloak filling thesilence. Tharen knew he couldn’t get anything past the damned male…

Discovered—perhaps long before they entered the cell—Tharen decided to announce his presence to their captive… "No, he shouldn’t have."

The male jerked in his chains, head craning to peer around Graves’s shoulder as he spotted Tharen looming in the entryway, white braids standing stark in the dark cell. Behind him, Azgorath cracked his knuckles.

"No, no!" The male strained against his chains as they walked into the room. "Let me go!"

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