Page 89 of A Dance of Water

Urgent prayers fell from his lips. Tharen rolled his eyes. Like any of the gods cared about such scum.

"I waited," Graves said, ignoring the screaming male in their midst.

"Not patiently," Tharen retorted, trailing a hand over the cart filled with instruments of torture—the Knight’s proclivity, but not his. Tharen enjoyed putting his magic to good use when it came to torture. "What, was it too hard to leave some skin for the rest of us?"

Graves clicked his tongue and met Azgorath’s eyes. "We are not to kill him yet; the King wants him alive."

The captive let out a low sound of relief, body shaking with leftover adrenaline.

Azgorath growled. "I don’t have to listen to him. He’s not my King anymore."

Tharen placed a hand on the demon’s chest and quickly shoved him back. "You will listen, or you will leave." Magic sparked on his fingertips, a measly threat; they all knew they couldn’t maim each other.

"He deserves to die for touching her. For even looking at her." Tendons strained in the demon’s neck as he spoke.

Silent Graves merely watched.

"Hurt him, fucking rip out his eyeballs for all I care. So long as he lives. Vale demands it, and we follow through." Tharen’s tone was icy, the air crackling with his magic. "No questions, no godsdamned slip-ups."

The demon shut his eyes, breaths heavy.

Tharen knew he would agree—for the sake of his preciousLu.

Finally, the Knight spoke… "You may have the killing blow, but only when the King says he is to die."

Azgorath’s eyes popped open, murderous intent shining in their amber depths. He stepped away from Tharen and loomed over the captive.

"You hear that?" the demon taunted. "Your life is in my hands, and I’ll take pleasure in ripping you apart and making you suffer like she did."

Tharen’s lip curled. "I wanted to kill him."

"You can still have your fun," Graves replied.

The Prima rolled his eyes, hands alighting with sparks as he contemplated the possibilities.

Azgorath shook out his hand before he curled it into a fist, slamming it into the fae male’s stomach.

Bone cracked. Oh, look at that, the fucker got a rib. Maybe having a demon with preternatural strength would befun.

The more agony the fae bastard was in, the better. Every rodent-like, painful squeal just encouraged him.

The sparks in Tharen’s hands turned to ash, flickering and falling to the floor as he thought. Water. That’s what he would do.

Swirls of icy liquid danced along his palms, growing larger and larger, coating the room in shifting, prismatic patterns of light.

The Prima jerked his head, ordering the two males back away from their captive. Blood splattered Azgorath’s clothes, his knuckles were coated in it. Strangely, the Knight was free of blood.

The fae male’s screams were drowned out by the roar of the waves.

With a flick of his hand, the water stopped, poised over the male’s head.

"Because she could’ve drowned," Tharen hissed, voice filled with savagery. "Let’s see if you can still scream when your lungs are filled with water."

And he unleashed the waves.

27

I’M BROKEN

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