Luella took a breath. "You said you wanted to see me. No more secrets," she repeated the words Vale had told her before her bath.
Vale’s jaw clenched. "Sit down."
Her eyes narrowed. She was not a dog—nor wolf.
Speaking of wolves, she spotted the trio of the mage’s wolf pack curled under a spot of shade, underneath a stack of crates. Their fur was pure white; though, she spotted a flash of black among them.
"Ven?" Luella questioned, taking a few wobbly steps toward the sleeping pack of animals.
"Leave them be. They wouldn’t like to be awoken by a little lamb." Tharen’s tone was clipped, his words forced through clenched teeth. His Aer magic sputtered momentarily as a large gust of wind made her hair rustle around her, whipping toward him.
"They haven’t hurt Ven, have they?" she ventured, shivering.
In a flash of graceful darkness, Graves appeared, as she was accustomed to him doing—he fell from midair in a swish of ropes as his boots landed on the wooden deck. No raven feathers fell around him. She gazed upward, finding a small platform set around one of the wooden poles that stretched toward the cloud-filled sky.
He wore his cloak, but no cowl, and his deep blue eyes fell to her wings. He swallowed and turned away from her dismissively.
"No," said Vale. He, too, didn’t look at her. But she caught the thin tendrils of dark smoke that wafted from his pinched lips. The rings on his fingers caught the light, and it made her skim her fingers over the chain of her stolen bracelet.
"They get along well," Tharen bit out. "The wolves, protecting the helpless kitten."
"Who would have thought?" Bastian huffed a laugh, glancing up from the clothes before him. His nostrils flared, and she felt a thick rush of desire pressing in on her from five sides.
Their conversation momentarily distracted her from the ocean, but a thick wave beat against the side of the ship. Her breath caught.
"Sit down, angel. Don’t look." Az led her closer to Bastian, helping her sit. She knelt carefully on the wooden deck, shifting to get comfortable. The action made her acutely aware of the fact that she was not wearing undergarments.
Bastian groaned, head thumping on the post behind him. "You really thought it wise to place her so close to me?"
Az settled between her and Bastian—a barrier. "We need to make sure you have enough control to be around her. What better way than when we’re all here to stop you if needed?"
"Control is not the problem," Bastian muttered darkly.
Luella swallowed, not able to speak aloud; so she thought it, hoping he’d hear.Did you feed?
A piece of fabric tore in Bastian’s hands. He held her eyes as he said, "Your demon has been helping me. I am not to feed from you again, so I’ve been told."
"That’s not fair," she blurted, cheeks heating when they all turned to her.
The magic in the Prima’s palms flickered, then extinguished entirely; though, the wind roared on. "Tell us then, lamb," Tharen drawled, "why is it not fair that he can’t sink his fangs in your neck? Because I don’t think it’s fair that you come up here in front of us, smelling like you’ve just been fucked."
Her mouth fell open.Oh. That explained the tension.
"I-I?—"
Bastian’s voice was a low hiss, almost to himself. "I am not the rabid beast you portray me as."
Vale spoke. "You are not rabid, Bastian. However, we must be cautious. You will not touch her unless someone is there to stop you if you lose control."
Tharen shook his head, a white braid hitting his severe jawline. "If he snaps when you two are alone, what would you expect us to do? Bring you back from the dead?" Tharen seethed. He took a step closer to her, and she shrank back into Az’s side.
Thiswas the Tharen she knew—mean and angry, and no hint of underlying vulnerability.
"Why are you like this?" Luella asked of him.
"Like what?" Tharen snapped.
"Cruel."
