Gods, he prayed that they would find answers on the Isles. He prayed that Emarelia would know at least something about how Luella could control her magic.
As if the thought manifested it, Vale suddenly felt Luella—the threads, as she called them—wrapping around him, tightening like a vise.
His dragon roared:
Go! Go to her.
Now!
The clouds grew thick and dark, thunder rumbled in the distance, and the very seas roiled, harsh waves lapping against the hull with a sudden intensity, making the ship rock and Vale sway with unsteadiness.
With that strawberry-laced softness, growing sour with fear, leading him onward, his feet slipped over the damp deck as he followed the pull.
The call led him to the door of the captain’s quarters.
Vale threw the door open, rain beginning to fall. He exhaled raggedly, green eyes narrowing as he searched for her.
A soft cloud of steam drifted in the room as rain blurred the sea beyond the curving window.
Pale skin, bare and precious. The soft glitter of diamonds. A delicate gasp, fallen from pink lips like rose quartz.
Warmth enveloped him, grey smoke drifting and warming him to the bones. He hadn’t even known how cold he had been.
Protect.
Take. Touch.
Ours.
"Luella." Vale hissed her name like a serpent.
The soft, unmarred line of her throat worked with a desperate swallow, and her arms wrapped around her bare breasts, legs crossed, body half-turned to preserve her modesty. But Vale had seen a flash of the space between her thighs, clouded only slightly by steam, the brief glimpse of a pink nipple, her breasts small and begging for his touch.
A soft blush spread over the bridge of her nose, darkening as she turned to him. "V-Vale," she stuttered, the sound broken.
The door fell shut behind him, and the steam grew thicker while the rain pounded outside.
"What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need Tharen? Is it your wings?" The questions were torn from within him.
"No. I’m not… It’s not my wings. I’m not hurt. Not my body." As she spoke, she grabbed a towel lying in a heap on the floor, bending carefully, with her white hair hanging against her in messy curls, her backside an enticing curve. Standing, she bundled the towel to her chest, tucking it under her arms.
Bastian called in Vale’s mind, a drowsy plea as if he had been asleep,Vale? Is she okay? Do you have her?
Yes,Vale thought back, knowing that Bastian would tell the others.I have her.
As Luella held the towel, Vale spied the glimmer of the bracelet on her wrist, and he couldn’t stop staring.
Go to her. She needs us,hissed the dragon.
Vale walked closer. "What happened? If it is not your body that is hurt, is it your mind?"
Behind her, the small wooden tub of the bath, bubbling and popping—the source of the steam. She turned to stare at it, more fear lancing down their bond.
"I tried to t-take a b-bath. Alone. And I couldn’t. Icannot?—"
Her eyes were red with held-back tears.
A deafening boom of thunder resounded; she didn’t even flinch.
