A Whisper of Air (Moon Song #3)

Chapter 1 Violent Like a Storm and Fierce Like the Ocean

VIOLENT LIKE A STORM AND FIERCE LIKE THE OCEAN

LUELLA

Air roared around Luella Eritrais, more than a mere whisper. It knocked on the stone walls of the castle with entreating force, unable to be ignored.

A nightmare. One wrought by her mind, by her will.

She had been forced to shove it all down—all the ways she’d been walked on, used, abused. A pawn moved about the board at the King’s whim. Spanning even beyond that.

The skeletal hands of Fate plucked at the threads of her destiny like a harp. One finger tugging at the string, and she moved, dancing like a puppet. Another, twisting and creating a beautifully haunting melody. And Luella was forced to answer the call.

She was a vessel. A tool. Crafted to be used at the behest of others.

And she had shoved it all down, locked it all away. But locking it away did not mean it was gone, merely hidden from sight. Now it was here. Her reckoning. Vengeance.

A tempest had come, formed by her power, alone. Even if she had not wanted this, there was no way she could stop it now.

Even when she cried and pleaded, clinging to the hands that kept her down, protected her.

"Please—please—I can’t stop it. Tharen, Vale—" She tripped and stumbled over her words, desperate for anyone to quell the power that seeped out of her, flowing from within her very soul. She felt as it swept outward, torn from inside her without her permission.

It ached. It burned. It felt wondrous.

She exhaled, and wind whipped around them all. Drew in a ragged breath, and it turned to a raging crescendo of whirls, ripping the blue-tinged curtains down from their hooks and lifting hastily discarded clothes where they had been thrown over the backs of chairs.

The shattered skylight above let in a deluge of rain.

From how she lay on the ground, under Tharen, water soaked her back, dampening the glamored bandages wrapped tightly around her midsection.

The mass of aches centered around her spine only built up the feelings within her—the well of rightful anger flowed out more swiftly, seeking vengeance on her behalf.

She felt the water’s coldness against the sensitive tips of her feathers, and it made her shake.

Luella wanted them to pay.

But she didn’t. No, no, no, she didn’t.

"I didn’t mean to," she sobbed, unhearing, unfeeling.

No, that wasn’t true.

She did hear. She did feel.

Heard too much. The raging force of her storm. Wind battered against the stone walls of the castle, making them feel far too fragile. Like a castle crafted of sand, one harsh gust and it would topple into nothing.

Felt too much. Pain—the sore, aching mess of her body.

Pushed to her limits in the arduous journey to the Temples of Aedis.

She hadn’t even had time to recover from the trek on foot before she had been forcibly tied to a pillar of stone, deep within the Temples, and spent a night with Vale’s dragon.

Her feet were blistered. The spot where her wings had ripped through muscle tissue and skin burned like fire.

And in the space right below her breasts, nestled above her navel, she felt the vast well of her power—a place that had once been empty and filled with darkness, now fit to burst. And it was bursting. Breaking free.

She felt the water under her. Each lap of it against her frozen skin like small shards of ice, pricking her with memories of salt in her lungs and hands on her throat.

But she did not drown. Not this time.

Tharen was above her. He had dove atop her when the enchanted chandelier had met its end. His large, calloused hands gripped her cheeks with ferocity, forcing her startled eyes to his, where they consumed her from behind the simple black of his mask, etched with swirls like snow around the edges.

"Luella, stop it! Stop this!" Tharen yelled to be heard over the storm. It was so loud that it rattled through her body and shook the watery ground, ripples splashing against her flesh.

"I can’t. Please, Tharen," Luella begged. "Make me stop. I don’t want t-to be this." She squeezed her eyes shut behind her feathered mask, undone by what she brought to Serpentis, to the very front steps of the castle.

Wind roared. The tapestries and blue fluttering curtains ripped through the throne room and smacked against the scant few unsuspecting revelers who hurried to flee to safety, somewhere away from windows, tucked deeply underground. They scrambled and screamed, and Luella wanted to follow.

Take me with you. Don’t leave me here… alone.

But she deserved this, deserved to face the consequences of her actions.

Like innocent whirls of air, a quietly wicked part of her whispered, They deserve to face this, too. To face what they have forced me to be.

"Luella, you have to listen to me." Tharen’s fingertips were bruising on her cheeks.

He all but yanked her face up. She kept her eyes closed, unable to look any longer.

His wintry breath fogged before her face, seeping into her slightly parted lips as he said, "Look at me. Open your eyes. Face this."

And she did.

"Face me," Tharen whispered, nose brushing hers intimately. "Find it inside yourself to stop this storm, Luella. Or we’ll all die." His voice was calm, but she knew it was all a show. The rigid line of his body was strong atop hers.

Vale was half-leaning over her, green eyes with slitted pupils, and smoke wafting from his mouth. Onyx scales littered the backs of his hands, glittering on the strong column of his neck. He was a wild thing.

She was bound to five males that were unable to be tamed. Was it truly so bad for her not to conform, either?

Couldn’t she be violent like a storm and fierce like the ocean?

But… she didn’t want them to die.

That was why she tried—not to save herself, but because she couldn’t bear to be the one who ended them.

Her eyelids fluttered, but Tharen tapped her cheek. "Focus on me."

The rain pounded, water filling up the throne room, growing higher with her every shaky exhale. It swept past her wings, pools of it tickling against her cheeks. She tilted her face up, desperate to keep her mouth and nose above the cold water.

Tharen urged her on, uncaring that he was drenched. "Look at me. Only me. Ground yourself. Stop this."

Luella stared deeply into his eyes. Found her pale, drenched form reflected in their icy depths.

The water rose in furious splashes against her face.

She gasped, chin rising as she scrambled upward.

The movement tugged on her aching back. Tharen’s hands were firm on her face.

"I will not let you go. I will not let you drown.

" His jaw ticked. "Never again," he added so quietly she barely heard it over the storm.

The well of power inside her was too large to cage, too violent to quell.

"I-I can’t." She let out a wet, shaky exhale. As though the very air in her lungs breathed life into the storm, the wind grew fiercer, and the stone cracked around the large thundering echoes that filled the deluged throne room with unmistakable danger.

"Vale," Tharen called, and the King himself replaced the Prima above her, gathering her up into his strong arms. Burning embers enveloped her, and she shivered, water trickling off her skin with reluctance, daring to cling to her.

Water splashed around them as Vale sat back and held her on his lap. Her shaking limbs were stiff with cold. No longer under Tharen, she was able to see the others—and the desolate destruction of the throne room, devoid of revelers.

It was only them now.

Luella and the males she was fated to be with, for better… or for worse.

Az’s brown curls were dark with water, dripping from the points of his horns; his false, white wings were drenched.

Fake feathers fell around him, his amber eyes tinged with sorrow behind his silvery white mask.

Graves had torn free his hood, deep blue eyes desperate as they flicked between the water-laden wings at her back and her white hair, plastered to her face.

He was the only one of them without a mask. Unhidden. Free.

The wind shook through the black feathers at the raven shifter’s back, and she swore, they shivered in reply.

Behind his silk-like mask, Bastian’s eyes flashed deep crimson. He ran his tongue over the sharp, deadly point of a fang, blood dripping from the tip, sliding down his chin, stark against his pale skin and black attire.

King Vale forced her face to his. His golden hair stuck to the edges of his golden mask, turning him into a gilded being. She straddled Vale’s thighs, the feathered ends of her white gown ruined. His eyes searched hers. She saw sorrow and possession in his.

Slowly, uncaring of her storm, Vale lifted her soaked, feathered mask from her eyes and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder. It fell into the pool of water with a splash.

"Princess Luella, you will look at me."

She flinched at the title—Princess.

How long had he known?

That she was…

"Focus," Vale ordered.

The Binding mark on her chest pulsed, and she stared into his eyes, unable to look away.

"You will stop this now. I demand it." The King’s voice was quiet, laced with simmering embers.

As the mark that kept her will bound to his thrummed, Luella winced.

This time, she was unable to obey.

The magic imbued into the tattoo inked right over her heart was no match for her power—for her will. She superseded him in this aspect.

Why did she want to smile?

But she didn’t, she only clung to him harder, desperate to be moored amid the raging storm. The wind was only growing in intensity, the rain falling faster, harder. It stung her skin.

Vale held her closer against him, keeping her safe as best as he was able, as he demanded she call it back: