Chapter 18 The Absence of Feeling （On Edge）
THE ABSENCE OF FEELING (ON EDGE)
GRAVES
Graves surged away from the shadows as soon as Luella dropped to the ground.
Her head nearly struck the iron bars, and Bastian ripped his fangs free from Azgorath, blood trickling down his chin, eyes flashing as he made to reach for her, but he couldn’t get her—not with the bars. A cage he had demanded.
Blood seeped from the fang marks on the demon’s forearm, dripping onto the dark wood of the floor as he grabbed Luella just in time, her head lolling to her chest, bones limp like a doll’s.
Graves’s footsteps were silent as he crossed the room. His voice, when it came, was low and emotionless.
"What did you do to her?"
The demon jolted. "Gods—where did you come from?
" His hands were firm around Luella. Gently, he lifted her to his chest, hooking her legs around his waist. Her white wings draped against her back, the tips peeking from beneath the hem of her too-large shirt and the upper edges nudging past the loose collar.
Red from the wound on his arm stained the material.
Graves’s eyes found Bastian, who strained against the bars.
"I was… around," Graves rasped, not willing to share how long he had been around. Too long, not long enough.
After he had locked Bastian away, the vampire had urged him to go ensure her safety—something he didn’t need to be told, might he add.
And from the shadows, he had watched, like he so loved to do.
The damned room the demon had chosen had no windows, no hiding places, so he had been cursed to listen only, ear pressed to the door, every little sound torn from her lips made his cock strain against his breeches.
The demon’s masculine groans mingled with her sweet sounds, and he had wanted to rip the door down and barge inside.
But Graves did not work that way.
He worked best in the shadows. In the quiet. When no one knew he was there.
As his eyes refocused on her, anger clouded his vision at the limp sight of her. Her heartbeat was a weak thump in her chest, exhaustion lancing down their drowsy bond.
They were all on edge, all running on little sleep and nearly no food.
"You couldn’t wait?" Graves asked, voice deadly and low. "You wanted to fuck her more than you wanted her to be safe." He took a step closer, chest brushing against the demon’s. "You wanted her more than you wanted her to be taken care of. Didn’t you?"
"I didn’t claim her," the demon stressed, "fully." He kept her bundled to his chest. "We all agreed not to take that step with her, but that agreement didn’t have anything to do with other things." A low smirk touched his lips; Graves wished Luella were awake so she could see how prideful he was.
Bastian, behind the bars, spat, "Take her somewhere to rest. She is exhausted. Do you both not feel it—feel her? Instead, you would rather argue. You are no worse than the one you accuse, Graves. We all are giving you mercy, but even merciful understanding has its limits."
Graves bared his teeth at the vampire, feeling undone, overwhelmed, and fucking sick of it all.
He was balancing on a thin rope, the bottom looming beneath him.
All he had to do to reclaim his balance was the one thing he feared he could never do—yet, it was being forced upon him.
From the moment he had heard Tharen utter those godsdamned words.
The Fallen Isles.
He reached up and tapped a finger over his amulet. Not to force a shift, but for security. To remind himself it was still there—his false identity… better than any cloak he could don.
It was that restless ire that made Graves shrug off his reticence and hiss to the vampire:
"You should be caged more often."
"Perhaps." Bastian’s eyes were a dull red, but Graves knew he was still shoving down the weight of his hunger. "Take her," the vampire said. "To a real bed."
"Where?" Graves asked coolly.
"Vale’s quarters," the vampire replied.
"That’s above deck."
Bastian grew silent, and in that silence, Graves felt it—the absence of furious feeling. The calmness.
"Don’t you see?" The vampire ran his tongue over a trickle of red in the corner of his mouth. "It’s calm. Quiet. Luella has passed out, and the ship no longer rocks; the wind no longer roars. Do you think it to be a coincidence?"
They all stared at her, her head fallen against the demon’s shoulder, eyes moving behind her closed lids, wings twitching every so often. Graves rolled his shoulders to dispel the ache in his own back.
"She needs the Prima," Azgorath said with visible reluctance.
Bastian dipped his chin. "Take her, and leave me here. I need some more time to gather myself."
The demon’s amber eyes took Bastian in, but the presence of the female in his arms outweighed any care he may feel for the vampire. His feet thundered as he left the brig.
Graves felt the pressing urge to follow. But he had one last thing to take care of here. "Should you know where she’ll be? Will you be tempted?"
"I will manage." Strain laced Bastian’s tone, fingers white as he gripped the bars.
Graves nodded quietly, then turned to follow after the demon and their Vincire, leaving the vampiric Advisor behind the rusted iron bars.