Chapter 23 Endless Sea
ENDLESS SEA
LUELLA
Days passed in a haze of salt air and desire. Tension surrounded Luella like the water that carried them on.
Surely, there must be a breaking point? Luella thought, time and time again, pacing below deck. She couldn’t handle being out in the open, staring at the vast sea, faced with the reality of what surrounded them.
She had not been with anyone since that day with Az in the bath; she was abashed and desperate, held back by her upbringing and forbidden urges.
So, she kept it all concealed, covered by the sadness that clung to her like the salt-tinged air and rusted hinges of the door to her tiny cabin with the swinging hammock, creaking every time she pushed it open, heart in her throat. Who would be on the other side?
Some nights, it was Az. Her demon would be lying on the hammock, water glistening on his bare chest. He would hold out an arm, and she’d nestle against him, his hands always careful of her wings, which no longer ached.
She still wore her bandages; though, Tharen said she no longer needed them. Maybe habit, or Graves’s words about flying—binding herself to delay the inevitable fall.
That night with him, it haunted her, but it was a haunting she welcomed with shaking arms.
On the rare occasions she had her cabin to herself—the hammock swaying softly, water lapping against the side of the ship—she stared at the slats in the wooden ceiling, recalling how it felt to be pressed against those nets.
The sea had roared beneath her with ferocity, dark and depthless.
Graves had utterly distracted her until she forgot about the consuming fear of being suspended over the ocean.
Luella knew fear well and was coming to know of desire. But nothing could have prepared her for their union…
She was adrift in want, tethered only by the presence of the males she shared the sea with. Desire rocked through her like the tide, like the wind—inescapable.
Some nights, when Az helped above deck, she would find Bastian in her cabin but never alone. The vampire was always with company. Sometimes Tharen, mostly Graves, and never Vale.
The dragon shifter King stayed far, far away from Luella, but she felt his eyes on her, felt the weight of their thread, tugging at her where it was wrapped around every bit of her body, her heart, her soul.
True to his word, the King wanted to possess all of her, and she felt that consuming possession in her every waking moment.
Her nights were plagued by hazy nightmares, kept alive by the dream amulet. Tharen’s gift—a curse. But she no longer dreamt of the King’s half-brother, Caliban, and his human lover, Enora.
Those two haunted her, as well, but she often wondered why her dreams of their past had stopped. Was it because of her wings? Or something more…
Sometimes, when she was truly alone, below deck, trapped by the wooden walls, she recalled her time in the Temples, flashes of pain-soaked pleasure.
The stardust, curling around her fingertips, drifting over her body, how Tharen’s touches had chased it across her flesh.
And that made her remember another time she had seen the stardust, and the pieces clicked in her mind, an assumption she was sure had truth, but never voiced to anyone else, not even Az.
The stardust had taken the dreams from her.
Luella was certain of it.
Just as it had once gifted her the memory of her Vincire—called to the Fate’s lair in the Silva Noctis.
That memory had been soaked in darkness and youthful rage, a fragment offered to her in the unmoving sleep of her coma, forced by a dagger coated in poisoned blood.
And the dreams of the Tenebrae had felt the same.
The stardust—a piece of the Lux, the Tenebrae’s opposite—seemed to be showing her something. But what?
Why?
That was one answer that danced away from her. Though, things were growing clearer to her with every passing day, imprisoned on this ship as they sailed for the Fallen Isles. There was nothing to do but talk, and the answers she sought were gifted from the males she was tethered to.
Luella could not help but feel like all the secrets hadn’t been revealed.
"Now, move your arms," Tharen told her.
Luella did, feeling only the slightest bit of resistance at her back.
"Good. You’ve healed well. Your body was made for the wings. They suit you," the Prima said darkly.
His words stirred a distant memory…
It had been four days since Graves had forced her upon the netting and kissed her dizzy. Tharen finally demanded she remove her bandages, stripping away her last control, warning of complications if kept too long.
Below deck, the rattling air outside made her breath catch.
Tharen’s icy eyes fell to her, as she quickly tugged down her billowy blouse to cover the pale expanse of her stomach. He checked her bandages daily, rousing her in stolen moments at dawn or midnight.
She sat cross-legged on a small patch of blankets piled on the floor, Ven curled by her thigh. The Prima’s wolves were absent—relief given against the memory of their bloodied snarls.
Tharen packed away his supplies as he said, "I’ll still check you daily." His voice was soft, the anger tempered when he spoke to her, as if afraid to break her. "Just to be safe."
"Okay," she replied. Her wings shuddered, nerves prickling at the sudden chill that stroked the feathers like invisible hands.
The door opened, and they both looked up toward it.
Graves entered, without his hood or cowl. The laces on his dark shirt were loose, water dripping down his chest from the mist that had befallen them since yesterday morning as they sailed further into the endless sea.
Graves leaned against the door, eyes drawn to her wings as always. "You must uphold what you agreed to."
Luella swallowed. "You would like me to come… now?"
"You should know the basics before we reach the Isles," Graves answered, holding out a hand. "Come with me."
She stood unsteadily, proving his point.
Tharen’s hands hovered near her hips. "I’ll walk with you."
They guided her down the swaying halls where flickering flames danced with the ship’s tilt.
"How do the flames not catch the wood?" Her curious tone echoed in the narrow halls.
Behind her, Tharen spoke. "Enchanted. By me."
Another piece of the Prima’s power—he commanded the ship effortlessly. She had seen but brief glimpses, enough to begrudgingly respect his mastery, but would never speak of this to him. He was prideful enough.
They walked up the steep stairs that led above deck, Graves leading the way, with Tharen close behind her, his hands skimming over her calves as he gently pushed her up the steps, keeping her steady when she almost toppled back.
She gripped the top rung and poked her head out, wind and mist chilling her instantly.
It was still not as freezing as it had been in Serpentis.
The air was thick with humidity, making her white curls turn frizzy in an instant.
Graves crouched to help her up, gripping her forearm and wrist. She stood, Tharen looming behind her.
The sea churned beneath a lonesome, unfurled blanket of white clouds, covering every speck of the late morning sun. A part of her felt empty without the sun’s presence—when had she seen it last? She grew cold without its warmth.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, she allowed herself to be led to a small open space in the center of the main deck.
Vale stood at the quarterdeck, the misted air turning his golden locks into a dark, wet mess.
When not steering, Vale stayed below deck…
with her. Always watching, sometimes dozing, a half-eaten bowl of hard crackers and dried strips of fish in front of him, before waking with a start.
Currently, Bastian was resting below deck, while Az worked tirelessly with the ropes and sails, bare-chested as his muscles rippled with strength as he tugged the ropes and tied them off, pulling them at Vale’s direction.
She exhaled lowly, a sound the wind seemed to echo.
"I want you to look at me," Graves said, stealing her attention from her perusal of the deck.
Luella met his eyes. "This is a useless endeavor. I cannot fly."
She felt Vale’s attention, prickling at her nape.
"Because you haven’t tried," Graves advocated, backing away from her until he stood near a pole, while Tharen leaned against a barrel, arms crossed and jaw clenched.
"The first step to flight is not flying.
It is merely walking. You must relearn everything you know.
When we arrive at"—Graves’s eyes narrowed as he quickly looked away, as if to gather himself, before he turned back to her—"the Fallen Isles, you cannot appear weak.
The Fallen prey on weakness, especially that of an angel. "
His knowledge spanned centuries, yet his words hinted at personal experience.
"I can w-walk." She stumbled over her words when her wandering eyes found Tharen’s.
Graves arched a dark brow. "Walk to me."
She suppressed a sigh. He had returned to his reticent manner. No longer the free-speaking male she had encountered on the deck that night, when he had tasted her lips and touched her breast.
Luella’s fingernails scratched against the wood behind her. She hadn’t realized, but this whole time, she had been supporting herself against a post. Her legs trembled as she left its safety, wind ruffling her wings and catching in her blouse.
Each step forward felt like surrender.
She gasped on a rough intake of air as the wind surged, a punishing push that sent her crashing to her knees, thudding harshly against the wood. She was caught between storm and shame.
Her white hair hung in her face, obscuring her vision until Graves’s boots appeared in her line of sight. She looked up to him, feeling naive.