Let the Storm Break

by Shannon Messenger

  I want my strong, stubborn dream girl back, even if she’d attack me with questions—and probably a few wind tricks—long before she’d ever seduce me.

  But that girl suddenly feels very far away.

  Too far away. Like my consciousness has been dragged under by whatever wind Raiden sent, and no matter how much I beg my mind to wake up from this sick, twisted nightmare, I can’t find the way out.

  I can’t move.

  Can’t breathe.

  Audra crawls back to me, whispering that everything will be okay. She kisses my neck, my chin, my lips.

  I want it to be real so badly.

  Maybe if I just pretend . . .

  A wicked pain rips through my finger and yanks me back to reality.

  I peel open my eyes and find a panicked Gus leaning over me, my pinkie smashed between his teeth.

  “You bit me?”

  He unclenches his jaw and I stare at the jagged line of punctures in my skin.

  “I tried everything else. I even punched you in the stomach. Biting was all I had left.”

  I’m betting there was still a better option than chewing on my hand, but who knows? I can feel the sore spot on my stomach where he must’ve hit me—and I didn’t feel a thing. Raiden had me pretty good that time.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  Gus rolls his eyes. “You really didn’t know I followed you? What kind of guardian do you think I am?”

  I sigh, trying to figure out how I’m going to explain this mess to the Gales. But I guess it’s a good thing Gus isn’t as crappy at his job as I thought.

  CHAPTER 4

  AUDRA

  Panic stabs my heart, so sharp it knocks me out of the sky.

  Red and black rims my vision, making it impossible to see which way is up or down. I call the nearest draft to catch me, shivering as the warm Southerly stops my fall.

  I’ve never experienced this kind of pain before. A tempest deep in my core, growing stronger with every breath. It only rages harder when I realize what it means.

  Vane’s in danger.

  Mortal danger.

  The word makes me tremble, and I order the wind to change direction, letting our bond point the way. The path to Vane is laced through my heart—but the connection feels so faint.

  Too faint.

  Getting weaker every second.

  If something happens while I’m gone I’ll never forgive myself—I’ll never recover—I’ll never . . .

  The thought has no end.

  There will be nothing without Vane.

  I call every nearby draft, commanding them to swell into a torrent. But I know it won’t be enough.

  I close my eyes and search for a Westerly.

  There are none within my reach, so I shout the call, not caring if it gives away my location. Still, it feels wrong branding the wind so boldly.

  A tranquil breeze sweeps in from the west and I coil it around the others, struggling to decide which command to use. Combining drafts is a game of words—coaxing them to cooperate or daring them to rebel. I’ve practiced with the other winds for most of my life, but the Westerly tongue is new. A secret power I stole from Vane with our kiss. One I’ve barely begun to master.

  “Come on,” I whisper, sending the plea to the sky. “Tell me what to do.”

  All I hear is the pulse in my veins.

  Tears streak down my cheeks and Vane’s face fills my mind. I can picture every curve, every line. The perfect blue of his eyes and the dark brown of his warm, earthy hair.

  But it’s a thin shadow of the reality.

  I can’t let this memory be all I have left.

  “Please,” I whisper, feeling the word sweep off my lips in the Westerly language. “Please help me.”

  The words are a breathy sigh mixed with a soft hiss, and the harder I concentrate on them, the more a cool rush builds in my mind, twisting and spinning until it shapes into a word.

  “Unite,” I whisper, and all the winds tangle into a bubble around me. “Soar.”

  The stars blur to streaks as I rush forward, and I tell myself that the power of four will help me reach him in time. But his trace still feels so distant.

  Why did I run so far away?

  I’m not sure where I am, but I know I’ve been flying north for weeks. Even with my frenzied speed, it’ll be hours before I reach him.

  All I can do is hope and fly.

  But after a few minutes the pain in my heart drains, leaving me cold and empty. The shock breaks my concentration and the winds carrying me unravel.

  Vane’s not . . .

  I can’t even think the word.

  The searing pull of our bond returns, jolting my heart back to a rhythm and helping me regain enough control to grab an Easterly. But I’ve fallen too far and there isn’t enough time to stop myself from crashing into cold, churning water.

  Dark waves swell around me, nearly splattering me against four columns of rock that jut from the ocean near the shore. I steer myself away, struggling to keep my head above the water as the next wave washes me to the rocky sand. My body shivers as I gasp for breath, but I can’t feel the cold.

  I’m numb.

  Empty.

  But my mind echoes with the only thought that matters.

  He’s alive.

  Is he safe, though?

  I can’t tell.

  His trace feels steady but weak.

  I try to get up, but my insides writhe and I roll to my knees, choking and gagging up the water I swallowed in the ocean. Sour bile coats my tongue and I spit it into the retreating waves until there’s nothing left. Still, I continue to heave, like my body is trying to purge all the dark, sickening truths I’ve been trying to deny.

  I swore an oath to protect Vane.

  Swore to train him and fight with him and ready him to be our king.

  Bonding myself to him should’ve made me more willing to uphold that promise.

  And yet, here I am, alone on a cold, empty beach, far away from him when he needed me most.

  I’m shaking so hard I barely manage to crawl out of the waves before my knees give out, leaving me facedown in the smooth, round rocks covering the beach.

  The sharp ocean breezes nip at my tear-stained cheeks and I open my mind to their songs.

  One is an Easterly—the winds of my heritage—singing the melody I used to search for, beg for, cling to with everything I had. A gentle song about carrying on despite the turbulence all around.

  For years I’ve wondered if the draft is some small part of my father. A hint of his presence that stayed behind to guide me, keep me fighting his battles for him. But since I learned my mother’s secrets, I’ve been hoping he’s really gone.

  He loved my mother more than life. More than air. If he knew the truth—knew she sold our lives and the Westons’ for a wasted chance at freedom—it would destroy him.

  “Go,” I whisper as the breeze dries my tears. “Don’t waste your time on me.”

  The wind tangles tighter, lifting my head and forcing me to open my eyes and see that I’m not alone.

  A white dove watches me from her roost on a piece of driftwood, her black eyes glittering in the moonlight. She coos as I sit up, begging me to reach for her. And for the first time in weeks, I do.

  She hops onto my finger and nuzzles her beak against my thumb and I realize that I know this dove. She’s one of my mother’s messengers—the loyal birds who perched on her roof, waiting to carry her updates to the Gales.

  She’s been following me since I left, and as I stroke her silky feathers, I feel her need—her craving for shelter now that my mother left her alone. It’s one of my gifts. Part of what I’ve been fighting, trying to resist the talent my mother and I shared.

  But as I stare at this fragile creature, I realize how precious that connection is. How much I’ve missed it.

  She flutters to my shoulder, bending her slender neck to peck at my necklace.

  I left behind the jacket from my
uniform, but I never removed the guardian pendant the Gales gave me. The cord is vivid blue, flowing with the life I breathed into it when it became mine.

  My hand clutches the silver feather pendant, and somehow touching the cool, smooth metal gives me the courage to accept the truth.

  “It’s time to go home,” I whisper, hoping I haven’t destroyed everything that matters by leaving.

  The pull of my bond feels sharper than ever, so I have to believe Vane’s still safe. And soon enough I’ll be back to do my job.

  The dove flaps her wings and takes to the sky, circling above me as I stand and dust off my sandy clothes. I reach for my hair and smooth it back, hesitating only a second before I divide it into five equal sections and weave them into a tight, intricate braid.

  The style of a guardian.

  I am a guardian.

  And I’ll never let myself forget it again.

  CHAPTER 5

  VANE

  I must’ve looked pretty bad when Gus brought me home, because my mom flipped.

  I barely had a chance to explain what happened—minus all the ultra-embarrassing stuff, of course—before she ordered me to my room and spent the next hour bandaging my Gus-bite and forcing me to choke down giant glasses of blended vegetables.

  My mom’s been on a juice kick ever since she found out I’m a sylph, like she’s convinced she can turn me human again if she just gives me enough liquefied celery. It sorta makes me wish I had to give up eating and drinking, but the Gales think I’m too weak to handle that kind of sacrifice right now. Plus, now that we know Raiden can destroy the wind with only a few words, shifting into our wind form is really not the best battle strategy. So brownish-green sludge every morning it is!

  Honestly, though, my mom’s been strangely cool about the whole my-adopted-son-is-an-air-elemental thing. She didn’t scream or run away when I told her—even when I showed her how the wind obeys all my weird, hissy words. And my dad just clapped me on the back and told me to remember that this kind of power comes with extra responsibility, like he expected me to put on spandex and start calling myself Windman!

  I’m surprised he didn’t buy me a cape.

  Fang was the one who freaked out about them knowing. But I don’t care if the Gales have a code of secrecy. They’re my family. I may not look like them—and I may not even be the same species. But they’re the only parents I’ve ever really known, and I wasn’t going to lie to them.

  Besides, how was I supposed to explain why I was suddenly surrounded by a bunch of guys with long, braided hair and black soldier uniforms? And no way was I moving to the Gales’ new base a couple of miles away. Raiden knows where I live. My family needs just as much protection as I do. Maybe more, since they can’t exactly defend themselves against wind warriors.

  A cool breeze slips through my window and I know it’s a Westerly before I even listen to its song. I swear they come to find me, and I always keep my window open for them—even if it lets out all the AC and makes my bedroom feel like an oven. I need to have the wind around. It makes my heritage feel real, and like maybe the tangled-up, scattered memories of my past will unravel someday and actually make sense.

  Plus, I always want Audra to have a way to reach me.

  I close my eyes and let the soft whispers float around me, promising myself I will not fall asleep. But it’s hard. I’ve reached that point of exhaustion where everything actually aches. If I could just nap for ten minutes—even five—I would take it.

  “You up for a visitor, Vane?” my mom asks.

  I yank my eyes open as she leans through my doorway. “Uh, sure.”

  I’m assuming it must be Fang, come to rip me a new one. But when my mom steps aside, a Gale I’ve never seen before strides into my room.

  On the left side of his face, part of his long, dark hair is twisted into a braid that’s tucked behind his ear. The rest hangs loose—a style worn only by Gale Force leaders.

  Ruh-roh.

  He clears his throat and stares at my mom, waiting for her to leave. I watch her jaw lock, and I know she’s about to remind him that this is her house. But I give her my best please don’t embarrass me in front of my army look and she caves, promising to be back in a few minutes with my breakfast.

  When her footsteps have retreated down the hall, the Gale leader steps forward. He has two red scars on his cheek that cross like a T, and they stretch as he gives me a thin smile. “It’s nice to finally meet the king.”

  I fidget when he bows. “Um, you can just call me Vane.”

  “As you wish.”

  He stares at my wrinkled Batman T-shirt, looking less than impressed. But he can glare all he wants, I’m not wearing their stupid uniform.

  “And you are . . . ?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.

  “Captain Osmund—though you can call me Os. I’m the captain of the Gales.”

  Double ruh-roh.

  “I’ve been away at our Riverspan Base for the last few weeks, trying to help them hold off a band of Stormers who’ve been especially aggressive. But when I got wind of last night’s incident, well . . .” He shakes his head. “Guardian Gusty already—”

  “Wait—hang on. Gus is short for Gusty?”

  I laugh when he nods.

  “Anyway,” Os says, clearly not as amused by this as I am. “Guardian Gusty already briefed me on what he witnessed. But I’m hoping you can shed some further light on the attack.”

  It’s strange to think of it as an attack, but I guess that’s what it was.

  “There’s not really much to tell,” I mumble. “I went to the mountains to get some fresh air and I’ve been so tired from not sleeping that I guess I dozed off and Raiden’s creepy wind found me.”

  “Gusty told me you go up there a few times a week. He assumed you were searching for someone.” He raises the brow on the scarred side of his face.

  I shrug, trying to stay calm as I search for a believable lie. “Fine. If you really want to know, I go up there to check on my friend. I like to make sure he’s still safe, and I didn’t want the Gales to know because they’ve asked me to stay away from him.”

  Told me is more like it, but I’m trying not to sound bitter.

  I know they’re right that being around me puts Isaac in danger—but it hasn’t been fun cutting off my best friend. He bought my excuses for a few days, but eventually he figured out something was up. And when I wouldn’t—couldn’t—tell him the truth, he stopped calling.

  I haven’t talked to him in almost two weeks.

  Os doesn’t look as satisfied with my explanation as I’d like. But all he says is “What did Raiden’s wind do to you?”

  I really don’t want to relive any of it, but Os insists. So I rush through a few details.

  “A girl,” he interrupts. “You didn’t know who she was?”

  “No.”

  It’s not even a lie. That girl was not Audra.

  “And what did the girl do?”

  I feel my face get hot as my mind fills with the memory of not-Audra lying on top of me.

  Os must notice my blush because he says, “Oh.” Several seconds of awkward silence pass before he quietly asks, “Is this why you canceled your betroth—”

  “No.”

  I give him my I don’t want to talk about this glare and he falls silent. But just when I think he’s dropped it he adds, “If you’re experiencing urges—”

  “Dude—we are so not doing this.”

  I barely survived my parents’ you’re-becoming-a-man-and-your-body-is-changing talk when I was a kid. I’m not going through it again—especially with someone named Os.

  He clears his throat. “Fine. But it sounds like Raiden has found a way to lure you deep into your consciousness with your desires. That will be a much harder trick to resist.”

  He doesn’t have to tell me. I know better than anyone how close it came to working. “But why would he want to do that? Doesn’t he need me conscious if I’m going to teach him what he wants
?”

  “I’m sure he has a way to release you. But you’ll be much easier to catch if you can’t use the power of four to defend yourself. And there’s no telling if we’ll be able to pull you back if this happens again.”

  I stare at my bandaged pinkie, trying not to think about how desperate Gus must’ve been to bite me. “So, what’s the plan?”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth I realize what I just walked into.

  “I’m not teaching anyone Westerly,” I jump in before Os can ask. “And it won’t help anyway. I’ve already tried every command I can think of.”

  “Yes, but those of us with more knowledge of the other winds will be able to think of things that you can’t.”

  “Not an option.”

  And somehow I doubt that. I’ve been practicing with Westerlies a lot, and it’s amazing the things they’ll let me do. But this trick is beyond them. They’re too trusting and agreeable to block another wind—which I know sounds crazy, but it’s true. Westerlies like to get along with the other drafts, and that makes it kind of hard when the other drafts are evil.

  Os puts a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, Vane, I know you want to protect your heritage, but if you would just listen to reason—”

  “No, if you guys would just listen to me. Aren’t people supposed to listen to their king?” I ask, shaking his hand away. “Do I need to start threatening beheadings or something?”

  It feels weird playing the royalty card, but I’m so tired of this fight.

  I’m tired of everything.

  I’m just tired.

  Os sighs. “If that is truly your decision, then I can only think of one other option.”

  “Okay . . . ?” I prompt when he doesn’t say anything.

  He sighs again, this time letting it rock his shoulders as he reaches up and plays with the ends of his braid. “It’s something I’d prefer to keep secret. But it’s the only place the wind can’t reach and the only place I can think of where you might be able to sleep.”

  I yawn so wide it feels like my face is stretching. “Sleep sounds good—I vote for that.”

  “You might not be so eager if you knew where you’ll be going. It’s a place I created for a much darker purpose.”