Storm and Fury

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  It would draw them, and that knowledge triggered the thing that rested deep inside me, a power that I’d been taught since birth to keep under control, to keep hidden until the time my father unleashed it—unleashed me.

  “No,” I whispered, even though it was pointless. It was triggered, and there was no stopping it.

  Heat flared in my chest, the power and the warmth of a thousand suns. It rushed through my veins like a storm and heated lightning.

  My grace rose to the surface, took over even as I fought it, even as I tried to think of winter, of cold mornings and icy rain. It was no use.

  I felt it.

  Heat rippled down my arm and white light filled the corners of my eyes. “You should run.”

  The Warden didn’t listen.

  White fire erupted from my arm and exploded from my hand, shooting out in a spitting flame as my fingers curled around the heated handle already forming against my palm. The weight of the sword was heavy, inherently familiar even though I’d called upon it only once before. Fire flared from the razor-sharp edges as the very air crackled and hissed.

  His wings unfurled as I lifted the sword high. Flames arced as I swung it down, catching the Warden in the shoulder. A Warden’s skin was almost impenetrable. Almost. The sword cleaved into him like a hot knife sliding through butter, burning away skin and blood before it could even spill into the air, carving him in half as the righteous fire rippled through him, consuming every inch of the Warden before he could even scream.

  Within seconds, nothing was left of the Warden but a pile of ashes, lit by the spitting, burning sword. Only the half-melted mask remained.

  The grace recoiled and the sword collapsed into itself, becoming wisps of smoke and a fine dusting of golden light that evaporated in the wind.

  A thin stream of blood trickled from my nose.

  Slowly, I crouched and picked up the ruined mask. The moment my fingers touched it, the plastic fell apart, joining the dust on the ground.

  “Whoops,” I whispered, and straightened.

  Breathing heavily, I shuddered and stepped back. Blood... It was running down my left arm, dripping from the tips of my fingers, smacking onto the sidewalk.

  This was bad, so bad.

  I needed to get to Thierry, stat. This mess needed to be cleaned up before it was too late. That was the priority, more important than trying to figure out why a Warden had tried to kill me again.

  Spinning around, I took off, and I ran—ran faster than I had ever run before, and I didn’t slow down, even though every step caused the pounding in my head to feel like a drummer had taken up residency inside my skull. I didn’t slow down and give in to the darkness chasing me. If I passed out and didn’t get to Thierry, and I kept bleeding, they’d come.

  Especially if what killed Wayne was still nearby. They’d come in droves.

  I reached the edge of the wall surrounding my house, hung a right—

  I slammed into something warm and hard—something that smelled like...winter mint.

  Zayne.

  I pinwheeled backward, losing my balance.

  “What the Hell?” Zayne exclaimed, catching my arm—the wounded arm. I sucked in a sharp cry, swallowing it as the pain flared hotly. “Trinity?”

  He pulled me forward so fast there was no stopping me. I bounced off his chest and then I didn’t make it very far. He caught my other arm, steadying me. Winter mint crowded out the metallic scent of my own blood. My wild gaze landed on his face, but it was too dark back here to see him.

  “Holy crap,” I whispered, feeling nauseous. “You’re like a wall—a warm, hard wall.”

  “A warm, hard wall? Wait.” Concern filled his voice as his hands shifted on me. “You’re bleeding. Hell. You’re bleeding bad.”

  I was vaguely aware of his touch gentling as my heartbeat thrummed. “Kind of.”

  “Kind of? What happened to you?” Zayne kept ahold of one of my arms, anger joining the concern, sharpening his tone as he spoke. “Who did this to you?”

  I started to answer, but stopped myself. “I...I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No.” I swallowed down the rise of bile. God, I was going to puke. Or pass out. Maybe both. “I need to... I need to see Thierry.”

  “I think you need a doctor.” A hand touched my cheek, and there was the weird jolt again—the sense of acute awareness. I jerked back at the contact. “Sorry,” came the gruff reply. “It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

  I wasn’t sure about that.

  “Nicolai,” he called out, and my stomach sank. He wasn’t alone. Great. How were we going to explain any of this to them? “We have a problem.”

  “Not a problem,” I murmured, aware of the DC clan leader joining us.

  “What the Hell happened?” Nicolai demanded.

  “I had an accident,” I said.

  “With a chain saw?” Zayne asked. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “I’m fine.” I leaned away from his touch. My legs...felt weird. “I just need to get to the house. Matthew is... He can help me.”

  “Trinity—”

  “I need to see...” The world wobbled a little. “Whoa.”

  “Whoa what?” The hand was back on my cheek, fingers spreading and sliding down the side of my neck, through my hair. Despite the fact I felt like I might vomit, I shivered in response of the slow glide of his skin over mine. “Your head is bleeding, too.”

  It was? I shouldn’t be surprised. The Warden did try to smash my skull in. “I just need to...”

  “I don’t think she’s doing well,” Nicolai said, voice urgent.

  Zayne stepped into me, and the warmth of his body was luring. The weird feeling in my legs increased, and whatever light I could see blinked out. I thought he shouted my name.

  The next thing I knew I wasn’t on my feet anymore. I was... I was being carried. My cheek was resting against a chest—against Zayne’s chest.

  Oh, what the Hell?

  “Put me down,” I said, trying to lift my head, but it felt funny. Like it weighed a ton.

  “Oh, I’m not putting you down.” His steps were long and quick. “You just passed out and I really don’t want to have to catch you again.”

  Confusion swamped me. “I...I didn’t pass out.”

  “You really going to argue with me when you just dropped like a sack of potatoes?”

  Sack of potatoes? That was...flattering. “I’ve never passed out in my entire life.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

  I tried to see where we were, but there weren’t enough lights. “Where are we? Where’s Nicolai?”

  “He went ahead to get Thierry. I have no idea where a hospital is in this place. If I did, that’s where your ass would be.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to not think about the fact that I was being carried by Zayne, who wasn’t just the most attractive guy I’d ever seen but also—

  “You...smell.”

  “What?” I gasped through gritted teeth as my eyes flew open. We were under lights now—floodlights—and Zayne was staring down at me as he strode forward. “I’m bleeding to death and you’re taking the time to tell me I smell?”

  “I thought you were fine?” he said.

  “I don’t... I don’t smell.”

  “You do.” He sounded confused. “You smell like...ice cream.”

  I blinked, thinking the blow to my head had messed up my hearing. “What?”

  “You do.” A short, unsure laugh shook Zayne. “I didn’t even know it had a smell, but it does. Vanilla and sugar,” he went on, and I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.

  “I do not smell like ice cream,” I grumbled. “And put me—”

  “Trinity!” Thierry roared my name so loudly I was sure
the heavens heard him, and then he was there, beside us. He touched my cheek. “Dear God, bring her inside now.”

  Zayne didn’t need to be told twice. He climbed the steps and we went through the open door, into the well-lit house. I caught a brief glimpse of Matthew. He was rushing forward with his bag of hopefully really, really strong meds.

  “Was it Clay?” Thierry asked.

  Zayne tensed. “Who in the Hell is Clay?”

  My heart jumped in my chest. Would he have done this because of me kicking him through a window? I thought about what he’d said at the pit. One of these days. That was kind of a warning.

  “I...I don’t know.” I wasn’t sure how much I could answer in front of Zayne, and I had no idea where Nicolai was. “I didn’t see who it was, but he’s not...” I trailed off, meeting Thierry’s stare, willing him to understand what I couldn’t say.

  There was a slight widening of his eyes, and I knew Thierry understood. “Oh, Trinity,” he whispered. “Where did this happen?”

  I told him where and then whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “What did I tell you before?” he said, touching my brow.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. “You’ve told me a lot.”

  Thierry’s chuckle was hoarse. “I’ll ask you again later, the next time you apologize for what you cannot help.”

  Then Matthew was there, edging Thierry aside. His gaze roamed over me, lingering on the arm smushed against Zayne’s chest. “What have you gotten yourself into this time, Trin?”

  “A little trouble.”

  The corners of Matthew’s lips curved. “A little trouble just finds you, doesn’t it?”

  “Always,” I whispered.

  “You can help her?” Zayne interrupted, and my gaze shifted to him. I looked up and I couldn’t... I couldn’t look away. He was staring down at me, the strong line of his jaw hard. “Because I really think she’s bleeding to death all over me.”

  I started to frown. He didn’t need to sound so...put out about it. “I didn’t make you pick me up.”

  “Should I have just left you out there, lying on the ground?”

  “Yeah,” I said defiantly. “And I wasn’t lying on the ground. You nearly knocked me over.”

  “You ran into me.”

  “Because you were hiding behind a wall!”

  “Now, you know I’m not the one who hides behind things.” Zayne’s striking face was perplexed. “So, you’d prefer me to have left you there?”

  “It beats you bitching about me bleeding on you.”

  “You’re so...annoying.”

  I glared back at him. “I hope I stained your clothes.”

  His lips twitched as the cool eyes warmed. “Confident that’s been accomplished.”

  “Perfect,” I muttered.

  “Well, I can see she’s not at death’s door if she’s arguing. Bring her into the kitchen,” Matthew ordered. “Easier to clean up in there.”

  Zayne followed Matthew down the hall, and I still... I was still staring up at him. And he was... He was still staring back down at me. I had no idea how he didn’t walk into a wall or anything.

  “Where’s Misha?” Thierry demanded from somewhere behind Zayne.

  Zayne blinked and his gaze shifted up.

  “He’s...he’s busy,” I said.

  “That’s unacceptable.” Thierry stormed ahead.

  I finally dragged my gaze away from Zayne. “It’s not his fault—”

  “He’s supposed to be with you,” Thierry roared, causing me to jerk. “He has one job.” He slashed his hand through the air. “One! That is all.”

  Zayne’s arms tightened. “Maybe take it down a notch?”

  The Duke’s head swiveled toward him. “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t think yelling is helping Trinity right now.” Zayne held the Duke’s disbelieving stare, and I decided in that moment that he wasn’t as irritating as I’d formerly thought. “You have her flopping around like a dying fish.”

  Okay. He was still freaking irritating.

  Matthew was suddenly in my line of vision, shoving two chairs out of the way. “Zayne’s right, Thierry. There’s time for yelling later. Place her down here.”

  “On the floor?” Zayne hesitated. “A bed or at least a couch would be more comfortable.”

  “It would be, but I need her on the floor,” Matthew reasoned. “Now.”

  “It’s okay. The floor is fine,” I said, my eyes glued to the medical bag on the chair.

  For a moment I thought Zayne wasn’t going to listen, but then he was kneeling. He carefully placed me on what felt like a blanket. I expected him to back off at that point, but he didn’t. Surprise flickered through me as he stayed kneeling at my side.

  “Okay. I’m going to try not to hurt you, Trin,” Matthew said, but I was back to staring at Zayne’s face again. “I just need to check out your arm and then...?”

  “Her head,” Zayne answered for me, and then I was falling into those pale blue eyes. There were fathomless, and they...they suddenly reminded me of someone else’s eyes. I couldn’t quite grasp whose, but I realized I’d seen eyes like his before. Or it was blood loss making me think that. “Her head is bleeding and so is her nose.”

  “Thank you.” Matthew’s fingers were gentle and quick, peeling away the ruined sleeve. “Oh, hon. This is going to need stitches.”

  Zayne’s gaze lifted mine. “God. She’s been... She’s been clawed.” A muscle popped along his jaw as he looked up to where Thierry stood by my head. “Why would she have been clawed here?”

  “Call Misha,” Thierry ordered to someone I couldn’t see. “Find out what in the Hell he’s so busy doing. I need someone to find Clay and make sure he’s still...here. And get a team out there, by the park, to clean up the blood now.”

  “Clay?” Zayne demanded again, his gaze narrowing on mine. “Was he that Warden at the Pit giving you a hard time?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “If it was him, he’s no longer anyone’s concern,” Matthew commented quietly.

  Zayne didn’t respond to that, because I think he knew what that meant. If it had been Clay, he was deader than dead. Matthew slipped his fingers under my head and felt around. I winced and squeezed my eyes shut as pain flared.

  Thierry ordered, “And you. I need your clothes now.”

  “What?” Zayne exclaimed.

  “I really don’t want to repeat myself. I need the clothes off you now. They must be destroyed.”

  Oh, wow. I opened my eyes, because if he was going to disrobe, I was going to be just like Peanut. No shame. If I died from blood loss, at least I’d die getting to look at whatever was underneath that shirt.

  I was a horrible person.

  “Why do my clothes need to be destroyed?” Zayne asked.

  “Do as he said,” Nicolai interrupted, and wow, I’d forgotten he was here to witness all of this. “I’m sure he’ll provide you with something to wear and some answers.”

  I didn’t think they were going to get the answers they sought.

  “I don’t feel anything too concerning in your injuries, but I’m going to need to stitch this arm.” Matthew eased my head back down and reached for his bag. “I’m going to give you something that will knock you out, all right? You don’t need to be awake for this.”

  “Okay.” I stared at Zayne, because I really didn’t want to see that needle. Not at all. “I don’t like needles.”

  Zayne’s hands were resting on his knees and they were tinged in red—covered with my blood. “I don’t think most people do.”

  I swallowed as Matthew’s fingers brushed over the center of my arm. “You seem like someone who likes needles.”

  “Because I’m a pain in the ass?”

  My laugh ended in a sharp gasp as the needle stung my arm
. “You said it. Not me.”

  One side of his lips kicked up. “You doing okay?”

  “Yeah.” I blinked slowly, feeling the buzzing warmth travel up the back of my neck and splash over my skull. “Are you?”

  The other side of those lips tipped. “Yeah.”

  “That’s good, because if you pass out, you might fall on me,” I said. “And you look really heavy.”

  “I am really heavy.” His gaze flicked to Matthew and then his gaze came back to mine and held it just as I’d started to look to see what Matthew was doing with that needle. “You want to hear something strange?”

  I swallowed as I felt the warmth flood my chest. “Sure.”

  Zayne leaned in, and when he spoke, his voice was so low. “I feel like...like we’ve met before,” he said, and I vaguely became aware of Matthew’s fingers stilling. “I felt that way the first time we spoke, but we haven’t. I would’ve remembered.”

  My heart rate sluggishly picked up, because I... I’d felt that way, too. “Same,” I murmured. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” he replied.

  “Thierry,” Matthew said in a hushed whisper, but I didn’t hear what he said, if he said anything else. The last thing I saw was those pale blue eyes, and then I saw nothing at all.

  11

  When I opened my eyes again, Peanut’s transparent face was right above mine.

  “I thought you were dead,” he said.

  Gasping, I shrank back into bed, away from Peanut. “Oh my God, don’t ever do that again.”

  His head tilted. “Do what?”

  “That!” I shrieked. “Hover over me while I sleep.”

  “I do it all the time.”

  My eyes widened. “What?”

  “Sorry. Forget I said that.” He drifted to the side, somewhere out of the line of my vision. “Glad you’re not dead.”

  “Me, too.” Mouth and throat incredibly dry, I sat up and looked around. I was in my bedroom and the bedside lamp was on, casting a soft glow into the darkness. Above me, the stars on the ceiling were gleaming. “Do you really do that while I sleep?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  I thought about that. “No.”