East of Ecstasy (Hearts of the Anemo)

by Laura Kaye

  And that pissed him the fuck off. Electricity rippled over his palms.

  “Well, human?” he asked, hating himself when she flinched at his tone, at the way he’d addressed her when he damn right and well knew her name. But he needed every kind of distance he could get from her right now. Hurt flickered over Anna’s expression, making him feel like an even bigger bastard than usual.

  “What do you want to know?” she finally asked, not quite meeting his eyes.

  “Why did you paint these?” he shot back in a hard tone, forcing his mind to return to what mattered most.

  “I don’t know,” she said in a flat voice. Was she shaking again?

  So much for not being afraid of him. No, you scared her. On purpose. There’s a difference. “You don’t know why you paint them?” he asked just as hard, releasing some of the angst crawling through him by letting the rain fall again.

  The instant the deluge began hitting the roof, Anna’s gaze cut skyward, then flickered to him. She hugged herself. “No, not really.”

  Impatience flowed through Devlin, spurred in part at the regret slithering through his gut. Watching her right now was like seeing a fully blossomed flower close up and fold in on itself—an apt analogy given that he was a god of the East, responsible for the decay and death of the autumn season. Gods, Anna’s withdrawal made him feel like he was Medusa turning someone to stone with his gaze. Devlin’s chest filled with an achy pressure. “Damnit, Anna. You must know why—”

  “Because I have no choice,” she yelled in exasperation. She threaded her fingers into her long pale hair and turned away.

  Ice-cold foreboding clawed up Devlin’s spine. He had way too much up-close-and-personal with being forced to do things against his will to not react to that. “What do you mean?”

  Anna whipped around, gesturing with her hands. “Just that. When the images come to me, it’s like they take over. I can’t think of anything else. I can’t focus or concentrate. I can’t eat or sleep. Painting is like an exorcism—I don’t get myself back until it’s out of my head and onto the canvas.” The words had poured from her so fast that she gasped for air. “And now it won’t stop. And the images…God, the images are so horrible. They leave me feeling sick and drained and weak with a grief I don’t understand.” Glassiness filled her pale eyes, but she barreled on. “So don’t come in here asking why I’m doing this. If anyone should know, it’s you. They’re your paintings, so you tell me what the hell this is all about. Because I don’t know and I want it to stop,” she yelled. A strangled cry spilled out, and Anna pressed her fingers to her lips. Her expression appeared on the verge of shattering, but as Devlin watched she muscled the emotion back. Her expression eased and she heaved a deep breath.

  Her tirade stunned Devlin. That she’d stood up to him. That she’d pushed back. That she felt so deeply and could just lay it all out in the open. For what felt like an eternity, Devlin had spent all his time boxing up his emotions and putting on an act of disinterested obedience for his father. And Eurus, gods, his father was a master of deception.

  As Devlin stood staring at this fierce, beautiful woman, realization hit him like a two-by-four to the forehead—this was the most honest conversation he’d had in eons. “I’m just as surprised as you are,” he said, working to gentle his voice. “There is only one thing I know that you don’t.”

  For a long moment, Anna’s gaze bored into him. “What’s that?” she asked in a tone still full of fight.

  “They’re not all of me. Some are of my father.”

  She frowned. “Your father? Is he a god, too?”

  A single nod. “Supreme God of the East Wind and Guardian of Autumn.” Not that he’d done much guarding lately. Or ever? Eurus was sometimes called the Harbinger of Misfortune, and it was a title he’d earned by intentionally spreading unluckiness in his wake. Just for shits and giggles.

  Anna’s eyes went wide. “So, when you said you were heir to the East Wind, do you mean to say that…that would be you? Someday?” Her wonder wasn’t as apparent on her expression, still reserved after their heated words, but it slipped into her voice.

  “Yes.” Hopefully sooner rather than later. Not that he’d ever coveted the position, or the status or power associated with it. But Devlin’s ascending meant that Eurus would be gone once and for all. And then they’d all be free.

  “So, you look alike?” she asked.

  Gods, it rankled to admit to even the slightest similarity to the man he despised most in the world, but in this instance it was the undeniable truth. “Yes.”

  “Can you show me which ones?” she asked. “Maybe that’ll help us make more sense of them.”

  Nodding, Devlin gestured for Anna to lead the way. She skirted around him as though she wanted to make it clear she wasn’t going to try to touch him. He appreciated the gesture—after a lifetime of abuse, his body was primed to expect more of the same.

  So then why did he find himself leaning toward her as she passed?

  He followed her across the room, trying to keep his mind—and eyes—on the question of the paintings rather than on her small, heart-shaped ass shown off to such perfection in those tight jean shorts. Damn.

  “Okay,” she said, coming up before the group of stacked paintings. “If you’ll help me move these, we can lay them out in the order I painted them. Maybe that will mean something to you?” She glanced up at him, and he schooled his expression and nodded.

  “Could be. Tell me where you want them.”

  Anna lifted the one she’d finished a few hours before, the one of Alastor shackled somewhere in the depths of his father’s estate in the Realm of the East. “Put this one anywhere and we’ll work backward,” she said, passing the horizontal canvas to him. Her arm brushed his on the handoff, sending a zing of awareness and warmth through his body despite the clothing that separated her skin from his. When she gasped, he knew that she’d felt something, too. “Sorry,” she murmured as she turned away.

  When his gaze fell on the tortured depiction of his brother, whatever pleasure he’d enjoyed the moment before turned to dust. Where exactly their father had imprisoned Alastor, Devlin didn’t know. Under Eurus’s dominion, the Eastern Realm had become a living, breathing incarnation of the unluckiness, misfortunate, and malevolence that the ancients had first attributed to autumn—which they’d even refused to recognize in ancient times as its own season. The whole place was a gigantic, booby-trapped house of horrors, except the things that jumped out at you were all too real and even more dangerous. And the impenetrable compound where Devlin grew up was the worst part of it all. Situated on the top of a craggy mount, the ancient fortress extended many floors into the rock. And the doors, hallways, and stairwells that filled the inside were ever-changing. Literally. Long ago, Eurus had performed an incantation over the place meant to confuse and entrap, and ever since then the architecture of the building magically changed itself at random times and in unpredictable ways.

  But I will find you, brother, Devlin silently vowed as he placed the painting against a rack on the far side of the room.

  “This one’s next,” Anna said.

  “What do you do with all these paintings?” he asked, nodding at the shelves as he accepted the second painting.

  “I sell them. I have a few private patrons who commission my work, relationships with galleries in New York, Chicago, D.C., and L.A. that show certain pieces, and an online store where I post photographs of everything.”

  Devlin wasn’t surprised to hear her work had met with such success. The paintings were vibrant and moving and so damn real he felt that he could reach into them. For the next couple minutes, they worked quietly, sorting the paintings into a long line from the first one she had done to the most recent. Oddly, Devlin felt a peace born of companionship that was so strange that it stopped him dead in his tracks when he realized that his brain wasn’t flooded with the usual churning river of self-loathing.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. />
  Devlin shook his head, not sure he could explain it if he tried, which he had no intention and even less desire to do. “This all?”

  Looking away, she nodded and walked to the beginning of the line. “I painted that one about a week ago,” she said, pointing to the one that depicted Eurus—or him—pinning two glowing white beings in front of a building engulfed in flames. “Can you tell if that’s you?”

  Crouching before the painting, Devlin studied the back of the god floating in the air and finally shook his head. “Why did you paint these two this way?” he asked, looking at the glowing figures.

  “It was the way I saw them,” she said. “None of these come from my own imagination. The pictures come pretty much fully formed in my head. I can’t alter them.”

  “They are other gods, I’m guessing, but I don’t know where this is,” he said.

  They worked down the line, but in the end Devlin couldn’t discern anymore about the identity of the Eastern god or the meaning of the images than he had when he’d surveyed the images himself the night before. Maybe none of them had yet happened? But when they started coming true, perhaps knowing the order of the images would allow them to plan and react—and maybe even change the outcome? Who knew. Devlin crouched in front of the last image, his heart squeezing at Alastor’s blank expression, bloodied wrists, and too-thin body.

  “This one’s you,” Anna said. “The jacket…”

  “Yes,” Devlin said without looking at her.

  “What is this?” she asked. “Do you recognize it?”

  Devlin rose and turned to her. “To an extent. The man is my brother, Alastor, who my father has imprisoned for years.”

  Anna gasped. “Why?”

  Not going there. Bad enough to cause such misery let alone admit it to another, especially one who looked at him with awe in her eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, hardness slipping back into his voice. “Beyond that, I don’t know. Because this moment has not happened. At least, not yet,” he said, admitting his growing suspicion.

  Her gaze dropped to the painting. “Yet?” she finally asked.

  “Anna,” he said.

  She looked up, her expression filling with fearful realization.

  “I think you’ve been painting the future.”

  Chapter Seven

  “The future?” Anna whispered. Among all the revelations the last hour had included, this one most shook the ground beneath her feet. Because it was about her. Believing someone like Devlin existed and that he had special powers was one thing—and not a little thing—to wrap your head around. Believing that she was capable of telling the future was…just about impossible to believe. “No,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Yes,” Devlin said, meeting her gaze head-on. “As a god, Anna, I can sense divine energy. And when you paint, it surrounds you. Question is, who did your energy come from?”

  Anna shivered. “I’m just a woman. I’m not—”

  “You are not just a woman!” Devlin roared as he closed the distance between her and grabbed her by the arms. Wind whipped through the room and thunder crashed outside.

  Anna froze, surprise and fear making it impossible to think, to react, to breathe. The lights went out and with a strangled cry she shoved against his chest. Hard.

  “Anna! Anna, calm down.” Devlin’s grip eased, though he didn’t let go. “I scared you on purpose to make you see. Calm down and concentrate on turning the lights back on. Just as you turned them off.”

  Confusion and adrenaline whirled through Anna’s brain, scrambling the meaning of Devlin’s words. All she knew was the need to run, to hide, to get away.

  “You can do this, Anna. Do it.”

  Slowly, his meaning pierced the haze of her fight-or-flight response. Anna fought back her fear and forced a deep breath. Shaking, she focused on Devlin’s glowing eyes and the hard angles of his face she could make out in the blackness.

  “That’s it,” he said, voice deep and gritty. “Now restore the light.”

  Anna blew out a shaky breath and concentrated on his ridiculous demand.

  Nothing.

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “Take another deep breath and concentrate. You are safe. I won’t hurt you.”

  His words were calming, encouraging, almost lulling. She did as he said, forcing her shoulders to relax as she released a long breath. Restore the light, she thought, echoing his words.

  Light immediately flooded the room.

  Anna gasped, her gaze going to the fixture above them and then to him. “Oh my God. Did I really just—”

  “Yes,” Devlin said, the hint of a smile playing around his lips, all the fierce anger of a moment before completely gone. Jesus, she’d been completely terrified of him. But it had been a ruse, a trick to make her confront his reality.

  She stared at him, soul-shaking fear flooding every cell in her body. What in the hell was she that she could use her mind to make the lights turn on and off? You use your mind to control the light in your painting. The thought sliced through her growing panic and froze her where she stood. She did do that, and she’d done it all her life. Was this merely more of the same, just on a grander scale? Anna looked at Devlin anew. After all this time, was he someone who had the answers to why she could do these things?

  “Anna?” Devlin frowned and concern filled his eyes. “I know this is all a lot—”

  “I did that. I did that.” Adrenaline and awe made her feel as if she were filled with jumping beans. She could barely stay still. And he was the one who’d helped her make this discovery about herself. “Thank you,” she said, jumping up and throwing her arms around his neck.

  Devlin went absolutely rigid.

  Realization pierced through her joy. Holy crap, Anna, what are you doing? Red-hot embarrassment flowed through her and she released her hold, but his significantly greater height forced her to slide down the front of him.

  An arm banded around her lower back, freezing her tight against him. Chest to chest, her face just below his.

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry,” she said. She’d just tackle-hugged a freaking god, and now he wouldn’t let her go. Despite the fact that she’d apparently committed a major faux pas, Devlin’s body felt damn good. All hard, lean muscle up against her. Power and strength evident in the fact that he held most of her body weight in the grip of one arm. And, geez, he smelled fantastic, like the cool, earthy spice of a beautiful fall day. She had to resist pressing her nose to his throat and drinking him in.

  “Look at me,” he said, his voice like gravel.

  Anna dragged her gaze upward, over the steady pulse beating in his neck, over the hard angle of his jaw, over the dark pink of his full lips. His eyes absolutely blazed back at her.

  “I’m s—”

  “Don’t.” His gaze narrowed. After a moment, fingers brushed the side of her face as Devlin slowly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  The gesture was so sweet, so tentative, that it made Anna’s breath catch and her body warm. Instinctively, she shifted her hands upward from where they’d come to rest on his shoulders to gently cup the back of his neck.

  His gaze flashed from where his fingers had been stroking through her hair to her face. And then his eyes zeroed in on her lips.

  Anna’s heart tripped into a full-out sprint, pounding blood through her everywhere they touched. This couldn’t be happening. Could it? Was this man, this god, really going to kiss her?

  In maddeningly slow motion, Devlin leaned toward her, his lips dropping open, his beautiful dark eyes backlit by a brilliant light, desire softening the angles of his masculine face. Need surged through her body in return.

  Devlin shuddered and his brow furrowed. He froze, his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her lips. He blinked and shook his head as if dragging himself from a dream. “Don’t,” he gritted out, his tone nearly a plea. The almost-lost expression on his face made her wonder which of them he spoke to. After a moment o
f embattled hesitation, he set her down and stepped away. Words in a language she didn’t know spilled forth as he roughly yanked his hand through the long strands of jet-black hair.

  Anna was at a total loss. She missed his heat. The way he’d brought her body to life with just a touch. The abject need on his face as he’d looked at her. Now, awkwardness rang like a bell between them, and she had no idea how to make any of it better.

  Then again, maybe she’d only imagined his desire. In a rush of memory, she recalled how he’d frozen at her touch, the fact that he’d pushed her away. Why in the world would a god want her? That wasn’t low self-esteem talking, either. Anna knew she was attractive enough, even if in a sort of unusual way, and she’d never had a problem finding men to date. But Devlin was a god.

  She peered up at him. Damn, she would’ve thought he was a god even if he hadn’t told her he actually was, though just of the usual, incredibly sexy kind.

  Without question, this was the craziest day of her life. And the fact that she didn’t question the reality of it made it all the crazier.

  Clearing his throat, Devlin crossed his arms and stared at a point between them. “Do you believe me now?”

  “About what?” He arched a brow in silent reply. “Oh! The lights.” She sighed, grateful for something else to obsess about other than the ridiculous topic of their near miss of a kiss and what it did or didn’t mean. “Um…I guess.” His brow lifted higher. “Yes,” she finally said. “But I don’t understand how I did it.”

  His posture eased, as if he, too, were glad for the diversion. “Your ability seems connected to your emotions. Has it always happened?”

  The word no sat on the tip of her tongue, but then her brain resurrected memories of a different sort. Like the string of power outages that had happened so frequently in her childhood home that her parents had joked about having the unluckiest house on the block, because they’d often lost power during storms when, inexplicably, the rest of the street was lit up like the Las Vegas strip. Like one time during college when she’d been walking along a dark stretch of sidewalk and been absolutely sure she was being followed, and as she’d broken into a run and wished for help, the dark lampposts along her route all had begun to glow. Like the day a few years ago she’d received a personal invitation to apply to be artist-in-residence at a prestigious arts program in New York City, and then screamed into a pillow upon the immediate realization that she had to pass it up because she couldn’t leave her father. The power had gone out the minute she’d unleashed her grief and frustration into the plush cotton.