Storm Fall

by Tracy Banghart

  He reached for her hands. “I know this is fast and you may not be ready. But I love you, and I don’t want you to have to choose between being a flyer and being with me.”

  Something shifted inside her, deep in her soul where her greatest insecurities and strengths lived side by side.

  I don’t want you to have to choose.

  No one had ever wanted her to be everything that she was, everything she could be.

  But could she really be everything?

  “How would it work back on point?” She stared at their joined hands. It felt so good to touch him, to know they had the whole night together, no interruptions. “This . . . you’re talking about an official agreement. How would we keep that a secret?”

  He squeezed her fingers tighter. “We wouldn’t. We would be open about our relationship. No more sneaking around. No more pretending distance. We could even share a room, if you wanted.”

  A happy shiver ran through her at the thought. Every night, coming back to her bunk with him waiting . . . being able to touch, to lie in bed together, while they talked about the day . . .

  “And Military will allow it?” She knew he was hoping for an answer, that her questions probably made him impatient, but she couldn’t move forward without understanding what she was gaining—and what she might be giving up. The days of her blind need for love over everything else were long gone.

  “Right now there are no rules in place to forbid it. We’re officers. . . . If we were Promised to civilians we’d be allowed to live with them near the stationpoint, if we chose.”

  “Still. You said you want to do this now in case the rules change. Won’t they just change for us later?”

  “The sector doesn’t work like that. Rules are made for future cases only; if we have an agreement before the rule is in place, they can’t enforce it for us, or for any soldiers who do the same.”

  “And . . . and what about our unit? How will they react?” The racing heart, the breathlessness . . . it was all fading as reality set in. Aris gently disengaged her hands from Milek’s.

  He rocked back on his heels and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Aris, none of this was meant to make you uncomfortable or . . . or put upon. If you’re not ready, it’s okay. You can just say—”

  “No!” Aris hurried around the table so she could be closer to him. “It’s not that. I just . . . I want to talk about it first. I want to know what this really means for us, you know? I’m sorry. It’s not very romantic.”

  He smiled down at her. “Talking about our future? That blighting is romantic.” He drew her to him, pulling until they both fell back on the bed. Milek stuffed a pillow underneath his head, and Aris cuddled close on her side, using his chest for her pillow. Once they were comfortable, wrapped in each other’s arms and her voluminous skirts, Milek said, “Alright, let’s talk this through. How it’ll work, what we both want. Then you can decide. Okay?”

  Aris nodded, rubbing her cheek against his fancy jacket. It felt good to have this conversation so close to him, with so much of their bodies touching. In her silky dress and thick makeup, in this enormous bed, she felt like some kind of ancient queen, lying with her handsome, battle-scarred paramour. For a moment, Aris lost track of all of her important questions.

  “So, you want to know how it’ll be on point, if we show up Promised?” Milek asked, reeling her back in.

  “Your mother’s wonderful speech notwithstanding, they already give me so much grief for being a woman. If I’m Promised to you, won’t that make things worse?”

  Milek smoothed his hand over her hair and along her jaw. “Honestly? Maybe at first. Then again, being open about our relationship means anyone who disrespects you is disrespecting me, too. That could make things easier for you.”

  She leaned up to look him in the eye. “I don’t want to be some fragile sparrow protected under your wing. I want to prove myself worthy of respect on my own merits.”

  “That’s the thing. You do already. I mean, look at everything you’ve accomplished. Aris, you have earned your place,” he replied earnestly. “The men on point are just stuck on their own prejudices. I’m not asking you to Promise to protect you or elevate your standing or something. All I’m saying is that it might not be worse . . . it could be better, with us presenting a unified front.”

  She relaxed back onto his chest, smiling a little. “Well, okay then. As long as this isn’t some misguided ‘protect the girl’ scheme.”

  He growled playfully and rolled her onto her back, shifting his weight onto her. “I wouldn’t dare. You never struck me as the damsel in distress type, anyway.”

  Aris couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, I was. Believe me. But I’m not any longer and you better not forget it.” She stretched up to him, using her hands to draw him down for a kiss. His weight and her skirts pinned her legs against the bed, even when she arched against him. He deepened the kiss. Right now, in this unfamiliar place, in this strange, beautiful dress, she did feel a little like a damsel, fragile and feminine. But definitely not in distress.

  After a few breathless moments, she pulled away from the kiss. “What will you do if I disobey orders? The guys’ll expect you to give me special treatment.”

  “Special treatment like this?” His lips descended on hers again, stealing her breath.

  She fought the warmth in her belly and pushed at his chest. “I don’t think that would be the best strategy.”

  Milek let the amusement slip from his face, suddenly serious. His eyes became dark pools in the low light. “I haven’t let this relationship affect my ability to lead my soldiers into combat, and I won’t in the future either, no matter what you decide. My responsibility is to my unit, above all, and if that means disciplining you, I will. As I will discipline any other soldier. I can’t . . . I won’t pretend otherwise. Whether we’re Promised or not, we’re still soldiers first and foremost. I hope you can understand that.”

  She snaked her arms around him and drew him into a demanding kiss. He responded in kind, sowing heat everywhere he touched.

  “That was exactly the right answer, Milek,” she murmured against his mouth. “I haven’t come this far”—her words slipped out around his lips as he kept kissing her—“to let you . . . or anyone . . . hold me back.”

  For a while they let their mouths speak without words. Aris’s dress twisted against her legs, holding them still in a silky, thrilling cage, as Milek traced her throat, her collarbone, her exposed shoulders with his lips and hands, igniting fireferns beneath her skin with every touch. At some point, she found her dress hitched up around her thighs. Her legs free, she slid them against his, up across his hips, as he pressed his full weight into her. Their breath came faster.

  “Aris?” Milek’s lips brushed the sensitive skin just above the low neckline of her dress.

  “Hmm?” Her attention was caught on the sensations unfolding deep within her. Her limbs felt weighted, heavy with desire.

  “Does this mean you want to?”

  She arched into him, more aware of his body than she’d ever been before. Her hands slid up his chest, seeking the buttons of his jacket. “Yes . . . yes . . .” she breathed. It didn’t matter if he was asking her to Promise, or asking her if she wanted to make love. To both questions, her answer was yes.

  She popped the last button and shoved his jacket off his shoulders. With a hurried twist, he extricated his arms and threw it on the floor, narrowly missing the tables of candles. Urgency filled the space between them. Aris ran her hands down his muscled arms, loving their strength, as he dispensed with the rest of his uniform. His hands found her thighs, sliding up the smooth skin, taking the silky dress with them. Everywhere he touched her, blood pulsed under her skin, contrasting with the cool air that followed his fingers. He didn’t remove her dress, just pushed it out of the way, letting its silky fabric become part of the seduction, whispering against all the shivering skin between them.

  Weeks of stolen moments cut short, embraces
interrupted, the forced separation . . . They had longing packed tight into every muscle, every pore. Their want spilled into impatience: frantic, breathless need. And then they were together, as close as two people can ever be. It was everything Aris had hoped for: the slaking of a thirst she couldn’t name, and the beginning of a journey she was eager to take.

  She lay against Milek afterward, sleepy and sated, their skin sticking together as if glued. As if nothing could ever tear them apart.

  At some point, before they made love again, before they slept curled against each other, they lit the Promise candle and said the formal words, binding them to each other in a two-year trial partnership that would help them decide whether to make the ultimate, irrevocable decision to marry.

  Milek gave her a ring. “I know it’s not the latest style, but it’s been in my family for generations.” It was made of burnished gold, with a large oval stone in the center. “It reminded me of you. See?” He rubbed a finger over the stone’s luminescent blue surface. “It looks like the sky.”

  Aris’s heart fluttered, as if she were soaring far overhead, full of sunlight. Everything felt good and right. And the war felt very, very far away.

  Chapter 42

  After their official duties were complete, Galena and Pyralis removed themselves to Galena’s room for a few moments of quiet.

  Each suite was fitted with a small washroom, separate office area, and expansive living space, complete with several comfortable chairs and an oversized bed. The first thing Galena did as she entered was retract the shade completely from the window, letting in the sparkling evening lights of Sibetza.

  “You spoke beautifully,” Pyralis said as he sank into one of the chairs.

  Galena leaned against the cool glass and regarded him. “It’s the first time in months that I’ve given a hopeful speech and actually meant it.”

  “I know what you mean.” Maybe it was the clear emerald tones of his tunic, but he looked less tired tonight. Fewer shadows lurking behind his eyes. “Lieutenant Haan has returned to us, and Elom is locked in Atalanta’s highest security prison, awaiting what is sure to be a prolonged and painful interrogation. Today is a good day.”

  Galena smoothed her hands over the heavy crimson brocade of her dress as her face relaxed into a smile. “I’m still having trouble believing it.”

  Pyralis smiled back at her. “I am, as well.”

  She wanted to ask him about his visit to Bett. He had told her only that he’d gone and Bett hadn’t given any useful information, but she could tell there was more to it. What had the woman said? And how could Galena comfort him?

  As she studied him, an unreadable expression stole over his features. Slowly, he stood and approached her, as he would a skittish dog. “You look lovely tonight.” He took her hands, his skin sliding against her sensitive fingertips. Then, when she didn’t draw away, he leaned close.

  All thoughts of Bett flew from her mind.

  She held her breath as his lips touched hers. And, with a great sense of inevitability, she let herself melt into his embrace.

  Someone knocked quietly on the door. They sprang apart.

  “Did you order food?” Pyralis asked.

  Galena shook her head. He left her side to open the door.

  Lieutenant Jax Latza stood in the hallway. At Pyralis’s nod, he strode into the room. His short dark hair stuck up in tufts, as if he’d been running his hands through it. “I’m sorry to disturb you during the festivities,” he began, seemingly unconcerned to have found them both in Galena’s bedroom.

  “We have a serious problem,” Latza continued, without waiting for a response. “After speaking with the Safaran refugees, I had my suspicions, but I’ve just received unequivocal confirmation.” He held up a red, high-security digitablet.

  “Of what? What’s happened?” Pyralis asked.

  “I finally figured out where Ward Balias has been diverting resources to.” Galena did not like the expression in Lieutenant Latza’s eyes. “He’s building a bomb.”

  Pyralis looked skeptical. “A bomb? Worse than the firebombs they already use?”

  “This is much, much worse.” The furrows in Lieutenant Latza’s brow deepened. “In recent weeks a strange glow has lit the night skies near Pakan. The children of the village called it ‘the flaming scorpion’.”

  Galena glanced at Pyralis; his confusion matched her own, and yet a growing sense of horror slowly filled her gut.

  “I’ve just received confirmation that those lights mark a testing site for a weapon that kills instantly, over a vast area. If Balias releases it on Atalanta, the destruction will be worse than anything this world has ever seen.”

  Galena could not find the words to reply.

  Pyralis asked a few more questions, his voice an ominous rumble. Then he thanked Lieutenant Latza and released him back into the hall. The spy had a long night ahead of him, gathering more information.

  Galena and Pyralis sat in the two softly padded chairs and stared at each other. All the hopefulness and joy of the evening had slithered from the room on Latza’s heels.

  At last, when she’d given herself some time to process, Galena stood. They’d have to call in their top Military commanders. Tech experts. Spies. They’d have to sit down with Lieutenant Latza again, all the people of Pakan, get as much information as they possibly could.

  “We have to stop him,” she said aloud. “Balias cannot be allowed to destroy Atalanta.”

  Pyralis bent his head over his clasped hands, almost as if he were praying. “If this bomb is as lethal as Lieutenant Latza thinks,” he said, “Ward Balias could destroy the whole world.”

  Acknowledgements

  I’m here to tell you that writing the second book in a series is HARD. I’ve heard author friends say it before, but I didn’t quite understand until I sat down to write Storm Fall. Thankfully, I had a ton of support, encouragement, and fabulous feedback to get me through.

  Thank you to Lanie Davis and Eliza Swift, who read this book over and over from the very first draft to the last. Who offered incredible insight and feedback, sent me awesome pep talks, and kept their faith in me and my writing throughout the process. You guys are amazing.

  Thanks to all the folks at Alloy, especially Les Morgenstein, Josh Bank, Sara Shandler, Heather David, Romy Golan, Natalie Sousa, and Elaine Damasco, and Caroline Carr and Philip Patrick at Amazon, for giving this series such incredible support.

  As a work-from-home mom, I am only as productive as my child’s naps are long. Special thanks to Meema, PopPop, Nana, Grandpa, BiJo, Grana, Daddy, and Adriana for doing such a good job distracting Ollie while I snuck in a little more work time. And a big fat extra thank you to my family for always believing in me.

  To Aimee L. Salter, Rachel L. Hamm, Jax Abbey, J.D. Robinson, and Paige Elizabeth Nguyen: You guys have kept me sane and laughing over the past few months, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Here’s to new friendships becoming lifelong ones (and continued bonding over Jane the Virgin, Austenland, and hot fictional boys).

  And to the rest of my wonderful writing community—Shari Arnold, Jennifer Walkup, Susanne Winnacker, Ali Cross, Autumn Kalquist, Heather Hildenbrand, Morgan Michael, the Critters, S3G, Indelibles, YA Binders, and so many more—you are inspiring. Thank you so much for letting me share this lovely playground with you.

  Jody Escaravage, you’re awesome and I value your friendship so much I may someday commission a (tasteful, of course) painting of us to hang above my mantel.

  To all of my readers, your response to Rebel Wing has been incredible. I wish I could give each and every one of you a huge smooshy hug, but since I can’t, I will do the only thing I can: I’ll say thank you from the bottom of my heart, and I will keep on writing books for you.

  Ollie, yesterday at lunch you reached your small arms out to me and demanded a hug. When I obliged, you said, “I love you, Mommy,” for the very first time without prompting. In that instant, all of the stress of the past few months disa
ppeared. Thank you, my sweet boy. You are magic.

  Andy, the list of reasons I love you keeps getting longer and longer, but one thing always stays at the top: how supportive and encouraging you are of my writing career. Thank you for making me feel lucky and loved every single day.

  And last but not least, thank you so much to all of the brave women and men who are serving or have served in the Armed Forces. We owe so much to you.

  About the Author

  Award-winning author, army wife, and mom, Tracy Banghart has an MA in publishing and an unhealthy affection for cupcakes. Her quiet childhood led to a reading addiction, writing obsession, and several serious book boyfriends. Storm Fall is her fourth novel. Follow @tracythewriter on Twitter or visit her at www.tracybanghart.com.

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