She might as well have slapped me.
She shoves past me and stalks to the opposite end of the room. Her hands pull at the ends of her braid as she paces. “There’s something I haven’t told you. I didn’t know how you would react—and I didn’t want anything to interfere with your training.”
“And that would be?” I ask when she doesn’t continue. My voice shakes with the anger I’m trying to hold back.
Her sigh feels like it lasts an eternity. “You’re . . . not free, Vane.”
That’s . . . not what I was expecting. “What does that mean?”
“It means I can’t let you go on a date tonight—or any night.”
“What, there’s some law in your world that says Vane Weston isn’t allowed to date?”
“Sort of. Remember, Vane, you’re the last Westerly. You’re not like everyone else.”
This is seriously giving me a headache. And I’m about to ask what the freaking law actually says when a horrible thought occurs to me.
“That’s why you ruined my last date with Hannah, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And if you’d just left the restaurant and gone home like I’d tried to tell you, I wouldn’t have had to call the Northerly and brand it with our traces. We’d still be safe.”
“So, you’re telling me you risked our lives just to stop me from dating?”
She straightens, and her eyes blaze. “No. I called the flurry because I had to stop you from bonding to her—and I didn’t have time to think. I just reacted.”
There are so many things wrong with that, I don’t know where to start.
Actually, I do. “Bonding? What the hell does that mean?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Kissing is different for our kind than it is for the groundlings. They do it for fun, like it means nothing. For us, a kiss sparks an actual, physical change. It creates a connection between the pair who kiss, bonding them together until death parts them. That’s why I’ve always stepped in to make sure you never got that far with any of the girls I found you with. I didn’t know what would happen if you bonded with a groundling, but I couldn’t risk letting any sort of attachment form.”
I put aside the whole a single kiss sealing your fate for the rest of your life thing for a second, because it’s way too weird and crazy to think about.
What does she mean she “stepped in” with the girls she found me with?
Oh. Crap.
“It was you. All my bad luck with girls. Drinks suddenly getting knocked over by the breeze and spilling on their clothes so they’d need to go home. Birds pooping on their heads.”
Every single one of those disasters was caused by birds or wind or something in the sky. All except the Great Farting Debacle. Unless . . .
“Oh my God—you made the farting sound that day I was at the Date Festival, didn’t you? You broke the wind somehow, made it sound like a fart, and framed me for it?”
She doesn’t deny it.
I laugh.
How can I not laugh at the insanity of it all? “Do you have any idea how much you’ve jacked up my life over the last few years?”
“I know it’s been hard, Vane. But I couldn’t explain what was going on until your mind was ready to understand your heritage, and you just had a breakthrough a few days ago. In the meantime, I was under strict orders from the Gale Force to make sure you didn’t bond to anyone.”
“Why does your army give a crap about my love life?”
“Trust me when I say you won’t mind once you meet Solana.”
Solana?
I have a feeling I don’t want to know the answer to this question, but I have to ask it anyway. “Who the hell is Solana?”
“Our former king’s heir—all that’s left of the royal line after Raiden destroyed it. She’ll be crowned queen when Raiden falls.”
“And what’s she got to do with me?”
I can tell she doesn’t want to answer just as much as I don’t want to hear it. But we’ve come too far now. So she closes her eyes and whispers. “You two are betrothed.”
The word hangs over us, practically casting a shadow.
I’m betrothed.
To some spoiled princess I’ve never met.
Too. Many. Emotions bubble inside.
Anger. Annoyance. Confusion. Frustration. Fear. Rebellion. Rage.
But one feels stronger than the others, and it takes me a second to identify it.
Hurt.
Takes me another second to figure out why. “And . . . you’re okay with that?”
She looks away. Refuses to meet my eyes. But she nods.
I know I probably should leave it at that, but I can’t stop myself. “What about us?”
She doesn’t say anything, and that spurs my courage. I move toward her, trapping her against the wall. “There’s something between us, Audra.” I grab her hand, letting the familiar sparks shoot through my skin. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel that.”
I’m not sure if I’m fueled by fear or want or just sheer desperation. But it’s cards-on-the-table time. I’ve dreamed of her for too long—wanted her for too long—to let her shove me away because her stupid army thinks they can arrange my life.
I know she feels something for me.
I know it.
“Stop thinking about what your army wants. They’re not here right now. It’s just you and me. And you want me,” I whisper. “I have to believe that. Because I want you, too.”
It’s hard to push the last words out. But it feels good to say them.
I reach up, trying to slide my fingers into her hair, but her braid’s too tightly woven. I settle for stroking her face.
She doesn’t pull away, but she shakes her head. “I swore an oath, Vane.”
“Screw the oath.” I lean in until I feel her breath against my face, then stop. I don’t want to rush her. “You’ve done enough for them. You’re protecting me. Who cares about the rest?”
“I do.” She closes her eyes, and her jaw quivers. “I swore to get you safely through this—and I will. And then you’ll return with the Gales and meet your betrothed.”
“They can take their betrothal and shove it. I want you.”
I lean in more, until there’s barely an inch separating us. I don’t know if she’s right about the bonding thing, but I actually wouldn’t mind bonding myself to her. In some ways, I feel like I already have.
She sucks in a shaky breath and I know. She wants this.
“No,” she shouts, shoving so hard I stumble halfway across the room. “My loyalty is to the Gales.”
She draws the windslicer, pointing it at my heart. “I mean it, Vane. I can’t do this. I won’t do this.”
“So, what, you’re going to stab me?”
She presses the point of the blade into my chest. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to sting.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” she begs.
“You already are.”
Her eyes turn glassy. But something about her posture—the strong set of her shoulders, the rigid line of her spine—tells me she won’t back down.
She’ll kick me aside. Pawn me off on some girl I’ve never met. All to please her stupid, useless army.
Her grip on the sword doesn’t waver. Her eyes look through me, not at me.
I’ve already lost her.
So I do the only thing I can do.
I run.
CHAPTER 32
AUDRA
I can’t breathe.
I feel like someone’s pressing on my chest, crushing the life and air out of me as I watch Vane race away. All warmth fades from my body, leaving me shivering under the hot desert sun.
I’ve made a lot of sacrifices in my life, but none hurt as much as what I’ve just done.
As soon as Vane’s out of sight, I collapse to the floor and curl into a ball.
Vane’s right. I do care. More than I ever can or will admit.
But the realization makes everything inside me squirm with re
vulsion.
Who am I to care for Vane Weston?
When he learns what I’ve done, he’ll loathe me as much as I loathe myself.
I cling to that harsh fact like a lifeline, pulling myself back into the hard, emotionless walls I’ve maintained for the last ten years.
Vane would never want me if he knew I’m the reason his parents are dead. I’m a selfish, callous creature who ruined everything because I chose to save Gavin’s life—a bird Vane hates. Then I lied to him about his memories being permanently lost, because I can’t bear the thought of him knowing I’m to blame.
And how would I have explained to the Gales if I bonded to Vane? Stole their king? With Vane’s potential for power, they want to make sure he’s bound to the royal line, so our people will have confidence in our world once again. Come out of hiding. Trust the Gales.
Plus, Solana’s a Southerly, and her bond will be a softening influence—should the power of four go to his head.
If I interfered with that, I’d be banished for such treason. Permanently branded a traitor.
No, it has to be this way. Even if my treacherous heart still scalds the inside of my chest.
I’ve burned so many different ways for Vane.
Guilt.
Desire.
But this is the worst.
The scorching heat of loss.
I dive into the pain, let the fire consume me. It’ll make me tougher. Stronger.
Water may have weakened my body—but it didn’t weaken my resolve.
It’s time to prove how strong I am.
I pull myself upright, squeezing my pendant with one hand. My other hand rubs my temples, easing the headache caused by my braid.
It took me months to master weaving the intricate style. The hair is divided into five equal sections, and the four outer strands are twisted and folded around the central strand, to represent the way our lives are inseparably bound to the four winds. Even the men wear a variation of the braid. It’s a physical display to show that we live not for ourselves, but for the service of the winds. The service of the guardians.
I’m a guardian.
My plans have been turned inside out and ripped to shreds, but my purpose holds true. And I will honor that purpose. With everything I have.
But I have to figure out what to do about Vane. We still have to train together, and judging by how hurt and angry he looked as he left, that’s going to be a challenge.
Spots flicker behind my eyes just thinking about being close to him again. Flying together. Holding on to each other . . .
I scrape together the last of my willpower and push those feelings away.
I can do this.
I just need to get used to it. And Vane clearly needs the night off. So tonight we’ll take our space. Give ourselves time to come to terms with everything. No harm can come from that.
Unless . . .
Panic closes off my lungs.
Vane has a rebellious side. I’ve seen it flare against even my smallest attempts at control during our training—and this is much, much bigger. Who knows what he might do in response?
I can think of one thing that would be very bad.
Irreversible.
I curse my stupidity as I take off through the grove, leaping over fallen branches and pushing my legs harder than I’ve ever pushed them. But when I reach the main road, his car is long gone.
Quick and catlike, I scale the nearest palm, standing on the wobbly branches at the top. I don’t care if anyone sees me. I have to feel as much air as I can.
Hands shaking from nerves and adrenaline and anger at myself for allowing yet another disaster, I undo the buttons of my jacket, slipping it off my shoulders and dropping it to the ground, exposing as much skin as possible. I close my eyes and concentrate on the air around me, feeling for Vane’s trace with each cell of my skin.
Every sylph leaves their mark on the wind. A change in the draft’s tune, as though the wind ran into a friend and added new notes to its song to carry away the memory of the meeting. We can brand the wind by commanding it too loudly—like I did when I called the Northerly I attacked Vane with—and have it carry our trace permanently. But even silent contact leaves a faint trail. The draft only carries it until it finds something else to chant about and drops the tune. Before that, anyone listening can pick up the trace and follow it to the source.
I read traces better on the winds of my heritage, so I focus on the Easterlies in the grove. Most carry no sign of having seen either of us. But when I listen near Vane’s house, I find a soft breeze singing of the jarring blur of motion caused by someone on the run.
That has to be Vane.
I call the draft to me and inhale the trace.
A tingling rush knocks me back, and I lose my footing in the branches, toppling to the ground. A nearby Southerly saves me from a painful fall, but when I’m safely on my feet, I can’t calm my tremors.
It’s like I’ve taken in a small part of him, a fractured piece he left behind.
Almost like a loss.
I have no idea if that’s possible—or what it means if it is—but I’ll worry about it later. For now, all that matters is finding Vane. I have to track him down before he does something he’ll regret. Something we’ll both regret.
Already running, I call the nearest Northerly and spin the wind around me so fast I’ll be nothing more than a blur in the sky.
“High,” I whisper, catching my breath as the gust sweeps me away.
In seconds I’m over the main roadway, the setting sun making me squint as I concentrate on the air. The warm tingles of Vane’s trace tell me which way to turn. An inner compass guiding me straight to him.
I just hope I reach him in time.
CHAPTER 33
VANE
I didn’t plan to meet up with Isaac after I sped down my driveway. I just needed to put as much distance between myself and that crazy life Audra was trying to cage me in, before it was too late to escape. And I was too mad/hurt/disgusted to look at her anymore.
But then my phone vibrated and I realized the first step to taking back my life was right there, in my hands. Well, in my butt pocket—but still.
Which is how I ended up back at the River, this time at the noisy, crowded Cheesecake Factory. They really need to build some decent places to hang out in this crappy valley. I’m crammed into a booth next to Hannah, and Isaac and Shelby are across the table, watching us with the smug grins all long-term couples wear when they watch their friends on a double date.
Probably waiting to see how I’ll blow it this time.
Shoot, knowing Isaac, they probably placed bets on it.
But I’m not screwing up tonight. I left Audra and her chaperone-from-hell skills in the dust at my house.
Which is good because I have big plans for me and Hannah, number one of which is kissing her and proving that (a) I don’t need Audra, (b) I make my own decisions regarding my life, and (c) a kiss is just a kiss. I don’t buy that bonding crap. And I’m determined to prove it.
The thought makes my palms sweat and my heart race and my stomach twist like I swallowed something alive. I tell myself those are nerves.
But I know it’s mostly guilt.
I feel guilty for using Hannah. It’s not that I don’t like her—she’s really nice. Cute, too. Especially tonight, in her tight pink halter top. More than a few guys have checked her out. But when she bumps my leg under the table or grazes my arm, I don’t feel any warmth. If anything, I feel colder. Like my body’s telling me I’m sitting next to the wrong girl.
And there’s the other type of guilt too.
Guilt for betraying Audra. Cheating on her by simply being here with Hannah.
It’s insane. She made it very clear that she doesn’t want me—at least, not as much as she wants to please the losers in her army.
This is her choice. Not mine.
Hannah launches into some story about hockey—she’s so Canadian it’s hilarious—and I take the o
pportunity to study Isaac and Shelby. He has his arm draped across her shoulders and his fingers are playing with the soft red curls that frame her face. She’s pressed up against his side like she doesn’t want a millimeter of space between them. The grin on Isaac’s face says he doesn’t mind that at all.
Everything about them screams “couple.” And I have to hand it to them. They look happy. I mean, I know why Isaac’s happy. Shels is way out of his league. He isn’t bad-looking, or he wouldn’t be if he shaved the ugly mustache he insists on sporting, which is surprisingly thin and scraggly considering he’s full-blooded Mexican. All the other guys in his family—including his fourteen-year-old brother—have beards.
Shelby’s hot, though. Long legs, despite being what girls would call petite, and enough curve to make the buttons pop on almost every shirt she wears—not that I look. Well, not now that she’s with Isaac.
But Shelby looks even happier than Isaac. Like she belongs in the crook of his arm. And she’s spent so many months in that exact spot I almost can’t picture him without her there. Makes it kind of annoying when I want a night with my friend without his girlfriend joined at the hip. Right now, though, it makes the careful gap Hannah and I are keeping between us feel like the Grand Canyon.
Maybe I need to try harder. Hannah has her right hand resting on the table, and before I can change my mind I grab it.
Hannah flinches and I relax my grip, realizing my big move came across more like an attack than a romantic gesture.
Isaac and Shelby share a look.
Strike one for Vane.
But I’m not out yet. Hannah doesn’t pull away, and she turns her hand over, twining our fingers together.
I smirk at Isaac. How you like me now?
This is good. I’m doing this. I’m on a normal date with normal friends on a perfectly normal night. No crazy winds. No talk of evil warriors or languages of the wind or arranged marriages. Just random chitchat about movies or music or school or whatever—exactly the way a date should be.
So what if everything about this moment screams, This is wrong?
The waitress delivers our food, and I smile when I see the giant bowl of pasta she sets in front of Hannah. A girl who eats when she’s hungry. Score one for Hannah.
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