Dead.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
Maybe he’ll wake up before he hits the ground and stop his fall. Or maybe he’ll land in a sand dune and it’ll cushion the impact. Or maybe . . .
I start gagging.
I’m thinking about it.
I suck in as much air as I can, focusing on the only thought holding me together.
I had no choice.
Okay, so my guard is gone—but who knows when his evil sidekick will get here, and I’m still tied up with these life-sucking bonds in the middle of a freaking storm. Things could be better.
Deep breaths. Think.
I need a Westerly. It’s the only thing I can think of that might break these stupid unbreakable bonds. I have to find a way to call one.
Come on, I know this. I’ve done it before.
I close my eyes and force myself to imagine Audra bound in a drainer. Feeling the same exhaustion I’m feeling, but a thousand times worse. Every second bringing her closer to death.
I shove past my pain and anger. Past my broken, scattered memories. Deep into my consciousness. My mind buzzes with warm energy and I reach for it, sinking deeper still. Beyond fear. Beyond everything.
Everything except the soft, gentle rush.
A sigh.
A single word.
Peace.
As soon as my mind touches the word, the warmth swells, shoving me up and out. Back to the light.
I open my eyes and inhale as a new voice fills my mind. A hushed, gentle whisper.
A Westerly.
Calling to me. Singing to me.
It’s not like the other breakthroughs, where the winds tempted and teased and tricked me away from myself. The west wind is me.
And I know how to control it.
“Come to my side. Share your peace. Surge and surround me. Secure my release.”
A warm, gentle draft tangles with my bonds, and the icy winds turn warm and unravel.
The celebration lasts about a second. Then I hurtle toward the ground.
The Westerlies calm my panic, whispering a song of peace and security as I call them to me and wrap them around my exhausted body. I beg them to stay—and they obey, sealing me in a warm circle of air.
A wind bubble. Just like my parents used to make.
Tears well in my eyes as I float toward the ground.
My family has never felt closer. Never felt farther away.
I try to absorb as much strength and energy from the winds as I can.
Then my feet touch the ground and the bubble bursts.
I’m back in the thick of the storm.
CHAPTER 52
AUDRA
The Stormers tossed me like a grain of sand.
I couldn’t defend myself.
Their broken, useless winds wouldn’t answer my call. I slashed as many drafts as I could. But they snared me.
Have they trapped my mother the same way? Or is she with Vane?
It’s cold inside the vortex. I can’t see. Can’t move. Can’t hear anything beyond the raging winds. The drafts move in unison, not woven or bound in any way, but still synchronized. Like they’re all of one mind.
The funnel swallows every gust that crosses its path, leaving no winds to call for aid. No escape except death. And I feel death approaching. The winds are icy splinters, tearing me apart. Swallowing tiny pieces of me with every sweep across my skin.
Minutes pass. I lose count of how many.
My head turns fuzzy. I try to focus on the songs of the wind, but their melodies are flat. Lifeless. It breaks my heart to hear them. Their very essence has been stripped, leaving nothing but shells of the glorious drafts they once were.
Just like me.
My life never held much joy or warmth or richness—not without my father. But Vane filled my empty world with the thrill of his touch. The soothing peace of his forgiveness.
I should’ve kissed him when I had the chance.
I should’ve taken one moment of pure, unadulterated happiness for myself. Pressed my lips against his and let the intoxicating heat erupt between us. Tasted his sweetness. Then pulled him closer till there was nothing separating us but fire and skin.
Audra.
The fantasy feels so real I can almost hear his voice. Almost see the cool blue of his eyes. The warm brown of his hair. Sky and earth blended into one perfect face.
Audra.
His voice sounds louder. Closer. Real.
Have I sunk so deep into the dream I’ve lost track of reality?
Audra.
I want to open my eyes, but I don’t have the strength. I’ve slipped too far away.
Audra, hold on.
I want to do what he says. But I don’t know how. I’m lost to these wicked winds.
A hint of gray rims the edge of the darkness and creeps toward the center, till all the black turns dull. My windsong rings in my ears, ready to be unleashed.
The winds clench and tighten.
White light explodes around me as I feel myself slip too far away.
To the end.
CHAPTER 53
VANE
I’m new to the whole wind control thing, but I’ve never seen anything like the funnel Audra’s trapped in.
The gray, chalky winds spin horizontally between the blades of the two tallest windmills, like some possessed hammock/cocoon. Audra hovers in the center. Pale. Still.
I scream her name. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
“Hold on. I’m here.”
There’s no sign of the other Stormer, but that doesn’t mean he’s not nearby. I have to hurry.
Ruined winds fill the air, rubbing my face like sandpaper. But their gibberish songs are mixed with some healthy drafts that have broken through the storm. I call a Westerly to me and tangle it around my legs.
For one second I stare at the sharp, spinning blades of the windmill and wonder if I’m losing my mind. Then I shout, “Rise,” and the wind launches me off the ground.
It jerks and flips and knocks me so hard into the pillar of a windmill that I lose my hold and crash to the ground. I dust myself off and call another.
Same thing.
Audra wasn’t kidding when she said windwalking takes practice.
I try again and get higher this time. High enough to almost get sliced and diced by the giant blades. I barely release the draft in time and land with a thud, bruising every part of my body.
Okay—new plan!
I grab every healthy wind I can feel and hurtle them at the vortex. They rebound without so much as a dent.
Come on, Westerlies, tell me what to do here.
I let a minute of silence pass before I give up that idea too.
Looks like I’m on my own.
I weave a wind spike and line up my aim. But I know it won’t be enough. The winds binding her are . . . mutated somehow. I need the power of four. It’s supposed to be unstoppable, right?
If only I had any idea how to channel it.
I call a Westerly to my side and coil the draft around the spike. The universe doesn’t implode, so that seems like a good sign. But I still have to combine the draft with the others, and I don’t know what command to use.
Merge? Combine? Blend?
I have a feeling the difference between success and catastrophe rides on my ability to guess the right one.
Absorb? Meld? Pool? Marry?
I need a bigger vocabulary.
And then it hits me.
Converge.
The word tingles my mind. That has to mean I’m on the right track.
I smooth the Westerly strands along the wind spike, stalling.
Trust your instincts.
I force my lips to whisper the command.
The Westerly sinks into the wind spike, and the drafts spin to a blur. I jump back when the spike shoots into the air, and barely miss getting conked on the head. A crack splits down the center of the spike and I dive for cover, expecting an explosion. But it never goes boom.
It hovers in midair, twisted and blue, with sharp pointed ends. Force and energy flow through it, and when I grab it, it’s soft as a feather but somehow solid too. And cold. It conforms to my grip, like it’s made for me, and crackles like a lightning bolt.
I love the way it feels, like I hold the power of the wind in the palm of my hand.
Okay—time for the craziest part of the plan.
I point the weapon at one end of the vortex binding Audra and line up my aim.
Don’t miss.
Man, I wish I’d practiced more with Audra. If I’m off by even a few inches . . .
And even if it works, there’s no telling how the winds will unravel. They could easily fling her into the spinning blades.
My mind flashes to an image of Audra getting tossed through the windmill, shredded and splattered.
The world spins and I grip my knees to send some blood to my brain.
When my head clears, I stare at her pale body, losing life with every second I stall.
I have to do this.
I test my throw three, four, five times.
On the sixth I let it fly.
And.
It’s.
Wide.
Maybe the winds knock it. Maybe I suck. But it’s going to hit her.
It’s going to hit her!
I thrash my arms at the air, trying to grab it, stop it, change its course.
It has to divert.
“Divert,” I shout in the Westerly tongue.
And it does.
It arcs left and slams the vortex where it connects to the windmill.
The gusts scream like rabid beasts, and white heat blasts me as the evil gray winds unravel. Audra plummets, and I order a Westerly to catch her, just like when we were kids. And this time I have enough control to set her down gently.
I run to her side and fall to my knees, cradling her face. She doesn’t move. Barely breathes.
Her skin is beyond cold, so I wrap her in my arms and let the sparks shoot between us. “Please, Audra. Come back to me.”
I crush her to my chest. Kiss the gash on her forehead. The cuts and scrapes on her cheeks. Run my lips along the raw, red scratches on her jaw. I’ll make up for every pain, every wound she suffered to protect me.
My hands rub her arms, trying to generate friction.
She’s still so cold.
A real kiss might warm her up.
Man—it’s tempting. Her lips are right there. Drawing me toward them.
But . . . call me old-fashioned, but I kinda want her to be conscious for our first kiss.
I kiss her forehead again. “Please come back to me,” I whisper. “I love you.”
Nothing happens for a few seconds, and I choke back a sob. Then her eyes flutter.
She moans.
“Where does it hurt? What do you need?”
She twists in my lap, her back arching like she’s in pain, and moans again. More of a groan, actually.
“What can I do?” I beg.
She turns back to me and her eyes focus on mine.
Her face crumples. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
I pull her against me. “We’re safe.”
I rock her back and forth, feeling my hope grow as the warmth returns to her skin.
“What about the Stormers?” she asks.
I swallow bile as my mind imagines the blond Stormer’s broken, lifeless body somewhere out there.
“I took care of one.”
She jerks away from me, wincing like she’s just gotten the mother of all head rushes. “Where’s the other?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since I got free. I’m guessing he’s long gone.”
“Guess again,” a low, vicious voice snarls behind us.
My heart feels ready to explode as I turn to face the gray-clad figure. He has dark hair and light eyes and a jaw so square you could use his chin as a ruler.
He smirks. “Thought I’d sit back and see what the last Westerly can do, in case you clam up like the others when we interrogate you. And I must say, that little toy you have there is quite impressive.” He points to the wind spike, which fell a few feet away from me. It didn’t explode like the others. It must be too strong.
“Come,” I order it in Westerly, and it shoots to my hand. Cool—a voice-controlled weapon. No wonder Raiden wants the power of four.
But he’s not getting it.