Let the Storm Break

CHAPTER 24 AUDRA

Throwing that wind spike was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I know Vane would rather die than serve as a mindless mercenary for Raiden—but as I watch the pale blue spear streak through the sky, I can’t make myself run away like I’d planned.

The dark patterns in the Living Storm look so much like eyes, watching me as I end him forever—and the ache of my bond still remains in my chest.

What if there’s a small part of Vane left?

“Divert!” I scream in Westerly, holding my breath until the spike alters course. It misses Vane by inches, whisking by his head and landing on the ground a few feet away.

Right at Raiden’s feet.

“Come!” I hiss at the spike, and it zips to my waiting hand.

For a second Raiden and I just stare at each other, his fury obvious even from this far away.

But I can also see his hunger.

He knows the power I have.

And he wants it.

“There are two ways we can do this,” Raiden shouts at me as his Stormers turn to him, awaiting his order. “We both have our tricks.” He calls the Living Storm to his side. “But I also have my army. And you?”

He waits, like he’s expecting a fleet of Gales to pop out of the shadows.

“That’s what I thought. So you can surrender now. Or we can see which one of us has the stronger weapon—though I get the impression you don’t really want to destroy this.” He runs his hand along the funnel of the Living Storm, his voice heavy with mock sympathy as he asks, “Was he a friend?”

I aim my spike at Raiden’s head.

“Suit yourself,” he says as his Stormers launch into the mountains above me, trapping me in the canyon.

Raiden snarls a command I can’t understand, and I feel my insides drop as the Living Storm swells to three times its already enormous size, looming over the valley in a tower of shadow and wind.

I duck back into the crevice I’d scaled and slide down the sides, grateful my Westerly shield protects my skin from shredding against the sharp rocks. As soon as I’m back on the ground, I race for the Maelstrom, hoping the hungry, swirling drafts will shield me from the Living Storm long enough to come up with a plan. But I make it only a few feet before an arm of thunderous wind tangles around me and drags me back to the open air.

“Don’t do this, Vane,” I scream as I stare into the raging winds, trying to find the shadows that looked like eyes a few minutes before.

All I see is a cold, frenzied Storm.

The fist tightens, crushing the breath out of me, and I try to pull my wind spike free but I can’t breathe and the pain is so sharp, like all the bones in my body are splintering from the pressure.

Light flashes behind my eyes and I feel my consciousness start to slip. But in the gray space between nightmare and darkness I see a blur of deep blue streak past me and crash into the shoulder of the Storm.

The winds howl and writhe and twist as a shadowy gray fog seeps out of the Living Storm’s wound, making the air taste salty. I gag as I wriggle free from its weakened grip—realizing my mistake when I drop like a broken-winged bird and there are no winds to float on or call to my aid.

I brace for impact, but at the last second my Westerly shield surges, coating me in a thick shell of air that absorbs the bulk of the crash.

The Living Storm’s giant fist hurtles toward me and I scramble to my feet seconds before it crushes where I’d been lying. I stumble toward my lost wind spike, but the Storm grabs my legs and I have to cling to cracked ground with all the strength I have left.

I’m about to lose my grip when a blur of blond hair charges toward me and slashes through the wrist of the Storm with a spear of deep blue.

The Storm’s arm crumbles into a thick gray fog that makes it impossible to see as its roar of pain shakes me down to the deepest parts of my essence.

I fight my way through the flying debris as the Storm howls again and more fog explodes around me.

Before I can take another step, a streak of blue shoots past me, slicing through the thickest mass of fog. The sickening gray mist parts for the briefest second and I get a glimpse of the blond warrior as he raises his spike and launches it for the Storm’s head.

“No!” I scream—but it’s too late.

The spike hits its mark and the world explodes.

The choking cloud turns everything black as the earth shakes and rocks rain down and a high-pitched squeal sears into my brain. I know I need to run, move, breathe. But I can’t.

The Storm is gone.

Vane is gone.

Strong hands grab me from behind, shocking me with tiny sparks when they spin me around.

“Hey, calm down,” a familiar voice tells me as I kick and thrash and fight to break free. “It’s me.”

I freeze, squinting through the fog to stare into a face that’s every bit as perfect as it is impossible.

“Vane?” My knees give out and I collapse into the warm arms that shouldn’t be here, soaking up the electric tingles I wasn’t supposed to feel again. “You’re dead.”

“I am?”

He takes my face in his hands and tilts my chin up, forcing me to look into his eyes—vivid and blue even in all this darkness and chaos.

I don’t know if this a dream or a delusion—but I know what I want to use it for. I pull his face down to mine and kiss him with every ounce of the love and longing that I’ve held on to all these weeks.

He tastes sweeter than I remember, and the heat between us is more intense, surging through me like a desert storm as I part his lips and kiss him deeper. His sparks burn on my tongue as I let the last parts of myself pass to him—sharing everything. Making him mine.

This is all I want, and if somehow I get to live this dream instead of having it ripped away, I’m never letting go. Never letting fear come between us again.

I hear another explosion and Vane’s hands slide to my shoulders and push me gently back.

We both gasp for breath and I shake with a giddy laugh.

He’s still here.

Still warm and beautiful and—

“We’re in a crapload of trouble—you do realize that, right?” he asks me.

I force my eyes away from his face and realize the fog has cleared enough to show the chaos and destruction all around us.

“I know, I’ll explain later,” Vane says to someone behind me, and I spin around to face the blond warrior, who I realize is a Gale I vaguely remember from my days in training.

“Looks like I get three for the price of one,” Raiden calls, his deep voice echoing around the canyon.

I glance up and find Stormers crouched in the cliffs all around us, holding wind spikes aimed perfectly at our heads. Every possible path is blocked—even the entrance to the Maelstrom—and the air is filled with nothing but scratchy, broken drafts.

Raiden stands between two of his Stormers on the highest foothill, his stance oozing calm and confidence as he studies the three of us.

“I’d surrender now, if I were you,” he warns.

Vane raises his wind spike as Gus sweeps his hair back and hands me the weapon I’d lost. He has another, darker blue spike clutched in his fist.

“You got any ideas?” Vane asks him.

He wipes away the blood that’s streaking down his face from a cut near his eye. “Yeah. We fight.”