Let the Storm Break

CHAPTER 33 VANE

Even as the words are leaving my lips, I can’t believe I’m saying them—and the queasy feeling that follows doesn’t seem like a good sign.

What else am I supposed to do, though?

Westerlies are the only winds Raiden can’t ruin or send away. If I don’t teach the Gales how to call them, they’ll be completely defenseless in this battle. And I can’t let any more guardians die for me.

But what about the Westerlies who gave their lives to protect this secret?

They trusted me to do the same, to keep our language safe from anyone who might abuse or destroy it. And now I’m going to hand it over to my entire army—some of whom I’ve never met—right after their captain basically threatened to torture me?

My ears ring and everything goes dim as I start to sway—but then someone’s wrapping their arms around me and I can finally breathe when the rush of warmth hits me.

“Audra?” I whisper, trying to get my eyes to focus. I can only see a blur of red and skin—which wouldn’t be such a bad thing if my stomach weren’t flipping and flopping and making the possibility of throwing up on her feel very, very real.

“Hang on,” she tells me, pulling me down to the floor and helping me put my head between my knees.

Calm down.

Breathe.

Do not hurl all over your very hot girlfriend.

“He needs space!”

Audra’s voice sounds much too far away, considering I can feel her hand on my unbruised shoulder. The ringing is getting louder and my vision is completely dark and I collapse to my side, curling up in a ball and trying not to swallow as my mouth waters the way it always does right before I vomit.

“Okay, everyone out,” Gus shouts. “Give the guy some air.”

I reach for Audra and she squeezes my hand, just like that cold day in the snow. Everyone else stomps away, and when their footsteps are gone, Audra whispers a soft call in Westerly. A cool breeze sweeps into the room, circling around me.

“Try to relax,” she tells me.

I concentrate on the wind brushing my skin and the whispers filling the air. The Westerly’s song is peaceful and soft, but it’s sad, too. About constantly trying to get back to the calmer skies it used to know.

I know how the draft feels.

Sometimes all I want to do is rewind back to the days when my biggest problems were convincing my dad to cough up some gas money or getting teased about how I messed up yet another date. Now I don’t even need my car—and I have pretty much the hottest girlfriend on the planet, who’s sitting here next to me in an absurdly sexy red dress, stroking my back even though I’m all gross and sweaty from almost passing out around her again.

But I also have to figure out how to protect my army and all the innocent people in this valley from the creepiest dude I’ve ever met.

If only I could keep all the perks and not have to deal with the other crap.

Especially since the only way I can think of to help everyone is the same thing that’s making me stay crashed on the floor, counting my breaths and trying to figure out how to keep the promise I just made when the thought alone turns me into a useless Vane-lump.

I could make them all the special wind spikes, like I did for Gus. He didn’t need to know any Westerly commands to use it to destroy the Living Storm.

But what if some of those fall into Raiden’s hands?

If I don’t teach the Gales the voice commands, they won’t be able to call them back after they throw them or unravel them if the Stormers manage to steal them, and there’s no way I can keep track of that many wind spikes on my own.

Another wave of nausea hits me, and I go back to concentrating on the Westerly, wishing its song would tell me what to do. The only clue it gives me is the verse “don’t flee from the path”—but which path? The promise I just made? Or the path I’ve been on all this time? It could be either, and if I guess wrong . . .

I tighten my grip on Audra’s hand. “This is a lot tougher than I thought it would be.”

“I know.” Audra reaches up with her other hand, running her fingers through my hair and sending gentle ripples of heat through my head. “I feel sick thinking about it too—and I’m not really a Westerly.”

“You kinda are. Shoot—you have better control than me, and I’m pretty sure that Westerly you brought home wanted to be your pet.”

“Maybe.” She sighs, pulling her hand slowly away. “But this has to be your decision, Vane. I can’t be a part of it.”

“Why? I thought we were in this together now.”

“We are. It’s just . . .” A painful stretch of silence passes before she says, “This is your heritage—and we may not be bonded forever—and if—”

“Uh, wait a minute,” I interrupt. “Yeah we will.”

My eyes sting when I open them and find my room filled with light—the sun must’ve risen while I was panicking—but it’s worth the pain when I get another glimpse at her dress.

Holy freaking wow.

Right—focus.

“No way am I letting them break us apart,” I tell her. “Not unless . . .”

I can’t stop myself from remembering the look on Audra’s face when Os threatened us. I thought she’d looked worried, but . . .

“Unless?” Audra prompts.

I force myself to sit up, careful to stare at her face instead of the many other places I would much rather be staring. “Do you want to be bonded to me?”

“I . . . want you to be happy.”

“That’s not what I asked.” She looks away, and now I’m seriously getting worried. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

“No . . .”

Okay, it’s the right word, but the way she drags it out—like there’s supposed to be a “but” afterward—isn’t exactly reassuring.

“If something’s changed, you need to tell me. I don’t . . .” My voice hitches and I clear my throat. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck with me.”

She turns back toward me, her expression impossible to read. “I don’t want you to feel stuck with me. Now that you’ve met Solana—”

“Oh my God—is that what this is about?”

I’m so relieved I can’t help laughing as I grab her and pull her close—which turns out to be a bad idea because I’m still shirtless and holy crap her dress is backless. I take a deep breath, trying to remember what I was going to say, and finally manage to mumble, “Solana’s a nice girl, but she’ll never be you.”

“But . . . how can you want to be with the girl whose mother killed your parents?”

She dips her chin, but I tilt it back up, forcing her to look at me. “I will never blame you for that, Audra. I’m not even sure if I totally blame your mom anymore. Especially now that she’s . . .”

Audra closes her eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about that sooner,” I mumble. “I didn’t know what to say.”

It’s a weak excuse even to me, but Audra lets me get away with it. She just sits there, looking so heartbreakingly sad.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“My mother?” She shakes her head. “No. She chose her own path. But . . .”

“But?” I prompt when she doesn’t finish.

Audra sighs, dropping her eyes to the neckline of her dress. I try not to follow her stare—but it’s not easy.

“What is it?” I ask quietly.

“I’m just . . . such a mess. Between my mother and the Gales and . . .” She sighs again and her whole body droops. “Solana’s so perfect and pretty and—”

There’s only one way to stop this insanity. I pull her closer and kiss her with everything I have.

She sinks into my arms, parting her lips as she presses her body against me. The rush of heat makes my head spin, or maybe that’s from all the skin touching skin. Her lips trail down my neck and I realize that if I let this keep going I won’t be able to stop—and we’re kind of running out of time here. So with the last of my willpower I kiss her one more time and break away.

“Now will you believe that I want to be with you?” I ask, grinning when I see the way she’s gasping for breath.

Her smile fades. “You could have anyone.”

“Ha! I seriously doubt that. I was hardly a hit with the human girls—and not just because of you, though you definitely didn’t help. But more important, are you ever going to stop doubting me? Or do I need to, like, get your name tattooed across my body—because I’m really not a fan of needles, but I’ll put a big ‘I Heart Audra’ right here if I need to.”

I wave my hand across my chest.

She shakes her head and I pull her back, resisting the urge to kiss her again as I whisper in her ear. “I choose you. And if anyone ever tries to break our bond, I’ll destroy them—and then I’ll chase you down and beg until you to let me form it again.”

She smiles against my neck, giving me goose bumps, before she tilts her chin up and whispers, “Then what are we going to do about Os?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t trust him,” I whisper back, feeling better just saying it out loud.

“Me either,” she admits after a second. “So you’re not going to teach him Westerly?”

“I don’t think I physically can. I feel like passing out just thinking about it. But what about the rest of the Gales? I don’t know how I’ll live with myself if I let more of them die for me—”

“It’s not your responsibility to worry about the other guardians.” She traces her fingers along the edge of my bruise, letting her sparks ease some of the ache. “You’re putting your life on the line too—and they knew the risks when they took their oath. They all know their jobs could end in their own death.”

The word feels like it casts a shadow over us.

A battle to the death.

I suppose I could send them away, but I really don’t think Audra and I are strong enough to take all the Stormers on by ourselves. And if the Living Storms get loose in the valley . . .

I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest as I realize what I’m forgetting, and I stumble to my nightstand to grab my long abandoned cell phone.

“What’s wrong?” Audra asks as I switch it on and dial, relieved that it still has a little battery left.

“Someone better be dead,” Isaac says as he answers, which makes me realize what time it is. The clock by my bed says quarter to six.

“Hey,” I mumble, bracing for how awkward this is going to be. “I know this is going to sound strange, but . . . I need you to head out of town for the next few days. Like now.”

I can hear the covers rustle like he’s sitting up in bed. “Are you high?”

“No—and I’m not drunk, either, if that’s your next question. Just trust me when I say that you’ll be much safer if you get out of the desert for a bit. Take Shelby and your family, too. My parents went to Mexico, so maybe you can meet up with them there.”

“Okay . . . let me get this straight,” Isaac says after an endless silence. “I don’t hear from you for, like, two and a half weeks—and now you call me at the crack of dawn telling me to pack up and head to Mexico with your parents? And I’m supposed to believe that you’re not on drugs?”

I don’t blame him for not believing me. But he has to get out of town. “Look, all I can say is that crap is going to hit the fan, like, soon—and I don’t want you to get caught in the middle of it—”

“What kind of crap?”

“It’s . . . hard to explain.” He’ll never believe me if I tell him the truth. I certainly wouldn’t. “But it’s big, crazy, you-cannot-wrap-your-head-around-it kind of crap. So please, just get your family and Shelby out of here—don’t you have relatives you could stay with in Ensenada?”

“Dude, quit tripping and go back to sleep.”

“I’m not tripping, I—”

He hangs up on me.

I call back and it goes straight to voicemail. Same with the next time. And the time after that.

I’m tempted to call his house, but if I can’t convince my best friend that I’m not drugged out of my mind, I doubt I can convince his paranoid mother. And his girlfriend, Shelby, hasn’t spoken to me since the Hannah-from-Canada debacle weeks ago.

Which leaves me with only one option.

“You’re going to get him?” Audra asks, proving how well she knows me as I grab the nearest shirt and throw it over my head.

“I have to try to get him out of here. If something happens to him, I won’t be able to live with myself.”

“You will do nothing of the sort,” Os says from the doorway. “We have precious little time for you to teach us what we need—and that is the best way to protect everyone.”

I glance at Audra and she nods. “Listen, Os, about that—”

“Don’t you dare—you already agreed.”

“I know. But I can’t. You saw how sick I got.”

“Then don’t get sick.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Not when I don’t trust you!”

I can see Gus and Solana standing behind Os, looking pretty dang shocked that I would admit that. But it’s the truth. Might as well lay it all out there at this point.

“You don’t trust me?” Os growls. “I am your captain!”

“Yeah, and less than an hour ago you threatened to torture me and break my bond. I’m sure you can see why that might make you seem a little shady.”

“Is that what this is about? Some sort of blackmail to force me into accepting your relationship?”

“Of course not—we don’t need your approval. You don’t get to—”

I stop myself and take a deep breath, focusing on the Westerly still floating around my room. It’s singing that line again about not fleeing from the path, and I think I finally know what it means.

“Look,” I say, trying to make sense of the chaotic thoughts in my head. “Everyone’s always talking about how I’m the one with the power to fix everything. But I’m not. The Westerlies have the power. Every single time they’ve managed to save me it’s because I stepped back and listened to what my instincts were telling me to do. And my instincts are telling me not to teach anyone else my language, so I have to trust them. I know it’s scary—but it was pretty freaking scary when Audra was trapped in a drainer and my instincts told me to make an ultra strong wind spike and launch it at her, and it was even scarier when we were cornered by Raiden in Death Valley and we had to drop our only shield and unravel our only weapons and hope that the few tired drafts we had would come through for us. But they did. So fine, maybe you don’t trust me and I don’t trust you, but can we both agree to trust the wind  ?”

Os’s mouth forms one word. Then another.

When he changes his mind again, I say, “You know you agree with me. You just don’t want to.”

He reaches up and smoothes the hair around his braid. “I do agree that your instincts are important, Vane. But that doesn’t mean they’re always perfect, either—or that you’re properly understanding them. Yes, you felt ill thinking about teaching us, but how do you know that’s not just nerves resulting from a life-changing decision?”

“Because it wasn’t.”

“But how do you know—and don’t give me some pointless answer like ‘I just do.’ You’ve never given teaching us a chance. How do you know it won’t feel differently if you try?”

“Because I didn’t feel like that with Audra!”

Gus cringes, and I realize he never told Os that important detail—which was probably the right call.

“What does he mean?” Os asks, reeling on Audra. “Did he teach you Westerly?”

Say no! I want to beg her. Lie to cover my mistake.

But Audra squares her shoulders, glancing quickly at me before she turns to face Os and says, “Yes.”