West of Want (Hearts of the Anemoi)

  Eurus had accused Zeph of abducting Chloris from him, raping her, keeping her hostage in their new home. He’d run right to their father, Aeolus, and when the powerful storm god wouldn’t take the charge seriously, Eurus spread the lies to any god who would listen. After a time, Chloris couldn’t stand the whispers and furtive glances, and she’d left in tears, unintentionally giving credence to the rumors. Zeph didn’t blame her, and still couldn’t bear the memory of her pain. Muscles rigid, he shook the rain from his face. “Truth be told, at the time I didn’t even know you to be capable of love. The way you treated her proved I was right.”

  The wind howled around them, dueling cold and warm drafts driving the rain sideways. “Any goddess who would stand between two brothers was not worthy of either,” Eurus spat.

  “Do not speak as if you ever felt the least fraternal affection toward me. I blame Father for much of that. But what you do—what you’ve always done—serves you and you alone.”

  “You will not mention him in my presence.”

  Zeph shook his head and swore under his breath. All gods excelled in stubborn righteousness, but perhaps none more than their father. Grieving over his beloved’s death in childbirth, Aeolus had blamed Eurus for her loss and refused to show him the least parental affection ever after. As much as anyone or anything, Aeolus’s treatment had seeded the resentment, bitterness, and hair-trigger rage so central to Eurus’s godhood. And he’d rubbed salt in the wounds by showering his new wife’s youngest son, the Anemoi Chrysander, with love and acceptance.

  Zeph got it. He did. But none of it was his fault, and he was tired of paying for it. “He did you wrong, Eurus. There’s no questioning that—”

  Eurus scoffed, a black light flashing from his inhuman eyes. “I don’t want your false pity.”

  “And I’m not offering it.” Zeph tugged his hand through his wet hair. “Enough of this. It’s the same shit, different century. Nothing I say or do makes any difference. You will not dictate my life to me. You will not dictate who I love.”

  The buffeting wind caught the length of Eurus’s coat, furling and unfurling it around him, giving it the appearance of a live being struggling to break free. “Perhaps if you didn’t spread your love”—his fingers curled into air quotes as he sneered the word—“around so indiscriminately, I wouldn’t have to step in. For the love of the gods, first Owen cavorts with human vermin, and now you. At least his indiscretion can be excused by his lack of true pure Anemoi blood. You, however—there’s no excuse for your dalliance here. Humans are beneath even you. Do not sully our godhoods with any more of this nonsense.”

  “Your view of humans is an abomination.”

  He released a sigh, like he was unjustly tormented by Zeph’s defense of humanity. “No, my view upholds the natural order of things. Fuck her and get your rocks off if you must, then leave her.”

  Lightning slashed across the sky, highlighting in stark relief the roiling clouds their confrontation had unleashed. Zephyros’s hands curled into claws and he nearly vibrated with the ancient need to put his brother out of his misery, out of all of their miseries. But Eurus was his brother and that connection—however damaged and distorted it had become—was hardwired into him. It meant something, something very hard to give up on. Moreover, killing an Anemoi would upset the balance of nature, and who knew what disasters would befall the human realm should that happen.

  But it was truly difficult to keep all those rational, logical reasons in mind when he talked about Ella that way.

  Ella. Lovely, sweet, and strong Ella. Filled with passion and life. Someone to be cherished, protected.

  The old fear rose up. Urged caution. Demanded self-preservation. Memories barraged him. Maia’s face in the mask of death. Hyacinthus walking away, choosing another. The easy, careless way Dion would roll out of bed, the sweat not even dried on their sated bodies, and treat Zeph like what they’d shared meant nothing at all. The expression Andreus wore as he left, refusing to say why he ended their still-new relationship…The list went on and on. Did he really want to add Ella to it? For his memory of her to be tainted by melancholy?

  Don’t give Eurus the power to choose for you, Zephyros.

  The baritone of Boreas’s voice splintered the dark spiral of Zeph’s destructive thoughts. He heaved a deep breath.

  He wanted this chance with Ella. He could almost believe he deserved it. Almost. Either way, it was no one else’s business. Resolve settled over him like a warm, comforting blanket.

  He stalked forward. “Just stay the hell away. None of this is your concern.” Zeph plowed past him, shoulder checking him as he went.

  Eurus returned the shove and whirled. “Fine. You want her? You think she’s worthy of an Anemoi? Prove it. You have until New Year’s End to plant your seed, Zephyros. Make an heir with her, and do it now, or I’m submitting this petition on Alastor’s behalf. And make no mistake, it will be approved.”

  Turning on his heel, Zeph got right up in Eurus’s face. “This again? I will not hear you spread such malicious lies about Chloris—”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.” Eurus’s smile was so smug it dropped Zeph’s stomach to the ground. “Because it’s not a lie. Alastor is Chloris’s. And mine. What a night that was…”

  Unthinkingly, Zeph’s fist crashed into Eurus’s jaw. Thunder cracked overhead as Eurus stumbled back a hard step. Zeph’s brain was already running a mental calculation. Alastor’s birth date, when Chloris left him. Nausea twisted his gut.

  Eurus’s tongue snuck out and licked blood from the corner of his lip. “Believe me now, do you?”

  Damn it all to Hades, the dates were close, so fucking close to making what Eurus said possible. No way Chloris would’ve…Was there? No. No. Oh, gods. “What did you do, you sick bastard? What did you fucking do?”

  “Nothing she didn’t want.”

  Zeph barely withheld the moan as the pieces clicked into place. “That’s why she left, isn’t it? You. What you did.” His knuckles throbbed from how tightly he clenched his fists. If he swung again, he wouldn’t stop until one of them breathed no more.

  “You were better off. The fact she so easily foisted the kid on me, just threw him away, shows what kind of trash you were mixed up with.”

  Zeph sucked in a breath and forced a calm façade. “You and me. We’re done.” Within his chest, something deep and fundamental strained and frayed, threatening to sunder Zeph’s very psyche.

  “Don’t test me, brother.” Eurus growled. “You know what I say is true. And you know that means Aeolus will approve it.”

  “Don’t call me brother.” Zeph pointed, glaring. “And don’t make me prove I’m the stronger god.”

  “You don’t have it in you,” Eurus spat.

  “Maybe not before this conversation because a part of me didn’t want to let you go. Even after everything you’ve done. You were still my little brother. That earned you my loyalty, my protection, a place in my heart from day one. But no more. The resolve I needed to make good on my threat? Nay, my vow?” Zeph shoved Eurus back with a burst of energy. “You just gave it to me.”

  Before his brother had the chance to escalate their conflict further, Zephyros shot into the air. Agony ripped through his chest as their strained connection severed. Once and for all. In the freedom of his elemental form, his psyche unleashed the pent-up emotions, railed against the injustice of his brother’s revelation, against the torment of his brother’s inexorable slide into damnation. Memories battered him, and the spring storm raged around him. This time, at least, he had the presence of mind to assess the sea below, to assure no one would suffer the same fate Ella had.

  Ella.

  Just the thought of her name, the memory of the softness of her skin in his hands, the lovely warmth in her words and her expressions—she wrapped around his heart and soothed him. Calmed him. What or who had ever achieved that for him before?

  A magnetic force pulled him toward her. Her body would warm him. Her acceptance
would be life-giving, a balm to his soul. But he wouldn’t go to her like this, carrying all this rage and guilt and unease. He didn’t want to scare her. Or disappoint her. Or risk ruining his chances in any way. He needed to pull his shit together.

  And he also needed to decide how to take Eurus’s threat. Dead seriously was probably the only way to play it safe. Zeph calculated. By the old calendar, New Year’s Day passed two days before. Centuries ago, people observed the dawn of the new year on March 25th, with a week of celebrations, festivals and gift-giving, all culminating on April first. That meant he had well less than a week to explore this thing with Ella, to see if it was worth exposing her to Eurus’s madness. Less than a week until his brother’s threat might lead them into all-out warfare.

  April 1st. April Fool’s Day. The origins of that day lay in the medieval derision toward those who failed to adjust to the new calendar. Adherence to the old ways was met with tricks and pranks meant to tease and instruct. Those who didn’t learn were deemed April’s fools.

  Maybe he was a fool to clutch at the hope and potential he felt around Ella. But, by the gods, some things were worth being foolish for.

  But even if things did work out between them, how could he think she’d ever entertain a child in so little time? He couldn’t. Aeolus would answer for whatever Eurus was plotting. No way he was seriously considering it. Zeph would make sure of that.

  He could only pray that, if a relationship with Ella didn’t work out, taking a hit to his ego was as bad as things would get.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ella had searched the whole house, not that there was that much of it. Zephyros was nowhere to be found.

  Well, what did you expect? You told him to go away.

  After dozing off in her room, Ella had come out ready to talk, ready to explain. Or, if that didn’t seem to be the right way to go, ready to act like a whole lot of nothing-at-all had happened. Whatever it took to make things right between them.

  Now, it seriously looked like she’d never get the chance. She had no idea how to find him, where he lived. She vaguely remembered him saying his last name, but even if she could get it right, something visceral told her she wouldn’t find him in the phone book. Because Zephyros wasn’t any ordinary man.

  Maybe. But she still wanted her answers. And he’d promised.

  Plus, she wanted him.

  She hung her head in her hands. Oh, God. What a mess.

  Despite the nap, her earlier fatigue returned. Maybe food would help. She never had gotten around to making him anything to eat. She wandered into the kitchen. Nothing really appealed to her. She threw a pizza into the oven because it was easy.

  While she waited, she dug into her junk food stash and pulled out a half-pound bag of peanut M&Ms. Peeking into the bag, she shook it until her favorite color emerged at the top. She reached in and plucked two green candies out—she swore the green ones tasted the best—and popped them in her mouth.

  Zephyros. Such an unusual name. Maybe she could find something about him on the Internet?

  Glancing at the oven timer, Ella shrugged. She had twenty-two minutes to kill and nothing better to do. M&Ms in hand, she headed upstairs and settled into the comfortable leather chair at the desk in the spare bedroom. The green banker’s lamp cast a soft glow over the room. Against the far wall sat a futon, but otherwise Marcus had made the house’s second bedroom his home office. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined one wall and a nearly new computer system with a huge twenty-four-inch monitor dominated a corner of the wide desk. Marcus had run his financial planning business out of this office, so he’d spared no expense to make it comfortable and workable.

  Ella particularly enjoyed the room because, in the afternoons, light spilled in from the windows and the glass door that led to the balcony over the front porch. She couldn’t wait for warmer weather to arrive so she could curl up on the chaise lounge out there with a good book.

  Ella fished out more green M&Ms while she waited for the computer to boot up. Finally, she was logged on and surfing the Internet. She’d managed to type the letters “Zephyr” before Google very helpfully started suggesting matches. She scrolled down.

  An HVAC company, a baseball cap manufacturer, a paintball store. No, no, no. Wow, the word had a whole Wikipedia entry. She clicked on it. Her options here weren’t much better: a light or west wind, a mythological Greek god, a type of lily, a New York graffiti artist. There were also a lot of brands of planes, trains, and cars named Zephyr. That’s where she’d heard that word before—it was a famous train.

  Back at Google, she finished typing the name, and tried it with both an “os” and an “us” on the end. Either way, one result headed the top of the lists—Greek gods called the Anemoi who, according to legend, controlled the winds and seasons. She got sucked into reading. So much intrigue and drama. Greek myths were like the world’s first soap operas, filled with star-crossed lovers, infidelity, secret babies, and backstabbing.

  But these stories being mythology and all meant, by definition, they were made up. They were the urban legends of the ancient world. And since Zeph’s hands had been all over her—and she’d been all over him—she could say without hesitation that he was real. Very real.

  Through the stillness of the house, she heard the oven dinging its one-minute warning. Ella brought up a people search window and, just to rule it out, looked for Zephyros several different ways in the Annapolis area. She broadened it out from there. Nothing. The oven timer went off for good.

  Ella closed her web browser and scooped up the bag of M&Ms. In the kitchen, she grabbed the oven mitt and pulled her pizza out to cool. The rich, zesty smell of spicy sauce, baked crust and savory pepperoni filled the room. Her stomach rumbled.

  She plated two slices and grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, but she couldn’t get comfortable at the table. Her insides felt restless, confined. She picked up the paper she’d read this morning and discarded it as quickly. Wow, had that really been just this morning? Wind gusted through the tree behind the house, drawing Ella’s attention. She slid out of her chair and slipped into one of her brother’s old and way-too-big fleece jackets hanging on a hook by the back door. Despite the early evening gloom and the promise of rain, she grabbed her dinner, flipped on the porch light, and went outside.

  The air had that special cleanness she associated with spring. You could smell the stirrings of new life. She sucked in a deep, cool breath and let some of her stress pour out on the exhale.

  The back porch was small—only enough room for a two-seater iron table and chairs and a covered grill. Ella got settled, much more comfortable than she’d been inside in spite of the chill, and enjoyed her pizza with slow bites. The more she ate, though, the hungrier she felt, and she realized just how long it had been since she’d had a decent meal.

  The image popped up unbidden—her and Zeph on a date at a nice restaurant. Maybe Carroll’s Creek, where they could sit surrounded by the marina and see the lights of the Naval Academy across the water. She’d start with the cream of crab soup, so decadent in its richness. Or maybe they’d go to Carpaccio’s. Despite the pizza she was eating, her mouth watered when she thought of the incredible pizza bread they brought to the table as an appetizer. Crispy on the outside, but soft on the inside, and covered in an incredibly savory sauce. Oh, and their pasta alla vodka…

  The thought of her companion was even more delicious. She had no idea what he would wear, since she’d only ever seen him in scrubs, jeans, and T-shirts, but her mind put him in a suit jacket and collared shirt, open at the throat. God, he would look even more broad-shouldered, and that close-shaved beard of his would give him a dashing appearance.

  No sense daydreaming about what she’d never have.

  Shoving the thought aside, Ella wandered from the porch into the backyard. She wrapped her arms around herself, shielding against the gusseting winds. Above her, dark clouds gathered. Still, she took her time, ambling from one group of plantings to another.
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  The person who owned the house before Marcus had clearly loved gardening. Though her brother had let the beds grow largely unattended, the small fence-enclosed space was a riot of color by late springtime, and Ella felt like a symphony-goer awaiting the orchestra’s arrival. While only the daffodils and forsythia shined their pretty yellow faces now, soon the yard would be a rainbow of life. The gardener had chosen plantings that would keep the beds in bloom at all times. The flowers would grow in waves and stages, like instruments joining in on a melody, and peak in brilliant bursts of color, just as music crescendoed. Tending this neglected garden, restoring it to its former glory—now, that would be a nice goal on which to focus. Having a plan, even a small one, filled Ella with a sense of hope.

  Thunder rumbled close by. Fat drops of rain pelted down. One hit her throat and slid under her collar, snaking its icy tendrils over her. She shivered and dashed across the yard as the intermittent drops turned into a driving rain.

  Lightning flickered and illuminated a spot of color off to the side. Ella stopped so quickly she skidded in the slippery grass. Her favorite rose bush, the one with the bright pink blooms, looked as if it was the middle of summer. Full, heavy blossoms sagged as they collected the falling rain. She glanced around. Everything else was as she expected except for this single, beautiful rose bush that had no business blooming. Heart thrumming in her chest, Ella stared until her clothes nearly soaked through, then jogged into the house.

  She didn’t know what to make of it, but somehow felt even more inspired for having seen it.

  Inside, Ella grabbed a kitchen towel, swiped it over her face and hair, and dried her hands. She stripped off the fleece jacket and her wet jeans and chucked them into the dryer in the utility room. From the junk drawer, she grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. Time to make a plan. A real one.