How are you liking it? Zephyros asked.
They’d explained to her how to communicate once they were in the wind—just will her thoughts to project, and they would, but it was still so strange to be able to communicate from a disembodied consciousness. It’s the most amazing, awe-inspiring thing I’ve ever experienced. She felt the pleasure the gods took from her words without them uttering any in reply. And that, too, was astounding. In these moments, she was connected to them in a way she’d never been connected to anyone. The connection wasn’t just physical or emotional, but spiritual and sensual. Metaphysical, even.
Or maybe that was just the sensitive artist in her talking. But, she didn’t think so.
A ripple of energy seemed to rock through her, and then came a voice. The compound is well defended. I put Livos in charge until we return.
Very good, Chrysander, came a deep voice. Aeolus’s? Anna wasn’t sure and, anyway, had way more important things to think about. Like…what a beautiful, wondrous sight the world truly was. They were so high above the ground that she could see where the sunshine made it daytime behind them and where the darkness meant it was night in front of them. She could see both the light and the dark, and it spoke to something so deep inside of her that emotion nearly overwhelmed her.
Oh, how Anna wished she could share this experience with Devlin alone. Though, given the way he’d treated her after he’d awakened, she doubted he’d be interested. Who was she kidding? Somehow she was back to being “the human” to him, so, yeah, there was no question about it. The interest was all on her side. Maybe gods and humans couldn’t be together, anyway. What did she know? She’d just really thought there was something happening between them, but—
Um, Anna? Zephyros said.
Yes?
He didn’t respond right away, and then she picked up on the slightest sensation of discomfort…
Oh, God! Please, please, please tell me I didn’t just—
Yeah, he said. When you’re new at this it’s harder to segregate your private thoughts from intentional communication.
You guys are such…men! I bet a female goddess totally would’ve thought to mention that!
A wave of good-natured humor washed through her.
Not that she saw any humor in this situation. She’d just confessed her every thought, desire, and insecurity about Devlin to him and his entire family. She couldn’t imagine what he must be thinking, and she was totally sure she didn’t want to know. And now, she had absolutely no idea how to keep it from happening again.
She needed to occupy her mind somehow, or else she’d either end up over-sharing again or focusing on the images she needed to paint. Only one solution came to mind—she started singing. And, inexplicably, the only song she could think of was the alphabet. Mortification at the choice threatened, but really, how much more could she humiliate herself at this point? Besides, annoying the crap out of them with a rousing rendition of the ABCs—over and over again for as long as it took to return to her studio—served them right. She hoped she ingrained it so far into their consciousness that they found themselves humming it at random moments a month from now.
A, b, c, d, e, f, g…
After maybe the twentieth repetition of the song, Anna realized someone had joined her, but at first she couldn’t tell which one of them it was. Definitely not Zephyros, whose voice she recognized now, nor Aeolus, who struck her as way too formal to sing a children’s song. And, well, she pretty much ruled Devlin out, too, because he did not seem the type to break out spontaneously into song. That left the beautiful blond, then. Chrysander.
If Anna had been in her body, she would’ve been grinning her butt off. She’d barely had the chance to talk to him, but with that one action he’d completely endeared himself to her. Especially when, about fifteen rounds of the song later, he started putting his own spin on it until he was doing something resembling a very bad rap.
Q to the R to the S—
Chrysander! Zephyros yelled suddenly. Thunder rumbled in the distance. I will seriously hurt you!
Anna burst out laughing, and then she realized that she hadn’t been singing at all but listening to the god make a fool of himself. For her.
Z, dude, don’t be a buzzkill, Chrysander said.
They kept Anna laughing as they snarked back and forth at each other, and the next thing Anna realized was that she could perceive the outline of the Chesapeake Bay in the darkness, the moon reflecting off the great moving body of water. The details of the landscape sharpened the lower they went until she could make out the long, snaking length of the Bay Bridge and the congregation of lights that had to be the city of Baltimore. They flew northward over the light-lined ribbon that was Interstate 95 to where the darkness of the suburban countryside took over again.
Before long, they soared in over Jarrettsville, allowing her a too-fast glimpse of her house, and then the roof of her studio came into view. Moonlight glinted off the metal, and even that struck her as beautiful.
Her artist’s soul was totally overwhelmed.
But, as evidence of how insidious these other images were, she couldn’t even think of how she would try to express what she’d seen and how it had made her feel until she expelled this darkness from her mind.
Coast is clear, Zephyros said. Foreboding crept into Anna’s being as they slowed and came in along the ground. Clear of what? Or who? They passed through the crack between the door and the jamb to the inside of her studio. Okay, Anna, I’m going to shift us back into our physical forms. You’re going to be disoriented at first, so just hang on. I won’t let you fall.
She wasn’t sure how to reply, but it didn’t matter because she didn’t have the opportunity anyway. Anna slammed back into her body.
Unlike last time, at least she knew what to expect. But, somehow it still felt a lot more jarring than she recalled. She moaned and clutched at something—Zeph, she guessed—as the world spun and warped and slanted around her. Her senses slowly reattached to her body, as if her consciousness was a separate part that needed to be plugged back into her ears and her nose and her fingertips. It was strange and uncomfortable and absolutely fascinating.
“I gotcha, Anna,” came a distant-sounding voice. “It’ll pass soon.”
Finally, the disorientation faded away. Anna chanced opening her eyes and found herself staring at the dark color—the world was still black and white—of Zeph’s shirt. Her hands were absolutely fisted in the fabric, pulling it tight across his chest. She looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He gave a small smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
A great ball of emotion rolled through Anna’s body and she burst into tears. The maelstrom hit her so hard and so unexpectedly that all she could do was bury her face against the god’s chest and let it out. “I…I…I don’t know why…I’m…crying,” she said, trying to speak between racking breaths and sobs.
Commotion and raised voices erupted around her, but Anna couldn’t make any sense of it. She wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed before the overpowering outpouring of emotion passed. Finally, she managed to heave a deep breath that calmed the worst of the ridiculous reaction.
“Wow,” she rasped. “I don’t know what that was, but I’m sorry.” Her cheeks heated as she peered up at Zeph from under wet eyelashes.
“Just the physical expression of your emotions catching up to the actual experience of them. The wind thing gets easier the more you do it.”
Anna released him and hugged herself. “Okay,” she said, shaking her head. The crying jag had taken so much out of her that she didn’t have it in her to keep feeling embarrassed about it. “Well, thank you.”
“May I?” Zeph asked, gently grabbing her wrists and tugging them toward him.
“Uh, what—”
“You need your hands to paint, right?” he asked, kindness filling his blue eyes.
“Well, yeah…” A swipe of his thumbs over the bandage on her hand made the gauze disappea
r, revealing the bumpy redness of the burn on her right hand. “Holy…crap. Did you just—”
“Yes. Don’t be alarmed. You’ve been through enough today without trying to paint with your hand like this. Wouldn’t you agree, Aeolus?” He threw a cutting glance at the other god.
Anna glanced from where her hand was cradled in his much bigger grip to the oldest god among them who, after just a moment’s hesitation, gave a single nod.
“Good.” Zeph winked at her. “What do you say we make this better?”
“Uh…” Anna’s head spun a little. She’d experienced so many wondrous and unbelievable things today, she’d have thought her brain wouldn’t be so shocked with each new revelation. Not so much. “Sure, why not?” In truth, the burn was going to be a bugger to try to paint with, but something told her the dark visions would force her to work through it.
Holding her hand, Zeph laid his other hand atop hers. Golden light shone through the spaces between his fingers. Anna gasped as a warm, tingling sensation spread over her skin—accompanied by a rush of relief as the pain of her cut and burn melted away to nothing.
Zeph removed his hand.
And, even though Anna knew in her gut what she was going to see, she still stared slack-jawed at her completely healed skin. She turned her hand over and fisted it just to prove to herself that what she thought had just happened had really happened.
“Thank you,” she said, restraining herself from giving him a hug. “That’s not enough, but thank you.”
He nodded and gave her a small smile. “Now, will you show us your paintings?”
…
Devlin glared as Anna smiled at Zephyros and nodded him toward her painting room. His ire wasn’t directed at her, but at the Western god. For so many reasons. First, it had taken every bit of strength he had—not to mention Chrysander’s assistance in restraining him and explaining what was happening—to keep Devlin from launching himself across the room and tearing his uncle’s head off when Anna started crying.
Devlin had so little experience interacting with humans that he had no idea flying in the wind would impact her so deeply. But, even once he realized Zephyros hadn’t somehow hurt her, Chrys’s restraint was still necessary—because Devlin wanted to be the one comforting and consoling her, holding her in his arms, feeling her heat and her tears soak through his borrowed shirt into his chest. Then, as if all of that hadn’t already made Devlin want to crawl out of his skin, his uncle had healed her. Devlin had never before felt simultaneously grateful and unworthy until that moment—because his association with the decay and death of fall meant he possessed no healing abilities.
Watching Zeph get to be the one to do all that for Anna pretty much made Devlin want to break something with his bare hands. Repeatedly. Turned out that jealousy added to rage and firepower made a damn volatile cocktail. Imagine that.
“You tight?” Chrys said, standing between Devlin and the rest of the group as they followed Anna into the other room. Devlin met the god’s bright-green eyes and nodded. “He’s extremely happily married to Ella. Nothing for you to worry about there, you dig?” Another nod. Chrys eyeballed him for another long moment before finally letting him go.
They crossed to the doorway, and Devlin once again found himself not understanding what the hell was happening. Aeolus and Zephyros stood behind Owen, who was crouched in front of the first of the paintings Anna had done, the one where Eurus, presumably, had two beings of light pinned against a burning building. The whole array of Anna’s work was still laid out in a line as they’d left it earlier, but it seemed that the gods hadn’t yet looked at any of the others.
“Fucking hell,” Chrys said.
Devlin followed the Southern god’s gaze to the same painting, and then watched as Zeph crouched behind Owen and put a hand on his shoulder. Aeolus and Chrys traded troubled glances.
“What’s wrong?” Anna asked from where she’d been preparing her paints at the table. Devlin could’ve kissed her for being the one to ask so he didn’t have to. And wasn’t that…an odd as fuck thought?
Aeolus turned to her. “When did you paint this?” he asked, pointing at the first canvas.
“Last weekend,” she said. “Why? What is it?”
“It depicts the moment before my oldest son’s death, which happened three days ago.”
Anna gasped and her face paled. “Oh. Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”
The news hit Devlin like a punch to the gut. His gaze cut back to the painting, and as he stared at his father’s depiction, arm raised in attack, long lash of lighting gripped in his fist, Devlin knew he’d never hated Eurus more than he did at this very moment.
“It has to stop,” he said, not realizing he was going to speak until the words were spilling from his mouth. “How many more must die or be harmed at his hands?”
Zephyros glared up at him, skepticism plain in his eyes and on his face.
“I know you don’t trust me, don’t like me, probably even blame me. And I get it.” One by one, Devlin met the gaze of each of the other gods in the room. “But I vow to do everything in my power to help put an end to this once and for all.”
No one spoke. No one moved. Hell, he wasn’t sure anyone even breathed.
In a flash, Owen was off the ground and right up in his face. Every one of Devlin’s defensive instincts rang out in alarm and his muscles went rigid, expecting the blows to land but of course not sure where.
Silver light flared behind Owen’s eyes as he stared straight into Devlin’s. And then the Northern god gave a single nod. “Count. Me. In.” Owen extended his hand.
Stunned to receive an offer of friendship and alliance—and even acceptance—when he’d been prepared for pain left Devlin dumbfounded. Finally, his brain caught up with the situation, and he placed his hand in Owen’s.
Another solemn nod, and Owen stepped away.
“I’m in, man. I’ve been in all summer,” Chrys said, taking Owen’s place and shaking his hand.
Aeolus nodded and looked at Devlin with an emotion he wasn’t sure he recognized. Pride? Belief? Hope? “And it is in your power, Devlin. Especially if we work together.”
The others looked at Zeph, drawing Devlin’s gaze to where he stood in front of the painting depicting Boreas’s death with his arms crossed over his chest. Everything about the god radiated doubt, skepticism, rejection.
“Your father took my wife’s human life from her, forcing her to become a goddess without her consent. Had she not retained her memories of me on her own, I would’ve been forced to have nothing to do with her forever.” Zeph stepped closer. “Against my will, he had your brother installed as my successor. And you know why Alastor has the blood of spring flowing through him? Because Eurus kidnapped and raped my first wife, a goddess of spring, and then spread rumors throughout Olympus that I was the one who’d mistreated her.” Zephyros came closer still, throwing off Chrys’s attempts to hold him back. “And then, three days ago, Eurus drove lightning through my big brother’s chest in front of my eyes.” He waved out an arm. “In front of all of our eyes. And we were forced to watch him die.”
Grim-faced, Aeolus made to intercede, but Devlin shook his head. Whatever this was, Devlin would take it if it would clear the air between them and allow them to move on. And he understood Zeph’s rage. More than that, given all the ways Eurus had wronged Zephyros, the Western god was completely fucking entitled to it. “I know,” Devlin managed, meeting Zeph’s roiling blue gaze. “And I’m sorry.”
Down deep, it cut to apologize for the wrongs of his father. After all, no one had ever apologized to Devlin, and never would. But should Devlin, by some miracle of Zeus, survive the challenges before him, he would be his father’s successor in the East Wind. He would become a Cardinal Anemoi. And that meant he potentially had an eternity in front of him to work with Zeph and all of these gods. So the wound was a sacrifice worth making. Besides, with so many scars, what was one more?
Chrys punched Zeph in the shoulder
and glared at him when Zeph whirled. “He’s offering a fucking olive branch, man.”
Zeph’s gaze returned to him and he shook his head. “I’m not there, Devlin. But I’ll try.”
Better than nothing, he guessed. Devlin nodded.
“Uh, guys?” Owen said, drawing everyone’s attention…to where Anna stood furiously painting, her brush flying over the canvas, ribbons of colors waving between her palette, her brush, and the painting itself.
Damnit. They’d been so caught up in their own drama, they hadn’t even noticed that she’d been called away from the group and compelled by whatever magic brought these images to start painting.
“Holy shit,” Chrys said.
Devlin walked around the group and came up behind Anna. “You okay?”
“Sure,” she said in a low, distant voice.
He leaned to the side to see the painting, his gut filling with equal parts anticipation and dread. It was a close-up on his profile—he was almost sure it was him, not his father. On the canvas, his hand reached out in front of him toward something she hadn’t yet painted. But, gods, she’d only been painting a few minutes and had nearly a quarter of the two-by-three-foot canvas already covered.
As the other gods gathered around to watch her work, Devlin stepped to her side so he could see her face. Sweat beaded on her brow and dampened the hair around the edge of her face. “Hey, you don’t have to rush,” he said.
Her gaze flickered toward him. “I don’t have a choice,” she said. “Wherever this is, it’s some place bad. I have to hurry.”
Her words drew his eyes back to the painting, where the background of the image was starting to come to life.
“Christ, I know at least one of the gods in her family tree,” Zeph said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention—except Anna’s, as if the painting wouldn’t allow her the diversion. And if that was true, Devlin hated that for her. He hated that whatever this was didn’t give her the choice.
“Who?” Aeolus asked.
“It’s been a helluva long time, but since I once courted her, I’m sure of it. Anna is a daughter of Iris,” Zeph said. “I’d recognize the energy she’s throwing off anywhere.”