East of Ecstasy (Hearts of the Anemo)

by Laura Kaye

  It was a question Owen didn’t really need to ask. The last two years had cemented the bond between Boreas and Owen. Knowing he’d been so well loved by the god he’d most respected both soothed his grief and worsened it. Because now it was gone.

  Blinking away the memory, Owen focused on something else they’d said. “Wait. She’s his fiancée?” Owen asked. “Since when?” How did a bad guy on the run find the time to meet a girl?

  “Right?” Zeph said, obeying the storm god and grumbling under his breath.

  Lying side by side emphasized the woman’s petite stature next to Devlin’s sprawling length. Not that Devlin was big—at least not compared to the rest of the Anemoi. Owen stepped to the end of the bed. In fact, Devlin’s bare chest wasn’t just scarred, but lean to the point of deprivation.

  “Guy’s a sack of bones,” Chrys said, echoing Owen’s thoughts. “And his skin makes mine look pristine by comparison.”

  Owen cut his gaze to Chrys’s quick enough to catch a flash of dark regret behind the Southern god’s eyes. Chrysander had shouldered the brunt of the fight against Eurus over the past six months, and his body bore the scars to prove—scars that hadn’t healed because the Firestone ring made the god who should’ve been the weakest among the four Cardinal Anemoi the very strongest. As strong as the storm god who had controlled the Anemoi since near the beginning of their creation, a power the ring conferred on its wearer.

  “Something doesn’t make sense here,” Chrys said quietly, as if musing out loud.

  Zeph crossed his arms. “Such as?”

  Raking his fingers through his hair, Chrys nailed Devlin with a stare. “Guy is beat all the hell up, came to Owen’s to warn us about Apheliotes’s death and Eurus’s attack, and has a human fiancée? All that in addition to training with Aeolus and agreeing to down a cocktail of fire and rage?”

  Owen nodded, Chrys’s words striking a chord inside him even as his embittered anger resisted the idea that Devlin might not share the blame for Eurus’s evil deeds. Because Owen needed someone to lash out at as much as he needed the cold, clear air of winter. Still, seemed that Devlin had made a whole lotta choices that would’ve pissed Eurus off more than earned his favor. Why would Devlin do that if he and Eurus were the allies they’d always assumed the pair to be?

  “What happened to him?” Owen asked, watching as Aeolus maintained contact.

  “Not sure,” Zeph said. “He seems to have taken his new powers for a joyride.”

  Aeolus’s eyes flashed open, dark-green light flaring. “His powers are volatile, Zephyros. And he hasn’t had the chance to master them. If he lost control, it’s because—”

  “It’s because he has no business wielding that kind of power,” Zeph shot back.

  “Enough,” Aeolus bit out, closing his eyes again. “I’m not doing this with you now.”

  Devlin shuddered and sucked in a sharp breath. His eyelids fluttered but didn’t stay open. Aeolus dropped his hands on a weary sigh.

  “Now what?” Chrys asked.

  “Now, we let them rest. When they awaken, we can find out what happened and go from there. Come,” Aeolus said, gesturing them to the door.

  “We should post guards,” Zephyros said.

  The storm god placed a firm hand on his son’s chest and forced him to a halt. “Leave him be, Zephyros. I don’t want to have to say it again.”

  Owen and Chrys traded glances, and Chrys looked as surprised and mystified as Owen felt. Clearly, there was something more to the relationship between Aeolus and Devlin than any of them understood—which was even more confusing given the lack of affection, attention, and regard Aeolus had given to his son, Devlin’s father, when he’d been a younger god. It was part of what had twisted Eurus into the monster he’d become. Though to be fair, who hadn’t been screwed over by life at one point or another? No one—not even a god—got through their existence without suffering a broken heart, a bruised ego, or an injustice that was never made right. Everyone suffered, but not everyone took their shit out on the rest of the world.

  Ella’s near-death attack. The loss of Aeolus’s fingers in his fight with Eurus over the ring. The repeated assaults on Chrysander. Alastor’s torture. Apheliotes’s death. Boreas’s death.

  Eurus had officially exhausted whatever sympathy any of them might’ve once had for him. Now, all they felt was a shared soul-deep conviction to take him down and put an end to the spread of his evil. Once and for all.

  “Fine,” Zephyros said. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I do. Devlin is not his father. And I should know since I made Eurus the way he is,” Aeolus said. Zeph stared at him a long minute, the tension from their confrontation and Aeolus’s surprise admission turning the air so thick they could’ve cut it with a knife. Finally, Zeph nodded once and disappeared. Aeolus turned his glare on Owen and Chrys. “Either of you have any grief you want to dish out?”

  The internal war over Devlin’s trustworthiness and culpability pulled Owen’s heart in two. “I’m reserving judgment,” Owen managed.

  Chrys pointed at Owen, then crossed his arms. “What he said.”

  “Well, thank Zeus for small favors,” Aeolus groused. “Because I’d say we have enough enemies to worry about without fighting one another.”

  “Agreed,” Chrys said. “Well, call me when they wake up. Otherwise, I’m outie.” And he disappeared.

  With a last look over his shoulder at the couple lying on the bed, Owen turned to leave.

  A hand fell on his shoulder. “I know you have every bit as much reason as Zephyros to revile Eurus and, by association, Devlin. I appreciate your open-mindedness.”

  Owen nodded even as his gut clenched. “I just don’t get why it’s so important to you.”

  “You mean, besides the fact that he now possesses the ability to best his father, even while Eurus has the Firestone?” Aeolus’s eyebrows lifted, and Owen conceded the point with a nod and a one-shouldered shrug. “Because Devlin is my second chance to heal the rift I caused among the four winds.”

  Hearing Aeolus make these admissions was like walking into an invisible wall—though Owen was pretty sure he’d have been less shocked at the latter. It just wasn’t like the proud storm god to admit his mistakes or seek to atone for them. At least, not like the storm god had before the Anemois’ world had become so embattled.

  Glancing to the left, Owen’s gaze settled on Devlin. If the Eastern god really represented such a thing, then Owen had no choice but to set aside his own needs and personal feelings and do whatever he could to help. It’s what Boreas would’ve done, Owen had no doubt. “Chrys and I will work on Zeph,” he said, turning back to Aeolus.

  The older god nodded. “Get some rest,” he said. “Something tells me we’re going to need it.”

  …

  Anna gasped awake and lurched onto her elbows. Realized they sank into a velvet duvet. Where the hell am I? The dimly lit room could’ve been a suite at the Ritz it was so luxuriously furnished, all carved mahogany, plush woven carpets, and rich tapestries on the walls.

  And she was seeing it all in color. Anna scrunched her eyes closed, counted to three, and opened them again. Color. Everywhere. The blanket beneath her was a deep, rich blue, the carpets were ivory with blues and greens and browns, and the tapestries were golden with bold reds and navy blues and hunter greens. She sat all the way up, her heart racing in her chest, and had absolutely no idea how to explain how this could be happening.

  She looked to her right and did a double take. Devlin lay on his back next to her.

  Devlin. The accident. His grandfather.

  The memories came back in a rush. Those other gods had brought Devlin and Anna…somewhere. Exactly where, she had no idea. Had they helped him as they’d said?

  Gingerly, Anna moved closer to Devlin. Soot and mud still smudged his skin here and there, but his breathing sounded more regular than before, slow and shallow in the pattern of deep sleep. “Devlin?” she whispered.


  His head turned toward her on the thick pillow and his lips twitched. And that little bit of movement unleashed a tide of relief through every cell in Anna’s body. Because it was way more than he’d done while lying in the pouring rain, riding in the ambulance, or being poked and prodded at the hospital.

  Not wanting to wake him, Anna slid off the bed and padded across the wide room. The vibrancy of the colors surrounding her overloaded her senses and almost made her dizzy. She turned the door handle as quietly as possible and peeked outside. The dark room beyond appeared to be a formal living room, with a grouping of overstuffed furniture situated around a massive marble hearth. How cozy that must be with the fire lit…

  Though it didn’t give her any better of an idea where she was. Or why she was seeing in full color.

  The enormity of the individual rooms gave her the sense that the whole house must be massive, probably a big mansion. They were gods, after all. Which meant it might take some searching to find Devlin’s grandfather and the others if she went exploring. Anna’s gaze reached back across the dim bedroom to where she could just make out Devlin’s form on the big bed. As curious as she was, her heart squeezed at the idea of leaving him.

  More than that, she felt drawn back to his side.

  She secured the door again and returned to the bed. Glancing down at herself, Anna realized she was as dirty as Devlin. Between the fire, rain, and mud, both of them were in desperate need of a hot shower and a change of clothes. But whoever had put them here apparently hadn’t worried about that, so Anna crawled onto the sumptuous blue bedding and lay on her side in the middle—close enough to be able to look at Devlin, but not so close that she touched him, though she wanted to. Badly.

  God, he was a ruggedly attractive man. Not at all classically handsome, but something about all his rough edges appealed to her heart and her body. Lean as he was, he remained much bigger than her. And lying in a bed with him led her imagination to all sorts of places it probably had no business going. Like, wondering what it would feel like to lie on that broad chest, what it feel like to hold his big body in the cradle of her thighs, what his greater weight and size would feel like covering her.

  Heat lanced through Anna’s body. Her reaction wasn’t just the result of the long dry spell brought about from a schedule that focused on painting and caring for her father. It was about Devlin himself. Maybe it was his incredible power or the vulnerability he tried to hide or the way he’d looked at her with such need and touched her with such gentleness. Maybe it was all of those things. All Anna knew was that she wanted the chance to learn more.

  Slowly, she gave into the urge to touch him and smoothed her hand over the soft warmth of the bedding. She laid her right hand on top of his and wished the bandage didn’t prevent her palm from feeling him, but at least her fingers were free to slip into the cup of his hand and hold him skin to skin. The touch didn’t seem to disturb him, so Anna got comfortable and settled in to wait until Devlin woke up. Unthinkingly, her thumb stroked back and forth and when she focused on the movement, Anna realized she was rubbing over the skin inked with an intricate black band that circled his entire wrist. Earlier, she’d seen a similar marking on his left wrist, which meant he wore one on both. She wondered what they meant.

  Before long, the stress of the day, comfort of the bed, and warmth from Devlin’s hand made her limbs heavy and her eyelids heavier. Part of her feared falling back to sleep—what if the colors disappeared again when she awoke? But the lure of sleep was stronger, especially as a series of images began to shift and form in her mind’s eye. The Dark Man. But was it Devlin or his father? That was her last conscious thought before the dream images pulled her under and claimed her for their own.

  …

  The first thing he noticed was the warmth, then the softness, then the sweet scent of vanilla. One by one, Devlin’s senses came back online, but he was surrounded by such comfort that he didn’t want to open his eyes and face the grim reality of his life. Because surely these sensations were holdovers from a dream. His father had always believed that Spartan accommodations built strength and endurance, and so Devlin’s bed consisted of a rough canvas cot and an ancient woolen blanket.

  Nothing like this.

  Devlin burrowed into the warmth, knowing he had to enjoy it while it lasted.

  A small, throaty moan.

  His eyelids flipped open. He surveyed and cataloged his surroundings…and had absolutely no idea where he was.

  That little satisfied moan, again.

  Oh, fucking Hades, someone else is in the bed!

  Devlin was in the elements before the panic had fully settled in. And then he materialized with his back against a richly paneled wall across the room from the bed. Gods, he’d been lying right up against someone with no idea who it was or how he’d gotten there. His heart thundered, his pulse raced, his breathing rasped as the panic got its claws into him. He scanned the room anew and looked for a threat, but all was seemingly quiet and still.

  A shiver ran over his skin and made Devlin realize he was shirtless. What the fuck? Except when bathing, he never bared his body, not even to himself. Like he needed the fucking reminder. His jeans remained, but even they hung in tatters, ripped and charred. The wrapping he kept around the cilice to catch his blood peeked through the torn denim.

  His gaze continued down his body. And…sonofabitch. Where were his boots?

  No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t resurrect any memory that explained where he was or why he looked this way. He peered across the room. Or who the hell he’d been in bed with.

  Slowly, Devlin prowled across the room and came up along the empty side of the bed.

  The minute he saw her face it all came back like a wave catching him off guard and knocking him under the rolling, churning water.

  Anna.

  Eurus’s storm.

  His loss of control.

  In his mind’s eye, Devlin saw Anna hiding behind her Jeep, fearful pleading in her wide gray eyes. Gods, had he hurt her? Her father?

  “Anna?” he said, not recognizing his own voice as he crawled up on the bed. “Anna?” She looked like she’d been through nearly the same battle as him, her clothes and skin covered in mud and black smudges. And now one hand bore a bandage. Carefully, he cupped the hand wrapped in thick gauze in his. What had he done?

  “Hey,” came her sleepy voice, then her eyes went wide. “You’re awake. Oh, thank God.” She pushed up quickly and reached for him. Devlin jerked back, nearly falling off the bed, and she yanked her arms in against her chest. Pressing shaking fingers to her lips, her gaze went glassy as it ran over him.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly really fucking conscious of the fact that he didn’t have a shirt. Just as well that she saw the evidence of his shame. Anything to put the brakes on the tension that had sizzled between them when she’d hugged him at her studio. Anything to put a leash on the possessiveness he’d felt when her male friend had kissed her, innocent though it was. And absofuckinglutely anything to suppress the soul-deep gratitude and downright reverence he’d felt as she’d fed him the first real meal he’d had in…days, maybe weeks. Because as much as those others had awakened all sorts of emotions he hadn’t flirted with in over a century, it was that last one that most left him feeling exposed and vulnerable and raw. Kindness and satisfaction and basic physical satiation were things he could not afford for his body, mind, or heart to get used to or expect. Ever.

  Nor was the basic comfort of her touch. Gods, he’d been holding her in his sleep. Touch was such a foreign fucking thing to him, yet he’d been the one holding her. And now his skin ached for more of that touch as if it were a phantom limb he’d lost and would never stop missing.

  “Are you okay?” she finally asked.

  Devlin frowned as her question interrupted the churn and burn between his ears. He glared at her bandage, regret of too many damned kinds filling his soul. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

/>   Anna ignored his bark and waved her hand. “This was an accident. God, Devlin, I thought you’d died. And for the record, I really want to hug you right now.” She looked at him with such hope and affection and caring.

  Disgust and grief flowed through him. He could never accept any of those things from her, and he resented the hell out of her for putting him in the position of having to reject something that tempted him so badly. And besides, why would someone so true and beautiful want to touch someone like him? Especially after what he’d done and what she’d now seen? Gods, he was dirty inside and out. Sharp, cutting pressure ballooned inside him. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  Her relief-filled expression dropped. Confusion furrowed her brow. “I…I…what are you—”

  “Look at me, human,” he said, opening his arms wide and forcing his muscles to hold the humiliating, exposing position. “I am a wretched waste of a god. I have earned every one of these marks with my mistakes and sins. I have blood on my hands that will never wash off, and that nearly included yours today.”

  A quick array of emotions flashed over her face, and then she shook her head. “You didn’t, Devlin. Don’t you remember? You fought it. You controlled it. I asked you to, and you did. Just like when you made me see that I could turn back on the lights.” Tremulous hope crept into her eyes.

  Her words resurrected a series of memories. Being caught between the light and the dark. Her voice luring him back to the human realm. Her pleas—no, her commands, and the sounds of her lifeblood and breath giving him the focus and discipline he required.

  It was a revelation, learning that finally—goddamned fucking finally—he was beginning to master his terrible, infernal powers. Gratitude swelled inside his chest to her. For reminding him of his accomplishment. And for being the one to help bring it about in the heat of the moment.

  But that didn’t negate that he’d lost control in the first place. Three seconds of hesitation and he would’ve lost it standing in the middle of her family’s living room.

  “You speak of things you do not understand,” he said, twisting the knife that he knew he’d planted by calling her “human.” As if he didn’t know her. As if she hadn’t earned far more respect from him. As if he didn’t care about her any more or any less than the other seven billion inhabitants of this spinning rock.