by Laura Kaye
Anger. Sharp and bitter. For the fact that his father had constructed his solitude even more purposely than Devlin already imagined. And for the fact that the lesser Anemoi had allowed themselves to be cowed.
But there was a strange relief born of vindication, too. Because for the first time in Devlin’s existence, an Anemoi admitted they’d failed him. And had done it publicly, so that others would know the truth of it, so that others would know that Devlin was not the second coming of his father.
Kaikias’s energy neared, lowered to the ground, and then the man appeared in the flesh. He tilted his gaze upward into the rain, his bearded face solemn and serious, toward where Devlin still hovered in his elemental form.
Slowly, Devlin descended, halted the rain, and materialized not far from the back of Anna’s house.
The Northeast Wind lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head. “I have wronged you, and for that I ask your forgiveness, Devlin Eston, heir to the East Wind.” Suddenly, Euronotos and Olympias appeared behind Kaikias and repeated his actions and his words.
Devlin stepped backward, an instinctive reaction to something he could neither understand nor believe.
Phoenicias materialized next. He stood beside the other three gods’ kneeling forms. “As the former master of the East-Southeast Wind, I confirm what Kaikias has said is true. And I, too, ask your forgiveness and promise that, under my command, the Southeast Wind will evermore stand at your side.” The young blond-haired god took a knee with the others.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, Devlin realized he was shaking. Emotion surged through his chest. Not anger. Not bitterness. Not grief. For once.
Hope. This feeling was hope. For acceptance, for peace, for a place to belong.
Finally, he nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “Uh, forgiven.” Another god might’ve had something more eloquent to say in a moment like this, but Devlin felt lucky to have found the wherewithal to string that many words together at all.
The gods rose to their feet, every one of them looking at him uncertainly, like they weren’t sure how he would receive them. But there was respect there, too. He’d heard some of the errant thoughts about what kind of power would’ve caused the damage that they now stood in the middle of. One positive outcome of yesterday’s fiasco, then.
“Okay, then,” he said, feeling like an idiot. “The, uh, plan is to stay long enough to get Anna’s father moved out of this location in the morning. Once we do that, we can all return to Aeolus’s.”
The group of gods murmured in agreement. And it was at that moment that Devlin realized that the two most powerful among them, Skiron and Livos, had not joined their little lovefest. And so be it. It cut, he wasn’t gonna lie. But not nearly as much as the other gods’ apologies healed.
By Devlin’s calculations, the net positive was pretty damn good. For him. And way more than he ever expected.
With a last look toward the gathered Anemoi, Devlin jogged up the back steps of Anna’s house, went elemental, and entered through the gap under the door. Inside, he manifested again, sagged back against the door, and crossed his arms over his chest. Damn, he was tired. And the way the past fifteen minutes left his head spinning didn’t help. He was also hungry, his stomach squeezing around emptiness despite the fact that he’d eaten an incredible meal yesterday. A meal Anna had made and served with her own two hands. And that made his heart squeeze, too.
Devlin crossed to the fridge and eased open the door. He leaned into the rectangle of light feeling a bit like a kid in a candy store. He wasn’t even sure what some of the stuff was, but he knew he could have it if he wanted. A carton of red berries caught his eye. He popped open the plastic, inhaled their sweet scent, and grabbed one of the berries by its green crown.
Sweetness exploded on his tongue and nearly stole his breath. Almost his entire diet in the Eastern Realm consisted of meat, bread, and wine, in small, infrequent portions. He’d always supplemented it when he could, the world’s most divine scavenger. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever eaten one of these.
The berries were so delicious that he ate another, and another. Before long, the container lay empty in his hands, his fingertips stained pink from the juice. Guilt whipped through him. He hadn’t meant to eat them all. He vowed to replace them as he closed the door. Not sure what to do with the packaging, he settled it on the counter while he washed the stickiness from his hands.
Intent on returning to watch over Anna, Devlin wandered into the living room. A gasp drew his gaze to the recliner in the corner. Where Anna’s father sat looking at him, wearing an expression of wide-eyed surprise and another emotion Devlin couldn’t name.
“Michael? My God, Michael. My son.” With great effort, the old man pushed himself out of the chair. Fearing he was going to fall, Devlin set aside his confusion and rushed to help him with a steadying hand on his arm. And the next thing he knew, Anna’s father threw his arms around Devlin’s waist and held on as if he wanted to make sure he never got away again.
Devlin stood with his arms up, leaning his upper body away from the man’s touch, every cell in his body screaming for freedom and bracing for pain.
The man…was weeping. “My son,” he said over and over again. “My son.”
And Devlin had thought the Anemois’ apologies were the most surprising thing that could ever have happened to him? How could this man possibly confuse Devlin with his son? Devlin recalled Anna saying her father suffered from dementia and he gathered from the brief exchange with Evan earlier that her father must confuse her with her mother. But surely, if Anna was any guide, her brother must’ve been a good person. Which brought Devlin back to how this man would mistake Devlin for Michael.
Because Devlin was not…good. That message had been drilled in so hard from so many directions that he knew it must be true.
Further proof was in the fact that he really wanted the man—Garrett, Anna had said his name was—to release him. The hold was too tight. The touch too hard. The emotion too strong. But in Garrett’s outpouring of grief there was a fragility, too. And Devlin couldn’t bring himself to do anything that might add to either.
“Oh, how I missed you,” Garrett said through a tear-strained voice. “My boy.”
Swallowing hard, Devlin debated, then wrapped his arms around the old man’s heaving shoulders. Devlin wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but the longer they embraced, the more his chest started to ache.
What would it be like to have a father who loved him the way Garrett must’ve loved Michael? If Devlin died in the battle undoubtedly coming in the next few days, not a single soul on the entire planet would feel even a sliver of the grief this man felt for his son. And more than that, Devlin identified with the depth of pain pouring from this man’s body. He’d lived with it himself for more than a century since Farren’s death. It gave Devlin an odd and uncomfortable sense of kinship with Garrett. Made him want to ease Garrett’s grief in a way no one had ever tried to ease his own. Left him feeling protective of the old man, even more than he already had just based on the fact that he was important to Anna.
Garrett patted him on the back and pulled away enough to look up at Devlin’s face. “Say something, Michael, so I know you’re really here.”
Devlin wasn’t sure what to say. What would make him believe it was Michael to whom he spoke? “Hi, uh, Dad.” The last word came out sounding almost like a question, both because he had no idea if that’s what Michael had called Garrett, and because Devlin wasn’t sure he’d ever voiced the word before in his life.
Clearly, though, he’d done something right, because Garrett’s lips lifted in a broad, joyous smile. He reached up and patted Devlin’s face. The touch was so unexpected that Devlin flinched, but he forced himself to tolerate it when uncertainty flickered through Garrett’s eyes.
“You’ve gotten taller. And you need a haircut,” he said. “But you’re still my boy.”
“Yes,” Devlin said, his throat going tight. How unfair to be lo
oked at with such affection and have it be intended for someone else. Yet Devlin was grateful, too. Because at least now he knew what true paternal love looked like. For whatever that was worth.
“Garrett?” came a voice from the other side of the room. Evan, standing under the arch to the hallway as if he didn’t know whether to come or go.
“Ah, Evan,” Garrett said, putting his arm around Devlin’s back and guiding him across the room. “Meet my son, Michael. He was gone, but now he’s back.”
Devlin met Evan’s eyes and sent him a silent plea to go along with it.
Evan frowned. “Are you sure this is Michael, Garrett?”
The old man scoffed. “Of course I’m sure. I’d recognize my son anywhere.”
“Well, nice to meet you, then, Michael,” Evan said, extending his hand.
An odd sense of déjà vu settled on Devlin’s shoulders as he returned the shake. “Evan.”
“Okay, then,” Garrett said. “Go about whatever you were doing, Evan. I’m going to visit with Michael awhile.” Hand on Devlin’s back, he urged him toward the couch.
Devlin threw a glance over his shoulder at Evan and silently asked for some guidance. He settled onto the couch at Garrett’s insistence, and the old man sat right beside him.
“So where have you been, son? Tell me everything.” Garrett peered up at him like Devlin possessed the answers to the riddles of the world.
He was so out of his depth here, and when he looked at Evan, the guy shrugged like he didn’t know what to do, either. So Devlin started talking about all the different places he’d traveled and things he’d seen. These were old memories, ancient even, from back before Eurus had deteriorated into the utter psychopath he was now. When Devlin had had at least a little freedom and occasionally explored the human realm with his brothers. It was a random, almost stream-of-consciousness recounting. When he glanced back to the hallway, Evan had gone. But Garrett hung onto every word as though he didn’t want to miss a thing. Twenty minutes. Forty. An hour.
“How has Anna been all these years?” Devlin finally asked.
Garrett blinked as if he was surprised that the rhythm of Devlin’s storytelling changed. “Oh,” he said, “she’s such a good girl. She’s going to go far with her painting. I’m so proud of her. And she’s missed you every day, too. You know how she always admired her big brother. Still takes care of your motorcycle for you.” The smile he’d worn as he spoke slowly faded away, and an uncertainty shadowed Garrett’s face. “Tell me more about you,” he whispered.
Devlin did. He told stories until the man’s eyes went unfocused and his eyelids sagged, until the muscles in his face relaxed and his body went slack against the couch. Staring at him, Devlin debated whether to stay or get away while he could. Maybe if Garrett awoke and Devlin was gone, he would think this nighttime visit just a dream. He pushed off the couch.
“Don’t leave me,” Garrett said, his voice almost slurred.
“Okay,” Devlin said, guilt slinking into his gut because it was a request he’d have to deny sooner or later. But for now, he sat back down next to Anna’s father. And though he itched to check in on her, he knew in his gut she was safe.
Garrett fell back to sleep. Devlin sat in the stillness of the night and finally resolved to get some sleep himself. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his head against the back of the couch.
But man, there was so much noise playing against the inside of his lids, he was sure he’d never fall asleep. He waded through his rage at his father, his guilt over Farren and Alastor, the mixed reaction of his Anemoi brethren, his interest in Anna. And her apparent interest in him.
He pictured her peaceful, sleeping face and slowly but surely shoved everything else into its own dark corner until there was just her.
And that was when he finally fell asleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Anna woke up with a start, her eyes flashing open and her mind immediately awake. She recognized the light fixture on the ceiling, the paintings on the wall, the furniture. It was her room, but she still felt disoriented. Like not everything was the way it was supposed to be.
She sat up and looked at the other side of the bed…which was empty and hadn’t been slept in.
Devlin.
“Devlin?” she said, her voice thick with sleep. She cleared her throat. “Devlin?”
Heart thudding against her breastbone, Anna slipped out of bed and hugged herself against the chill. The gray light of morning was just seeping through the curtains at her windows, and a glance at her alarm clock confirmed it wasn’t quite six o’clock yet.
Even though the bathroom was dark, she peeked in and flipped on the light. Empty.
Where had he gone? Standing in the middle of her room, she lifted her face to the ceiling. “Devlin?”
Inside her walk-in closet, she quickly chucked her pajamas to the floor and pulled on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt labeled in the neckline as lavender, and a gray hoodie.
What if Devlin went back to his grandfather’s house?
Anna froze with her hand on the closet door, her heart falling to the floor. If he’d gone back to Aeolus’s, she would never see him again. She had no way to get there and no way to contact him. Assuming he’d even want her to do so. But would he really have left without saying something? After everything they’d been through together and the importance of her paintings to whatever was going on with his father? After he’d said he would protect her and her father?
“No. Don’t think the worst, Anna,” she murmured to herself.
Which, of course, had her mind conjuring up the image of him in the shower. She hadn’t meant to push about his leg, but he’d taken such incredibly tender care of her, and she’d needed that comfort so badly after the day they’d had. All she’d wanted to do was return the favor and show him she cared. But, God, he’d resembled a trapped animal as he’d grabbed her hand, and it was as if they’d taken two steps backward again. He’d pushed her away. He hadn’t been mean about it, and he’d made it clear that he felt completely…what? Overwhelmed? Threatened? Panicked? Maybe all of the above.
God, she really hoped she hadn’t scared him away.
Because Anna felt more alive around Devlin than she’d felt in many years. It was as if a part of herself she never knew existed came to life when she was with him. Ever since she’d put all her plans and dreams on hold to take care of her father, she’d yearned for a life of her own, adventure, travel, excitement, and passion. And in the several days since she’d first laid eyes on Devlin, she’d found all that and more.
No idea what it actually meant, if anything. He was a god, after all. And clearly troubled. And maybe not even interested in anything beyond the impulsive kiss they’d shared up against her wall. But she wanted a chance to find out almost more than she wanted anything.
Forcing herself out of her head, she ignored the aches in her body and dashed into the bathroom to give her hair and teeth a quick brush. When she returned to her room, her gaze landed immediately on the bare expanse of pale-blue wall that had supported her back less than twelve hours before. Devlin’s kiss had been so far opposite of her expectations that for a few seconds she’d almost thought she must’ve been imagining it. He hadn’t made any attempt to hide the fact that he didn’t like to be touched. And he’d been so angry after their incredible trip through the wind that she’d been certain he wouldn’t want to touch her, anyway.
And yet…
He’d kissed her. God, how he’d kissed her. Like a starving man at a feast. Consuming and relentless. And it had been the single most amazing kiss of her entire life. The kind that would haunt her in quiet moments. The kind all others would be measured against—and found lacking. He’d been breathtakingly intense and heartbreakingly gentle and just the memory of the gravel-voiced warnings he’d issued about what he wanted made her core clench with need.
Had Evan not interrupted, Anna had no doubt whatsoever that she and Devlin would’ve ended up naked i
n her bed. And no matter if anything else would’ve ever happened between them or if that would’ve ended up being a stolen night with a man she could never have, she wouldn’t have regretted it one bit. Instead, she regretted that it hadn’t happened. Because now, maybe, it never would.
And that made her chest ache with an emptiness that was probably way too pronounced for how short a time she’d known Devlin, but that didn’t make it any less real.
“Okay, enough,” she said to herself as she left her room and searched the other upstairs rooms for Devlin. They were all empty. Then she tiptoed down the steps so she didn’t wake her father, who slept in a bedroom on the main floor, except when he fell asleep in or relocated to his recliner. She skirted the banister at the bottom of the steps and swung down the hall.
Then froze.
She backtracked three steps and peeked around the doorway into the living room.
Her heart flew into her throat and tears immediately filled her eyes. She had to cover her mouth to smother the gasping breath she couldn’t hold back.
Devlin hadn’t left. Of course he hadn’t.
Instead, he was sleeping sitting up on the couch, wedged as tight against the corner as he could get, with his arms crossed over his broad chest. And her father slept leaning against Devlin’s arm.
Anna couldn’t stop staring at the pair of them.
How in the world had this come about? She couldn’t even begin to answer that question.
And though it was crystal clear that Devlin wasn’t comfortable with her father sleeping against him—even unconscious, his body moved away from touch—he was allowing it. But…why?
As surprising was the fact that her father had apparently met Devlin, a stranger and a man, in the middle of the night, inside their house, and not flipped out. Just the opposite, it seemed, since he was now passed out against Devlin’s shoulder.
She stepped into the room, then retreated. Indecision held her there in the doorway for a long moment. Finally, she resolved to let them sleep. No doubt they could both use it.
