by Angel Payne
Jayd pushed up next to me. Hooked our elbows once more. “He is a strong swimmer.”
I pulled the little princess tighter. Clenched his clothes harder. Attempted to nod. Failed abysmally. “Okay,” I practically gasped. “Th-that’s good. Yeah.”
“I wager he will be even better after that kiss,” she said, for my ears only.
Despite the tempest, my face flushed. “Heat of the moment. I’m sorry.”
“I certainly am not.”
Even through the howling wind, I heard the smile in her voice. And endured the deeper blush across my cheeks.
Her brother wasted no time in proving her claim (not the one about our kiss). Shiraz’s arms cut the waves like a pair of curved copper scissors in a bunch of rippling silk—and I tried not to think how flood waters really were like that slippery fabric. Unpredictable as hell.
Miraculously, the wind abated for a few minutes—a long enough window for Crista, Shai, Jagger, and Shiraz to make it successfully to the buoy. I watched, heart swelling, as the kids riveted their attention on their prince, giving frightened nods to questions he shouted. But even from this distance, I could practically read their little minds. Prince Shiraz is here. Everything is going to be fine.
They listened even more intently as Shiraz jabbed an arm at the sky. Had one of his orders into the radio been a call for helicopter involvement? How the hell that was going to happen in this storm, I had no idea—but if anyone could make it so via the sheer intensity of their belief, that person had to be him.
My chest expanded even more.
Maybe more than that.
Watching him take command of the situation, calming those kids in the middle of a dangerous crisis like this, bizarrely made me yearn to jump into the damn water myself, simply to be closer to him. Just like that, my mind flashed to the moments I had been that close, sharing passion and breath and orgasms with him—and suddenly, sharply, desiring it all over again.
No. Craving even more.
Without shame, I let the hot stings in my eyes blend with the chilled rain on my cheeks. I fought to rationalize it away, the magnitude of the situation taking over me, but my gut knew better. My soul knew better. It was him—and the fact that it was going to take a long fucking time to forget about him.
I forced more air down. Focused on bringing more of my senses back on line again. Smelling the tangy salt in the water. Ew-ing at the inch of wet sand my shoes had somehow collected. Concentrating on anything except how long it was taking for that damn helicopter to get here.
Especially as the storm intensified again.
“No!” I uttered, falling to the hillside next to Jayd. No way in hell was I wussing out by returning to the truck. Shiraz, Shai, Crista, and those kids had to stick this out, and I would too—despite how hard Shiraz glared at me for the decision. Yeah, I actually felt the intensity of his eyes across the waves. And yeah, I was tempted to flip him off for it, from here.
Saved by the radio.
I forgot my rashness when the handset, still pressed to my chest along with Shiraz’s clothes, suddenly squawked.
“Savage to Driver. Driver, come in. Savage to Driver.”
I rolled over, huddling my back over the radio. The wind was really starting to howl, so I hunched low and tight against the hill then pushed the fattest button on the side of the device, hoping I remembered enough about this from military movies. As if I’d ever focused on the damn radio when Channing Tatum was on screen.
“H-hello?”
Long pause. I shook the handset, wondering if I’d broken the whole thing. But finally, a voice barked, “Who is this?”
Okay, the button functioned. So did my temper. “Who the hell is this?”
Jayd yanked the radio from me. “Samsyn, it is Jayd. I am here with—”
“Jayd? What the fuck are you—”
“Calmay. There is no time!”
“The hell there is not. What in Creator’s name—”
“She’s right,” I barked into the device, newly seized back from the princess. “There’s no damn time.” At least not enough to referee a brother-sister spat. Besides, Samsyn sounded enough like Shiraz that I was strangely comforted. “My name is Lucina Fava. When are you guys sending the helicopter for those kids?”
Another pause. “Lucina Fava? The wedding planner?”
“Not the damn Queen of England,” Jayd muttered.
“Yes.” I gritted my teeth to keep it calm.
“What the fuck are you doing out there?”
So much for gritted teeth. Or being civil. “I’ll update my social media when I get a second, okay? For now, you want to give me an ETA on that helicopter, because Shai Storm, Crista Noble, Jagger Fox, and your little brother are hanging on a buoy in the middle of the Mousselayan, trying to keep a pair of six-year-olds safe!”
It only took a few seconds for the radio to crackle this time—imagine that—though it sounded like Samsyn had used the gap to swear his brains out. I caught the end of an English-Arcadian profanity mash-up before he yelled, “ETA on the helo is two minutes. Can you tell them that?”
“I—I don’t know.” The wind had abated but that was because the rain had intensified. As I ducked my head to protect the radio again, the sides of my neck became dual waterfalls. “We’ll try.”
“Outstanding.”
I flung myself to a sitting position, spitting water as I did. Jayd was sputtering full streams of the stuff.
For a second, I couldn’t locate the buoy. “Shit, shit, shit. Can you see them anymore?”
“No,” she answered.
It came out as frantic rasps. “Where the hell—”
There.
They were still there, thank God—though I could barely see them through the curtains of water. Damn, this crap was crazy. The rare times we got thunderstorms in LA, Mom told me it was the angels bowling, the rain their tears of laughter. Well, this was the angels laughing, sweating, and pissing at once, and I planned on having a chat with God about teaching them some manners. Thankfully, despite the fresh torrents, the buoy was still upright and everyone had managed to hang on—
Until a chunk of the far riverbank suddenly went under.
“Dammit,” I breathed. One second, there was an outcropping of trees, bushes, boulders, and even a couple of quaint wrought iron benches; the next, the scenic lookout was gone. Totally. Swallowed whole by the ravenous swell, its appetite barely sated by the park it had just devoured.
It wanted a new snack.
And the buoy was prime for the taking.
I gasped. Then screamed.
Unbelievably, the buoy held—but listed. Hard.
The jolt tossed Forryst and Fawna off.
Jayd and I shrieked, though I was positive I heard Crista’s outcry at the same time. She was loud enough to catch the angels’ attention though; they took a break from the pissing match to send one of the kids into Shai’s waiting grip. Jagger instantly latched onto Shai’s other arm, in order to keep him secured to the buoy—
As the other child was carried away by the current.
No wail from Crista now. She didn’t waste the time—not while pushing off the buoy and swimming after her little sibling.
“Fuck,” I croaked.
“Rahmié Créacu,” Jayd exclaimed.
I paced now, every step frantically bouncing, like a lunatic wind-up toy. I was helpless, useless, and probably a little mindless, my brain refusing to accept what I knew Shiraz was about to do.
I really hated it when I was right.
Sure enough, in he went. Right after Crista and the kid.
“Save them.” My tear-wracked plea was heard only by the wind and the rain, due to the deafening thwops of the helicopter on the air. As the aircraft hovered lower, dropping a rescue basket thingie toward Shai, Jagger, and the other child, I dropped to my knees, clenched hands together in my lap, and choked out once more, “Save them. Please. Save them, and I’ll even let the angels have a bye on their shitty man
ners today.”
Chapter Thirteen
‡
I still felt a lot like the stupid wind-up toy, despite the travertine tiles beneath my feet instead of a muddy hillside. Though there was an inch of warm slipper foam cushioning my toes instead of soaked sand, I’d refused to change the rest of my clothes. I’d also shunned the cup of hot tea brought by the Palais rescue center volunteers. It sat on the floor next to where I’d positioned myself three hours ago, in the hallway reserved for people brought in by the search and rescue teams.
A couple of hours ago, they’d carried in a soaked and scared Forryst, reunited with his sister in a flood of tears and cheers from all—but my manic stares down the hall in their wake, expecting to see Shiraz drag in with Crista any moment, were answered only by a grubby trio of rescue guys, trying to be tactful about the story they relayed.
His Highness passed the child up to us…
Rotor wash caused waves…
Woman was unable to hang on…
Shiraz swam after her…
Refused to come with us…
The worst part about the memory gutted me all over again. The way they’d finished the story, assuring me other crews were out combing the river upon orders from Prince Samsyn, and that none of them would give up until Shiraz and Crista were found…
All of it meant to be reassuring.
None of it easing my agony at all.
None of it helping the damn confusion that flowed in right after, gobbling my sanity exactly as the river had eaten that whole park.
You are keeping vigil for a man who was barely a client. Who isn’t even a full lover.
Who sure as hell will never be yours.
I hitched an elbow on a knee and slammed my forehead into my palm.
Like that was going to jar the insanity free from my mind.
Or even budge me one inch from this wet, hard lookout.
Maybe logic would be appeased if I bargained with it. “Only long enough to know he and Crista are okay,” I reasoned in a whisper. “Then I’ll pack up and get the hell out of here.”
As soon as I could get out of here. Though heavy wooden doors guarded the end of the hall, they were opened and closed enough to give elemental updates about the storm. The worst had seemed to pass, though the weather was still damp and blustery. Now the cleanup would begin, and God only knew what that meant for the strip of asphalt Arcadia called an airport. If the runway was even there anymore…
That track of thought looped my memory back to the disappearance of the park. Then the surge that had toppled the buoy—and set all the horror into motion.
I flattened my palm against my temple. Squeezed my eyes shut, fighting and losing against the recall of those moments. Twisting fingers into my hair as winces escaped me and the images assaulted me. Children toppled into the water. Screaming along with Crista. Watching her tear into the water.
Watching Shiraz go after her…
An explosion of shrieks blasted my eyes back open. Jolted fully back to the present, all senses firing, I shot to my feet. One of them had fallen asleep, making me stumble a little—a blessing in disguise, for it gave the seconds needed to identify the joy beneath the cries, and the exact source of that jubilance.
The Queen Mother Xaria appeared in the hall. I recognized her from the wedding research. She was a petite but regal woman, even without makeup or formalwear, reminding me of an older Audrey Hepburn mixed with one of the Kennedys, even in a basic black turtleneck paired with burgundy pencil capris and black kitten heels. (Yeah, kitten heels. Here. But she was the damn queen.)
While many in the hall bowed to her, she clearly wasn’t paying attention. Like anyone blamed her, with her son stomping in, wet and weary, from the opposite end of the hall.
“Merderim va Créacu,” the woman cried.
“Thanks be to the Creator!” yelled Jayd, rushing in behind her.
“Look what the cat dragged in!” The cheer came from the man behind them, inciting my dorky grin in lieu of what I should’ve been doing: bowing to His Majesty Ardent, Arcadia’s king father. But if the angels had shit on their manners today, so could I—and the occasion needed some unscripted joy.
Shiraz was back.
Soaked, muddy, and even bearing a few bruises—but here and alive.
Alive.
“Thank you.” I rasped it to my own version of the big dude in heaven, gulping hard as Jayd hauled Shiraz into a ruthless hug. Somebody had found another jacket for him but her embrace knocked it partway down his shoulder, exposing a perfect stretch of coiled, soaked sinew.
I openly gawked, only to be cut off after a few seconds. Ambyr Stratiss, poofing into existence from seemingly nowhere, rushed up in a cloud of breathy Arcadian. Wasn’t a damn diss I had for that, either. Given the same permission to grope the man, even sounding all Marilyn Monroe about it, I would have done the exact same thing.
Right now, I was ecstatic just to see him. Walking. Breathing. Engulfed in a family lovefest, with no noticeable damage except a few cuts and nicks. While I’d never known the completion of such a moment, I imagined he was just as joyful and—
Shit.
The stare he lifted, boring into mine, was full of nothing but grief.
That was when a huge recognition impaled me.
Punching two anguished words out of me.
“Where’s Crista?”
Chapter Fourteen
‡
“Shiraz, darling, you have to eat. Just one tiny bite.”
Not for the first time in the last hour, I chomped ice out of sheer frustration. Yeah yeah, it was like taking a pickax to my tooth enamel, but it beat taking a pickax to Ambyr Stratiss’s throat—the same one producing the Betty Boop coo, while she pushed another strawberry at Shiraz’s lips.
When I heard my crunch being emulated, I looked up. Directly across the long wooden table in the Palais’ rescue center, King Evrest Cimarron dug into the cubes from his own drink. His sea-green eyes were sharp and glittery, his jaw hardened to the same texture.
Shiver. If that look was directed at me, I’d be scared.
But the woman to whom it was directed was not scared—basically because she was oblivious. Yeah, to everyone except Shiraz. Was a little hard to believe, since the crowd at the table included the two people she wanted to be naming as in-laws soon, but it was Ambyr’s ring finger to burn, not mine.
“’Raz,” she exhorted again. “Come, now. You have always loved strawberries, dear.”
The Kewpie Doll voice was gone, though she still used that strange nickname. From my position at the end of the table, I could only glimpse part of Shiraz’s face—though the jump in his tension, along with everyone else’s, was palpable. Next to me sat Jayd, who looked ready to throat punch someone. The queen mother and king father filled out our bench. Evrest shared his side of the table with Camellia, Ambyr, then Shiraz.
“Thank you,” Shiraz managed in a tight but civil tone. “But no, Ambyr.”
“But—”
“I said no.” When she acceded to his snarl, he released an apologetic grunt. “Désonnum, Ambyr. You are only trying to help.”
“Nice of you to notice.” Her tone was a mix of sugar and acid, causing new squirms around the table.
Time to chomp ice again.
Once more, Evrest joined me.
As we commiserated, Shiraz exhaled heavily. “I cannot think of food until they bring back Crista.”
“If they bring back Crista.”
That gut-wrencher was delivered by His Majesty Ardent, who didn’t flinch when Shiraz lurched from the table—then pounded a fist to it. “Fuck!”
“Shiraz Noir,” Xaria fumed. “The children.”
Shiraz threw back a vicious growl. Tore off the blanket around his shoulders with matching fury. Paced across the room, over to where floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the storm-ravaged streets of Sancti. Though most of the city had fared all right, some outlying areas still clearly dealt with some flooding issu
es—but the scariest sight of all was still the swollen, muddy mess of the Mousselayan, almost looking like a hot chocolate spill if one squinted their eyes. Debris from the decimated bridge project, along with parts of trees and bushes and boats, littered both sides of the liquid barrage. From up here, the sight was practically peaceful—but I knew differently, and the enlightenment scared me all over again, only worse. Way worse. This time, my trepidation wasn’t wasted on a girl with skills like doll voices and making up cute nicknames for the boyfriend-who-wasn’t-a-boyfriend. It was wrapped around real fear for a woman who’d risked her life for her kid brother and sister.
Risked her life…
Perhaps lost her life.
Oh, God.
“I should be out there.” Shiraz’s snarl was barely audible, especially past the rage that all but sizzled off his form. From the damp waves on his head to the soaked darkness of his boots, he visibly vibrated with the tension. “I should be out there, helping…” He skittered fingertips atop his thighs. “Stubborn, impetuous woman! She has no regard for her own safety or boundaries. First falling for my filthy éslik of a cousin, now jumping into the river without so much as a backward—”
“All right. Sssshhh.” Ambyr rose and went to him, dragging her touch down his taut his arm. I watched—jealous of course, I wasn’t going to lie—but also warmed by her tender gesture.
Until she murmured the follow-up.
“No need to make a scene, dearest.”
So much for acting like the impartial bystander.
The truth was, I wasn’t impartial. Not after everything that had happened today. Not with this weight of anguish for a woman with whom I shared brief but tight ties, bonded in the unique ways of disaster. Not with the connections to Shiraz I could no longer write off as simply sex—the conduit we’d had even in a damn hurricane…
The electricity arcing and sizzling between us, even now.
The fire I had to snuff out.
My lurch up from the table wasn’t nearly as graceful as his. At this point, I didn’t care. Fury and urgency made me clumsy and jerky, but at least lent the fortitude to stand. “I—I think I’m a little tired,” I stammered. “Thank you all for—errmm—having me, but I’m not very hungry either, and I—” Need to get the hell out of here before I drop-kick Bettie Boop into the chocolate river myself. “I think I need some rest.”
