by Cora Carmack
He rolled, pressing her back into soft soil, and crushed his mouth against hers. Her response was equally feverish and frantic. Her fingers pulled at his hair, and her knees surrounded his hips, nestling him deeper against her. She arched up into his hand again, and he plunged his tongue into her mouth as he gave her the contact she wanted. The contact they both wanted. His other hand trailed down to one of the thighs hooked around his hips, and when he touched her bare skin, her teeth caught his bottom lip.
He groaned, sinking his hand beneath the tunic she wore, his tunic, until the perfect curve of her bottom filled his hand. She surged up against him, hips mashing against hips in a way that made him break their kiss and drop his head to the hollow of her throat to catch his breath. Her hands left his head to run down his back and then up again, and he covered her pulse point with his mouth, feeling the wild, rapid reminder of her vitality against his lips and teeth and tongue.
She moaned, and the sound burrowed beneath his skin, burning him up with want. Their hips began to rock—slow and subtle at first. But as he covered her neck with kisses and teasing nips of his teeth, she began to pull his hips down with her legs at the same time that she lifted her own hips up. It was torture and bliss all at the same time.
From beneath the thin fabric of the tunic, a blue-white light flickered with increasing intensity. He pulled back, watching that pulse of light with both wonder and trepidation. He slid his hand up from her chest to the neat row of buttons at the top of the tunic. Giving her plenty of time to protest, he undid the buttons gradually until the top of the tunic was loose enough that he could ease it down to reveal the light branching out over her chest. It streaked up to her collarbone and across to her sternum and over the slope of her left breast. The tempo of the flashes increased as he stared at her, and he could not help but lower his mouth to experience the marvel with more senses than just sight. He closed his eyes, and the beat of her heart lit up the black behind his eyelids.
Again and again, he followed different bolts of light with his lips, racing in an attempt to keep up. Sometimes, the action made her laugh, shivering as if the quick glide of his lips tickled. Other times she clutched his shoulders and held her breath, especially when he traversed the slope over her breast and the valley in the middle. He forgot about racing the light in those places and took his time, letting the light come to him again and again. Soon, she pulled his head up from her chest, and he went with a growl that she soothed with the softest, sweetest kiss he had ever received. Against his mouth, she whispered, “I’ve never—You … you are the first.”
He loosened his hold on her body and tried not to jump to conclusions. Lifting himself up a little, he braced his weight on his elbows and asked, “First what, princess?”
Her eyes were wide, worried almost, as she answered, “First everything?”
He thought back to the first time he’d kissed her—hard and angry and demanding. He felt the sudden urge to worship her lips, to worship all of her to make up for his mistakes.
He covered her cheek with his hand and trailed a thumb down to her mouth, over the reddened curve of her bottom lip. He felt far too much satisfaction that these lips had never known another pair but his.
He leaned down to nip at her swollen bottom lip. “I’m the first to touch this mouth? To taste it?” Her nails dug into his shoulders, and her blue eyes flashed with heat. She nodded, her tongue darting out to soothe the skin he had tugged between his teeth. “That means it’s mine. My territory. And I’m prepared to protect it, every hour of the day if I must.”
Those lips that were now his tipped up in a smile. “That’s very dedicated of you.”
There was still so much he wanted to know about her. But he didn’t want to assume that because she kissed him, she trusted him. He finally had her in his arms. The last thing he wanted to do was push her away.
Her long fingers rubbed at the corner of his jaw, down the side of his neck, and slipped along the collar of his shirt.
“I want you to show me,” she murmured.
“Show you what?”
She smiled again. “Everything? Show me what you said before.”
“You mean that I love you?”
She nodded, her grin widening. “Yes. Show me that.”
He groaned and leaned down for another quick taste of her lips. He wanted to give her what she asked. He would love nothing more than to spend the next few hours explaining in explicit detail with his mouth and hands just how beautiful he found her.
But it wasn’t long ago that she had fallen in that river, too weak to even stand. And now that he knew he had her firsts, he was determined to make each one as special as she deserved. Which meant the bank of a river, while she suffered from the cold breeze with wet hair, was definitely not the right time.
“I will show you,” he promised her, “as frequently and thoroughly as you like. But not now. Not here. Let me get you back to camp where it’s warm. We’ve got all the time in the world, princess.”
A soul is a curious thing. It is all the forms of one’s self—what one was, what one is, and what one could be. And the trajectory of both life and death are ruled by the self each of us clings to the most.
—personal journal of spirit witch Avira Croixell
23
“I’m telling you, she’s too much of a risk. It’s only a matter of time before the news about this Stormlord and Locke spreads. Then she’ll put us in danger in every city we visit. One look at her chest, and they’ll put us in the stocks at best, the noose at worst.”
Roar’s stomach sank as she and Locke approached camp and overheard the discussion happening there.
“What would you have us do, Sly?” The question came from Jinx. “Abandon her in the desert? Leave her in Taraanar? Besides, if she can call storms, maybe it will be useful. We would no longer have to use our own raw magic supplies while we hunt. We could save it all for the markets. Maybe she could even call a specific storm when we’re running low. We could collect the magic without the risk and time it takes to search out a storm.”
“People are not meant to have dominion over storms,” Sly said. “It’s unnatural. She’s unnatural.”
Locke wrapped his arms around Roar, spinning her behind him as if the words were arrows, and he could take the hit for her.
“It’s okay,” she whispered to him.
“It’s not,” he growled. “I should have ended her complaints about you weeks ago.”
She lifted a hand to his face, the bristles along his jaw tickling her palms. “She’s not wrong.”
“Of course she is. Did you do anything to gain these powers? Before you felt the emotions of that first storm—were you under some enchantment? Did you utilize some magic without telling us?”
“No, but—”
“Then whatever this gift is, you were born with it. Which means while it might be rare, it is natural.”
“Locke…” She should tell him about the souls she could sense around them. Maybe then he would understand that this gift, as he called it, was too dangerous. Too much. Born with it or not, it did not feel natural to be able to manipulate spirits in such a way.
Before she could find the words, Sly continued her complaints. “I’m not saying she is evil. But you have to admit we know very little about her. Between us, we have decades of experience with storms. We come from all over Caelira—cities and wilds alike. In all that time, there have only ever been two people with these abilities. Roar. And a man who single-handedly destroyed an entire kingdom. We would be fools to trust her blindly.”
Roar pushed out of the trees and past Locke, saying, “What did you say?”
Sly spun around, her mouth open with shock, and for a moment fear flickered in her eyes. Roar recoiled, and Locke was there behind her, hands at her waist.
“I—I only meant—”
“There’s someone else like me?”
It was Locke who answered, his voice low and soothing. “It’s only rumors. We kno
w nothing for certain.”
“Tell me the rumors.” When Locke did not continue, she turned to Duke. He had always been willing to answer her questions. “Duke?”
The old man cleared his throat, and Locke’s grip at her waist tightened. Duke said, “The minister in Toleme, he was afraid when he saw the skyfire in you. He had heard rumors of a man who held a storm in his chest like you do now. That man could command storms and used them to wipe out a city.”
Roar gasped. “Calibah? Is that why the storms there were so relentless?”
Duke drew back, shock and even a little horror in his expression. His voice shook and his eyes darted wildly as he said, “I—no, not Calibah. But…” The man trailed off with a quiet curse, and his scarred hands shook as he covered his mouth.
“It was Locke,” Jinx finished. “Apparently, the city was demolished by storms from the sea.”
“What?” Roar’s head spun and that instability she felt in her soul—like it might slip outside her—flared up again. Suddenly, the souls that surrounded them were too close, and she choked on the air in her lungs. Her skin went slick with cold as all those souls reached out for her, as if they wanted inside her.
“ENOUGH!” The skyfire in her chest shone bright and solid, not flickering, but beaming. The badgering souls disappeared and it took all her strength to stay standing.
“Roar?” Locke yelled. “Roar, what’s happening?”
“See!” Sly shouted. “This is what I meant. She is an aberration.”
Locke snarled, “I have always considered you a friend, Sly. But say that again, and I’ll not hesitate to make you my enemy.”
“Quiet. All of you.” Duke stepped into the middle of the group, his expression fierce and disappointed. “This is not how we behave. The battle is out there, not here between us. Sly, some would say the storms themselves are an aberration. And you’ve spent your life showing them respect. You will provide the same courtesy to Roar. Locke, I understand how you feel, my boy. But love’s first inclination cannot be to war. Calm yourself. And we will figure this out together.”
The light in Roar’s chest flickered, went soft, and disappeared. Then Duke turned to her. “Roar—we need to know what you can and cannot do so that we can decide how to move forward.” Locke tensed, and Duke added, “Together. Perhaps we can take her back to the witch for advice.”
“We can’t,” Jinx cut it. “Avira told me she was leaving, and she would not tell me to where.” The earth witch turned to Roar and said, “She told me to tell you—listen to the souls, but do not let them in. And whatever you do, hold tight to your own.”
“What is that supposed to mean? Why didn’t she tell me that?” Locke asked.
Jinx lifted an eyebrow. “Because you were out the door as soon as she said Roar would wake.”
“I know what it means,” Roar whispered. But she wasn’t sure she knew how to accomplish that last piece of advice.
Her eyes strayed to Duke, who watched her with curiosity tinged by sadness. “Well?” he asked. “Can you do it? Call a storm?”
She brushed away Locke’s protective hands. “I can.”
“How?” he asked. “What do you have to do?”
She glanced at Sly, uneasy with revealing the information in front of the hunter, but they would have to know eventually.
“I only know how I did it before. I’m not sure if there’s another way. But in Toleme, I did it unintentionally. When my blood touched something connected with a storm.”
“The altar,” Jinx said. “It was made of fulgurite. Formed by skyfire.”
Roar nodded. “It works with Stormhearts too.”
“How do you know?” Duke asked.
Rather than explaining, Roar asked, “Where are my things? The clothes I wore before?”
Jinx retrieved her pack for her, and Roar dug through the contents until she found the pants she’d worn before, and inside the pocket, her fingers closed around the twister ring. Souls brushed against her again, and she imagined her skin as armor, blocking them out and trapping her own soul inside. Her heart glowed solid again, and she heard the others shift nervously around her.
She pulled out the ring, and let it dangle by the chain.
“Twister,” Ransom breathed. “That was you?”
“Not the first,” she said. “At least not that I know of. But the second, the one in Toleme, yes, I believe that was me. I was not aware of what I was doing, I promise. I’m sorry. So very sorry.”
Locke moved behind her, curling a hand around the back of her neck and whispering in her ear, “It’s not your fault. You don’t have to apologize.”
“If it was an accident before,” Ransom said, “how do you know you can do it again?”
She turned her head to look at Locke, wishing she had made time to tell him before, when they were alone, but there was nothing to be done about that now.
“Since I woke, I have been even more … sensitive.” When they continued staring at her, she sighed and explained, “There are souls around us. Everywhere. They’re part of the earth, of nature. But I’m aware of them and am able to interact if I choose.” And sometimes without her consent. “I believe I could consciously choose a soul to tie to a storm.”
They were all silent, and she was hesitant to meet their eyes. She would rather look at the ring, spinning at the end of the chain she still held. But she could not stop herself from looking at Locke, worried even now that he would change his mind about her. “I hate it when you look at me like that,” he whispered. “Like you’re afraid of me.”
“Only afraid you’ll stop being so blind to my faults.”
“Not blind, princess. Realistic. It’s you who doesn’t see yourself clearly.”
She wanted to kiss him, wanted to crawl up his body and wrap herself around him, and let him block out the world.
But she couldn’t. “You said Locke was destroyed. Do you know when?”
Did the Locke family even know? What if even now they waited in Pavan, searching for her, while their home and all their loved ones who remained behind were gone?
Duke looked to Jinx and Locke, and the former said, “Avira did not say when. She only confirmed that it happened. Considering it’s the Rage season, communication between cities is understandably slow, and with Locke communication was frequently nonexistent, so the absence of it would not tell us much. Could have been recent or months ago. Who knows?”
“Surely, it was a recent development,” Roar said, “or we would not have run into a company of Locke soldiers only days ago. Nor would the entire royal family be visiting Pavan.”
“What do you mean the entire family?” Locke asked.
“In Pavan. For the wedding. The king, queen, and both princes were set to attend.” Quickly she lied, “I saw them when the processional came through the city.”
“That can’t be right,” Locke said. “Why would the entire family attend the wedding and leave Locke unprotected? Surely only Prince Casimir would be needed.”
“You mean Cassius,” Roar corrected.
“No, Cassius is the firstborn. As heir he should have stayed in Locke.”
Roar started to argue again, but held her tongue. Locke had been destroyed. The entire royal family was in Pavan. She remembered the mocking tone of Casimir’s voice when he called Cassius little brother. She’d overheard Cassius’s plans to manipulate her; he’d even mentioned something about his father and a plan. She collapsed, retching with horror; her stomach twisted and jerked, as if trying to wring itself out, but there was nothing in it to expel.
Oh skies. Cassius did not want to marry into the throne. He wanted to seize it, to replace the one they’d lost.
“We must return to Pavan. Now. Something … something is very wrong.”
* * *
They rode out immediately from Taraanar, despite complaints from Sly. Locke did not know what troubled Roar, nor would she tell him, but he knew she was distraught over something. And he and Duke both trusted her eno
ugh to follow her word without explanation. When they made camp the first night, she did not bother trying to set up her own tent but crawled into his. She clung to him tightly and when he tried to get her to talk, she silenced him with a kiss.
“Please,” she whispered against his mouth. “Help me forget.”
He did not know what he was helping her to forget, but he hated seeing the hurt and fear in her eyes, and if he could ease that … he would do anything.
He pushed no further than he had by the river. He did not want their first time together to be when she was upset. But he distracted her with his mouth, with his hands on her skin, with tender words spoken against the rapid flicker of the light in her chest.
And eventually, the tension in her eased, the fear fled from her eyes, and she went soft in his arms. He held her for a while, but neither of them drifted toward sleep.
Nervous, he took a deep breath and said, “I need to tell you something.”
She stiffened and asked, “What?”
He almost wished he could take the words back. Already the worry was creeping back into her eyes. He smoothed his fingers over the furrow in her brow and said, “The witch I went to see with Jinx…”
She returned his touch, trailing her hand down his cheek to the line of his jaw. “What about her?”
“She told me something.”
Roar sat up, the blankets falling to her waist. “A prediction? About me?”
“No, about me. She … she told me my name.”
Roar gasped. “And you are just telling me now? After all my silly nicknames?”
He sat up and took one of her hands between his. “I like your silly names.”
“What is it?”
When he hesitated, she shook off his hold and climbed into his lap. Her hands cupped his cheeks and brought their faces close together.
“Tell me,” she whispered, followed by a soft kiss. “Tell me what to call the man I love.”
His breath caught, and she was already calling storms to life, for there was one inside him now—fierce and proud. She had hinted that she felt the same. Had said it without saying the exact words, and he saw it constantly in her eyes. But hearing it now out of her mouth washed away the last of his doubt.
