Storm Gods

by G. Bailey

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Killian replies, smiling a little. “You’ve taken it like a champ so far.”

  “You’re too kind,” I tell him, giving him a humourless smile.

  Killian shuffles his feet, putting his hands in his pockets. “Listen, Karma,” he begins, but we’re interrupted by the sound of a commotion in one of the upstairs rooms.

  “Go away!”

  “Mads, please! It’s me! Don’t you—”

  “I said, get out!” Her voice breaks with the aggression, making me want to cover my ears so I don’t have to hear it.

  I must visibly wince, and so does Killian, his brows knitting together. “That’s…not a great sign,” he says at last.

  “No,” I say. “No, it’s not. I’m going to have to try talking to her again.”

  I start for the stairs, but Killian grabs my wrist. “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “What choice do I have?” I ask.

  His silence is my answer, and we wordlessly make our way to the first-floor landing. More shouting and pleading can be heard from behind Mads’s closed door even as we approach. “Mads, stop! I love you!”

  “I don’t even know you!”

  I have my hand up to knock on the door when this last shout hits me, and my hand falls to my side, my eyes closing in the face of hopelessness. “Maybe later,” Killian suggests, taking my hand gently. “Give her some time.”

  I can only nod despairingly as we continue down the hall, remembering the painting a split second before the hand reaches out and gropes for Killian. He jumps, startled, as I pull him away, and then looks from me to the painting and starts laughing. “Well,” he remarks, “that’s new.”

  “Welcome to the Kismet home,” I say sarcastically. “It’s a death trap, but it’s our death trap.”

  Killian actually laughs at that as we round the corner into my room. I shut the door behind me with a defeated sigh and sink onto my bed, dropping my head into my hands. Killian stands by the closet for a moment, hesitating, before he takes a seat next to me. “She’s going to be okay,” he tells me, although he doesn’t sound sure. “You guys have made it through worse scrapes than this.”

  “Maybe,” I say, not looking at him. “I can’t say the same for the people in that city, though.”

  “Hey,” he says, taking my face in his hands, “don’t go there, Karma. Do you hear me? That wasn’t your fault.”

  “It wasn’t?” I demand, feeling like I’m going to cry. “I was the one who got those powers. I was the one who unleashed them on San Francisco. That was my choice.”

  “You didn’t have a choice,” Killian insists. “If you did, you wouldn’t have done it.”

  “How do you know?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

  “Because I know you, Karma,” Killian replies in a heady tone. That simple assurance is all that it takes, and the next thing I know my lips are colliding with his, my hands exploring his body with desperation as he pulls me close. His tongue grazes my lip as his fingers tangle in my hair, our bodies flush against each other as we fall back on the bed. I’m not sure when or how our clothes come off—we’re too caught up in the moment—but it happens, and as his kisses stray lower, first to my neck, then over my stomach, before his head settles between my legs, I can’t help the moan that escapes me. I’m so wound up that I feel like I’m going to explode, from the guilt, the tension, and the fear, and right now, Killian feels like refuge.

  I gasp his name as he sets to work on my clit, his tongue moving with deft precision as a finger glides up inside me. I buck into his touch, pleasure already overtaking my body as I arch my back and tangle my hands in his hair, lost in the feeling of him. He seems to be enjoying it just as much, pausing only to lift his head, meet my eyes, and tell me, without a hint of insincerity, “You’re…unbelievable, Karma.”

  I continue to squirm at his touch until he brings me right to the edge, seemingly aware that I’m about to come, and moves back up, his lips pressing to mine. A shiver goes through me at the feeling of him pushing inside me, his mouth stifling the moan that escapes me, and within seconds, our bodies are connected, with Killian moving inside me like I’m the only thing in the world. I don’t last long, coming in a rush, and when Killian finishes, he leans down and presses his forehead to mine. I’m not sure how long we remain like that, catching our breaths and staring into each other’s eyes, but it doesn’t matter. He’s here, and that’s all I need right now.

  Chapter 11

  I’m not expecting to sleep, but I do. The surprises never end, it seems, although in hindsight I’m not sure why I am surprised. Good sex has always made me sleepy—I’m definitely more of a “snuggle and spend the night” type than an “out the door as soon as the deed is done” type. This, combined with the fact that I slept fitfully last night, is a damn near lethal combination, and even after I wriggle back into my underwear and a tank top, I feel like I can barely move. Killian pulls his boxers back on and lies back on the bed, opening his arm to me in a silent invitation. I don’t need telling twice, and wordlessly I crawl over to him, curling up at his side and resting my head against his muscular chest. His body is warm, almost feverish from the heat of the moment, and that’s exactly what I need right now. It’s curtains as soon as he pulls the covers over us, even in spite of his reassurances that he’s “just going to rest his eyes for a while,” and within minutes I’m sound asleep, lulled by the quiet sound of his breath and the steady rise and fall of his chest. This time, I don’t have any dreams, something I’m more grateful for than I can express, and even if it’s just for a couple of hours, the world is quiet for a while.

  Eventually I stir, exhaling loudly as I burrow my face into Killian’s chest. It’s still light out—probably early in the afternoon, if I had to guess—but if we don’t get up now, we’ll be running the risk of spending the whole day in bed. Not a horrible idea when my bedmate is someone as sexy as Killian is, but like it or not, there are more important things to deal with right now. One of which is restrained and incoherent a few rooms down the hall. Shifting a little, I run a hand up Killian’s chest, surprised when I hear a stifled snort of laughter. “What?” I demand, looking up at him.

  “Nothing,” he says, looking a little sheepish. “I’m ticklish.”

  My eyes widen. “Seriously? You, one of the infamous gods of justice, ticklish?”

  “Sure,” he replies. “I’m not made of rock, you know.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the base of his neck.

  Killian groans and drops his head back, letting out a long, blissful sigh as he stares up at the ceiling. I can feel his hands on my back, gently tracing the form of my body from my shoulder blades down to my fingertips. “These are new,” he observes, interlacing his fingers with mine and holding our joined hands up. The tattoos almost seem to move in the light, the vibrant green striking a sharp contrast against my ivory skin.

  “Believe me, it wasn’t a conscious choice,” I tell him.

  Killian raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

  I shake my head. “They just sort of…appeared when I activated Neritous’s device. I think they have something to do with Storm’s mother’s magic.” I sigh. “I wish they were gone.”

  “I don’t,” Killian replies. “They look good on you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I mutter, rolling over and sitting up. “I’m so glad my magical aesthetic choices have your approval.”

  He laughs. “I’m just saying…might as well look on the bright side, right? You look badass with tattoos.”

  I give him a small smile. “Thanks. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

  “I know,” he says, and I can tell by the tone of his voice that he means it. “We’re going to find a way out of this, Karma. We always do.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I tell him, without a hint of humour. “I’m starting to doubt if we ever will.”

  He catches hold of my wrist in his hand, his thum
b grazing over the delicate skin as if I were some kind of rare and exotic flower. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, but I don’t dare ask him what he’s thinking about. “We survived the prison,” he tells me at last. “We survived Xur. We can survive this.”

  “Did we?” I ask him, my tone a little more biting than I was intending. “I mean, yeah, we got out of the prison, and then what happened? We ended up captured by Xur. Now we’ve gotten away from Xur, and Neritous has me under his thumb. What if we never did make it out? We’ve been prisoners this whole time–the only thing that’s changed is where we’re being held captive.”

  “That was before you had the power of the goddess of life in your hands,” Killian insists. “We have the edge—you have the edge—and Neritous knows it. Why else would he be trying so hard to keep you alive?”

  “What’s the point of being alive if all I am is a slave to a tyrant?” I ask, not liking the way my voice shakes at the question. As much of a comfort as Killian was in the moment, he’s also equipping me to finally articulate what’s going through my mind, and none of it is pretty. “I’d rather die if those are my only options.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Karma.” I look up, surprised by the conviction in his voice, and see his golden eyes burning with empathy, admiration, and fierce protectiveness. “I’m not going to let you die,” he tells me firmly, “or end up as a slave. We’re going to get through this. Together.”

  I smile sadly at him, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek; he covers my hand with his own, seeming to relish the feeling of my touch. “You always know how to cheer me up,” I tell him and mean it.

  He grins that charming grin of his. “Consider it a special talent,” he replies before his face goes serious again. Sitting up, he runs a hand through his blond hair, looking first around the room and then back at me. “Do you remember the day we first met?” he asks suddenly, his brow furrowing.

  I nod, laughing a little at the memory. “You guys raised hell in that bar. I was so close to getting away from you, too.”

  “Damn right, we did,” Killian agrees. “But…I’m glad you didn’t, for whatever it’s worth. Just in case there was any doubt.”

  I laugh. “You know, as weird as it is, so am I.” I turn to him. “I wasn’t too keen on you guys.”

  Killian snorts. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

  “Well, can you blame me?” I ask, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and standing up. “You guys arrested me. You tried to throw me in the gods’ prison and throw away the key.”

  “Right,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as I start clambering into my pants. “Sorry again for that. It’s been an adventure, though, hasn’t it?” He watches me for a long moment as I dress, keenly aware of his eyes on me, drinking me in. Normally it would make me uncomfortable, but not now. Not with him. “When I saw you in that bar, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen,” he admits, looking away from me.

  “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard,” I joke.

  “It’s true, though,” he insists. “You were…I don’t know, radiant. Like this bat out of hell, with the attitude to match. I didn’t know what hit me. I thought I must have been dreaming.”

  I feel a little guilty as I button up my jeans. “When I saw you in that bar, I thought you guys were going to kill me there and then.”

  I see the justice god’s hands ball into fists at his sides. He looks almost ashamed, unable to meet my eyes, as if doing so will reveal some horrible truth that I’m not ready to see. “I would never have been able to,” he confesses. “It felt…wrong, what we were doing. Seth felt it too, I know he did. But you have to understand, when you’re in our line of work…”

  “I know,” I finish for him, nodding as I slide my top off and work on getting my bra back on. “You do what you’re told. Don’t question too much. I…” I trail off, glancing down at my hand. It’s odd that ever since Neritous, I haven’t received a single name, not one target to deliver karma to. No more black writing, no more wondering what my latest target did to deserve what’s coming for them, nothing. Instead, it’s been replaced by the climbing vines and intricate leaves of the tattoos that snake up my arms, a cruel reminder that my life is no longer my own. It’s almost as if the universe itself knows that that’s no longer my life, that I’m no longer part of that world, as much as I might yearn for it. “I get it,” I finish lamely, and although I don’t say anything more, it’s clear from the look that Killian gives me that he can see the pain I’m in.

  Wordlessly, he gets to his feet, coming to stand beside me, and I feel his hand brush against my arm for a fleeting second. He brings his palm up to cup my cheek before leaning in and kissing me gently enough to leave me weak in the knees. I cling to him like he’s my last lifeline, reluctant to let go until I need to breathe, and then just taking a moment to let him hold me. Neither of us says anything—there isn’t anything to be said—and together we get dressed in silence. Downstairs, I can hear the voices of the others. Storm and Seth seem to be back, which is good. I don’t like the idea of them wandering around without protection. Whether they know about my tryst with Killian, I have no idea, but at this point, I’m too tired, physically and emotionally, to care. Hopefully they won’t, either. It’s been quiet in Mads’s room, which could either be a very good sign or a very bad sign…or maybe Peyton’s finally given up. The thought of that pains me, and I’m reminded again that I’m not the only person with a dog in this fight: lives are depending on me.

  I put my hands in my pockets and lean against the wall while Killian finishes getting dressed, pulling a fitted T-shirt over his head and rolling his shoulders back. As if reading my mind, he turns to me with a frown. “I haven’t heard anything from your brother in a while,” he remarks. “Do you think…?”

  I shake my head. “Like we should be that lucky. She probably just wore him out, and he’s taking a break.” I let out a long sigh. “It’s terrible. I can barely think about it without wanting to pull my hair out.”

  “Again, not your fault,” Killian tells me as he pulls open my bedroom door.

  “It doesn’t matter whose fault it was,” I reply. “I just want my best friend back.”

  “Maybe you should try talking to her, then,” he suggests, crossing his arms. “You might be able to get her to remember.”

  I snort. “Yeah, right. If Peyton couldn’t get through to her, I doubt anything I say is going to make a difference.”

  “You sure about that?” Killian shrugs. “She’s known you longer than she’s known him. She’s been there with you since day one. Weren’t you the one who told me that?”

  “I…” I fidget. What he’s saying makes sense, but I don’t want to bite the bullet. It’s all just too painful. Then again, what choice do I have? “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Of course I am,” Killian replies, grinning broadly. “I’m always right.” He holds an inviting hand out to me. “Come on,” he suggests. “We can ask Peyton for advice. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?”

  “Easier said than done,” I point out but don’t hesitate to take his hand. I’m going to get through to Mads if it kills me.

  In spite of my bravado, I’m practically shitting bricks, and the walk back downstairs seems to take ages. Wiser now, Killian ducks out of the way before the hand can reach out of the painting, shooting the damn thing a look that might have made me laugh if our situation weren’t so messed up. Out the bay window, I can see mum working in the garden with Ruby, Michael observing haughtily from his living space over by the fence. The little girl seems to be adjusting well, all things considered, and it warms me a little to know that, in spite of everything she’s been through, she still seems to be bouncing back all right. If she can, maybe I can, too, I think, the corners of my mouth turning up a little. Maybe we all can.

  While my other brothers seem to be busying themselves in the kitchen, fighting over leftovers, by the sounds of it
, we find Peyton in the living room. He’s curled up on the couch, his elbows braced on his knees and his head resting in his hands. I’ve never seen him look quite so tired…or quite so despairing. I know exactly what that feels like. He doesn’t even look up when Killian and I settle onto the couch next to him, and I cautiously put a hand on his back. Right now, I feel more like an older sister to him than I ever have before in my life.

  My touch seems to startle him, and he lifts his head. There are bags under his eyes, which are bloodshot and damp with tears. He looks utterly defeated. “I’m assuming the news isn’t good, huh?” I ask tentatively.

  Peyton shakes his head, letting out a long sigh. “I keep trying,” he says, “although I don’t even fucking know why anymore. She’s like a stranger to me. And I’m…” He chokes a little, his voice breaking on the last word. “I’m like a stranger to her, now. I guess.”

  I give his back a couple of pats, unsure what I can say to make this better. “She still loves you,” I tell him, although I don’t sound very convincing. Hell, I’m not even sure if I believe it.

  My brother snorts, straightening up, and I let my hand fall. “She doesn’t love me anymore,” he replies, the sheer bitterness in his voice leaving me feeling taken aback. “She doesn’t even know who I am. She doesn’t remember any of us. And the worst part is, she doesn’t care.” He sets his jaw, his green eyes flashing as he turns to look at me. “Whatever those bastards did to her, they took her away. The girl I loved is gone. She’s just a fucking…magical shell, now.”

  I exchange a look with Killian, a sinking feeling in my stomach; I’m uncertain of what to say. “I have to admit, I don’t know much about this sort of…situation,” Killian speaks up, fidgeting a little. “I didn’t know it was possible… Although I’m starting to realise that I’ve never known as much as I’ve always thought I did.” He clears his throat. “That said, though… I’ve been thinking. I don’t think we should count Mads out just yet.” Meeting my eyes with his golden ones, he gives me a subtle nod, the smallest burst of encouragement, and his earlier words come back to me. We’re going to get through this together.