West of Want (Hearts of the Anemoi) Page 2
Zephyros stepped to the desk and opened the top drawer. Maps and paperwork sat in skewed stacks. He flipped through the pages until he found a name and address. That the name was male brought an unexpected frown to his face, but at least he had a lead on where to take her. Surely someone so physically attractive had a significant other, someone who would care for her and see her mended back to health.
As he moved to return above deck, a small aft berth caught his eye and he reached in and yanked a blanket from the bed. Up top again, he tucked the red comforter around the woman. The loose strands of hair around her face had air-dried to a light golden-brown. Peaceful in her unconsciousness, her face appeared delicate and young, unmarred by cruelty or pain—except for what he’d done to her, of-fucking-course.
Ignoring the rock of guilt in his gut, he considered the problem of actually getting the boat to harbor. Sailing was a foreign language to him. He had no need for the knowledge. He could soar on the wind, even glide on the currents for short times. All he knew was a sailboat with furled sails wasn’t going anywhere.
No matter. He stepped around the wheel and down onto the swimming platform. The clothing would just be a drag, so he disappeared it and jumped. The cold water sucker-punched him. He gasped and willed his muscles to cooperate. How long had the woman suffered with the freezing waves battering her damaged body? He bit down on his tongue to keep from roaring out. The pain focused him.
Arms extended beside him, he closed his eyes and called the current. As a wind god, Zephyros was most at home in the sky, but marshaling sea currents worked on the same principle. The rush of water pushed behind him, just as he directed, and scooped up the boat’s hull in the grip of its gentle forward motion. One hand on the platform, he floated behind the boat, guiding its heading, adjusting as necessary, shivering until he thought his bones might snap. Luckily, the storm had chased away other maritime traffic. The bay was wide open and empty. Nice to have one thing going for him. Occasional gulls cried out high above, their pale bodies nearly camouflaged against the gray-white sky.
Within an hour, they were in sight of Annapolis. Above the town proper, a large steeple and a tall domed cupola framed the colonial seaport. But Zephyros’s destination was a bit closer. The address he’d found should be on the neck of land just south of the town.
An inlet emerged up ahead. All along the shore, clusters of masts stood up together, sentinels on the water. He guided the boat toward the creek. A sailboat with a large blue mast sail glided past. Zephyros submerged into the cold, but not before noticing the confounded expression on the other captain’s face. Of course. The boat he guided moved without aid of sail or motor.
He resurfaced long enough to see the other boat coming about, the captain on the radio. Damn it all to Hades.
This situation was about to become shit meets fan. For gods’ sake, he currently didn’t have clothes, and until he warmed he’d be lucky to hold a conversation. Naked, nearly incapacitated, with no ability to dock the boat, and with a gravely injured woman on board, he had little likelihood of contriving a convincing story about how they’d gotten that way.
His presence was a liability here. He was useless. Again.
As the blue-masted boat neared, the captain called out, asking whether the True Blue was in distress. No one answered, of course.
And it was time for him to go.
Zephyros released his grip on the platform and eased the created current until it dispersed altogether. He sank beneath the surface, shaking nonstop, and hesitated just a moment. His gut clenched. He hated the idea of not seeing her to safety. Okay, in truth, he’d done that. But what he wanted was to see her to health—awake and conscious and warm and happy.
Happy? What did her emotions have to do with anything? Fluttery panic ripped through his chest. The fact he was even thinking about her feelings was a major get-the-hell-out-of-there red flag. Getting involved was the last thing he needed. Hadn’t he learned that? Again and again and a-fucking-gain?
No more.
The rescue sailboat came alongside the True Blue. A man’s voice rang out above the water’s surface. There. He would make sure she was safe, cared for, got everything she needed. The thought had Zephyros grinding his teeth in frustration. In self-defense.
In want.
No.
He wanted nothing and no one. And, in truth, no one wanted him either. So didn’t that work out just perfectly, thank you very much.
Zephyros turned and, without looking back, swam to the opposite shore.
He broke the icy surface gasping for breath and shaking so hard his bones hurt.
“Job well done, Zephyros. Very good. And on the first day of your season, too,” came the last voice Zeph wanted to hear in that moment. Or any moment.
Zeph wiped the water from his eyes and climbed the small embankment opposite the marina where he could hear a small crowd gathering. The clothes he materialized didn’t begin to compensate for the consequences of over an hour of exertion in a forty-degree sea. Grinding his teeth together to keep them from chattering, he faced his younger brother Eurus, Supreme God of the East Wind and Harbinger of Misfortune. Evil in a pair of $900 dress shoes. Zeph ignored the comment intended to pluck at his guilt and rile him up. “You have no business here, Eurus. Leave. I don’t have anything to say to you.”
Standing on the shore in his I’m-dark-and-mysterious black leather getup, Eurus stared across the water through the black wraparound sunglasses he always wore. His lips twitched. “Be that as it may, I have something to say to you.” He turned away from the drama unfolding across the inlet and faced Zeph, but didn’t speak.
Striking a careful indifference as emergency vehicles poured into the marina parking lot, Zeph glared at his brother. He’d paid his debt to Eurus, and then some. Not that Zeph truly believed he owed that fucker anything, but he’d wanted to make nice, keep the peace. Problem was, Eurus didn’t agree. And never would. “For the love of the gods, Eurus. What do you want? I’m freezing and don’t want to stand here arguing with you.”
Eurus laced his hands behind his back. “Fine. I’ll get right to the point. I plan to submit a petition.”
Gods, he hated how Eurus made everything so damn dramatic. “About?”
“I will propose that, lest you beget an heir by the end of your season, my son Alastor be installed as your heir.” Zeph gaped as Eurus plowed on. “Only Boreas and I have addressed issues of succession.” He shook his head and tsked. “And it’s very dangerous, Zephyros. Very dangerous indeed not to have an heir in place.”
Maybe Zeph’s ears were frozen and the words had gotten garbled. No way his brother had just proposed— “You can’t be serious.”
Eurus arched an eyebrow.
“You’re out of your mind.” As if that wasn’t stating the obvious. “A god of the East could never do the job of a god of the West.” Not to mention the fact Alastor was a complete recluse and, more importantly, Zeph would never trust anyone of Eurus’s line with…anything.
“Alastor could.”
Zeph turned away and climbed the rest of the way up the embankment. “Whatever. I’ll get around to having an heir when I’m good and goddamned ready.” When that might be, he had no idea. After all, someone had to stick around long enough first. “Besides, Father would never approve an eastern god as the heir of my line.”
“He would if he had the blood of spring in his veins.”
Going stock still, Zeph heaved a breath. Icy fingers crawled up his spine. He schooled his expression and turned on his brother. Glared, but kept his mouth shut.
Eurus’s smug expression went glacial. “Oh, come now. I know you want me to explain.”
Despite the way his skin crawled and his gut squeezed, he’d freeze out here before giving Eurus the satisfaction of asking.
Leaning forward, a smile that could only be described as wicked curled the edges of Eurus’s lips. “Your wife, Chloris,” he sneered, voice dark and satisfied. Then he was gone.
CHAPTER THREE
Words disconnected from meaning. Sounds out of context. Numb-ness like floating. And always the darkness.
Sometimes she surfaced. Nauseating light played behind eyelids she couldn’t force open. Shooting pain accompanied the smallest shift in her position. A world-spinning ache throbbed beneath her face and ear. An odd, distant keening sounded in those moments, bringing a rush of relief through her veins that would pull her under into merciful oblivion once more.
Consciousness returned in the quiet of night. Ella blinked her dry, crusty eyes again and again. The dim room took shape before her. Sage-green walls. A mounted television. A movable tray. Gentle, rhythmic beeps entered her consciousness. Rolling her head just a little, she found the source of the sound. Monitors and medicine drips on metal stands lined the side of her bed. A hospital, then.
She opened her mouth, but knew instinctively she wouldn’t be able to talk. Her tongue lay thick and unused. Her lips burned with dryness. She tried to lick them.
“Here. Take a sip.”
Her gaze tracked the new sound, setting off a wave of dizziness. Her lips found the straw first, held right where she could reach it. She sucked the life-giving water into her mouth. It was the best thing she had ever tasted. She could’ve cried.
“Welcome back,” the deep voice said.
Ella had almost forgotten someone was there. She released the straw and with effort made herself look up.
The nurse stood next to the side of her bed. She blinked and squinted. Focus slowly returned. He towered above her. His hair was short and dark, unruly curls just at the ends. Close-trimmed facial hair set off an angled jaw and lips pressed in a concerned line.
“More?”
She frowned. The straw stroked her bottom lip. She opened, eagerly drank more of the water. Her throat rejoiced.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, no sound emerging.
“Don’t try to speak. Just rest. And be well.”
She sighed. And slipped into nothingness.
In the early morning gloom, she awoke again. A man, all broad shoulders, stared out through the slats in the blinds. Green scrubs. Her nurse again?
“Water,” she croaked.
He was at her side so fast, she must’ve blinked. A couple of times. She hadn’t seen him move.
This time when she offered her thanks, she could manage a rasping whisper.
His lips curved up, the smallest bit. “You’re welcome.” Intense slate-blue eyes stared down at her. “How are you feeling?”
“Dunno,” she murmured, licking her lips. “What happened?”
His brow furrowed. “You don’t remember?”
She closed her eyes and concentrated. A lump formed in her throat and swelled. “Marcus.” Flashing images of a ferocious storm joined the memory of her brother. “Dead.” She swallowed hard, the sound thick and tortured in her own ears.
“He died?”
Something in his voice begged her attention. She blinked up at him. He’d gone totally still next to her, his expression grave and alarmed. Ella frowned. “Yeah.”
“When this happened to you?”
She opened and closed her mouth. The hair on her arms raised, the air taking on a warm, electrical quality. Obviously, some good drugs dripped into her veins. Still, his intensity did seem weird. Why was he so upset?
He grasped her hand. “Ella, did he die when this happened to you?”
Her gaze fell to his engulfing grip on her fingers. So warm. Her skin tingled where they touched.
The big man leaned across the path of her vision to capture her attention. “Gods, woman, answer me.”
Her head swam. From the effort of remembering the question. From exhaustion. From the roiling power behind his piercing blue eyes. She shook her head once. “No, not then.”
His whole body sagged. The air in the room cooled and calmed. He stood up and turned away, lacing his hands on top of his head. Ella missed the warm connection immediately, but was equally consumed with watching him. For a moment, he muttered and paced along the length of her bed, roughly scrubbing his palms over his face. He had the slightest sprinkling of gray at his temples.
His every movement radiated power. The green scrubs pulled across the muscles of his shoulders, back, and thighs with each step. His very presence took up the whole side of the room in which he paced. He exuded a raw masculinity her body recognized, even if she was in absolutely no position to respond to it.
“You okay?” she scratched out.
He whirled on her, eyes guarded, muscles tense.
The movement was so unexpected, she gasped. Her heart raced, unleashing a series of throbs in her shoulder, neck, and head. She groaned.
“Damn it!” he bit out. He rushed to her and pushed a button on the side of the bed. A big hand smoothed over her forehead. “I’m sorry.”
Ella’s eyes clenched shut against the pounding torment rooting itself behind her eye and ear. But his touch helped. How amazing the power of human touch.
Then it was gone.
Her gaze scanned the room. Empty. A ball of panic bloomed in her gut. Where had he gone? And why had he left?
The door to her room pushed open and a woman with brown skin and pink scrubs breezed in. “Well, welcome back, Ms. Raines. It’s good to see you awake.”
Ella could only manage a drawn-out moan. The nurse was pretty, her smile open, and she wore her black hair in a curly natural style. The woman made pleasant small talk with her while she checked her vitals and entered her findings into a computer on a swivel stand.
“Don’t you worry, now, we’ll get you feeling better in no time. Can you tell me your pain level on a scale of one to ten, with ten the worst pain of your life and one pain-free?”
Licking her lips and forcing herself to focus, Ella considered the question. How did one judge pain? Her shoulder was a good solid six. The throb vibrating through her skull, a seven. But her heart, oh, her heart might never recover. A ten for sure. But Ella supposed that wasn’t the kind of pain the nurse was asking her to describe. “Maybe a seven,” she rasped.
“Okay, honey. Let’s see what we can do about that.” The woman inserted a needle into the IV. Cool solace slid into her veins and tugged at Ella’s consciousness. She almost gave in, before she thought to ask. “The man? The male nurse?” she slurred.
The woman smiled and shook her head. “Musta been a good dream. Only us ladies on this unit.” She went right on, explaining procedures to Ella in case she needed anything, but Ella’s attention drifted away, stolen by the pain medication and the memory of a man who didn’t exist.
…
Zephyros hovered outside the woman’s hospital window, a moth to a flame. He couldn’t explain it, but every effort to leave her since the ambulance crew had carried her off the boat throbbed deep in his chest until he nearly suffocated.
He was just so damned drained. Guilt over hurting her sat like a weight on his chest. Being immersed in freezing water all that time had weakened him to the point he should’ve returned to the Realm of the Gods to be restored. And, if those weren’t enough, Eurus’s lie about Chloris, Zeph’s ex-wife and the first woman he’d ever loved, picked at his brain until he’d driven himself nearly crazy worrying holes into the ridiculous story. Just more of Eurus causing chaos. Had to be. And damn if it hadn’t worked.
Still, he’d have to talk to Father about whatever scheme his brother had in the works.
Zeph’s gaze scanned over the woman sleeping in her bed. The conversation with his father could wait. He just wanted…what? To see her conscious. To know she’d be okay. So he waited. Part of him believed he’d be able to leave when her family showed up. Even if he couldn’t see her awake, he could at least stay until those who would take care of her arrived.
Three days passed.
And she hadn’t awakened.
And no one had come for her.
So Zephyros stayed. He refused to leave her alone, even if she didn’t know he was there. He’d caused this, and he wanted to make it right. Though he couldn’t do a true healing in such a public place, he infused what energy he could into the air of her room, directing it to surround and ease her.
But it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. His uselessness roiled in his gut, squeezed his heart.
Damn it, he should’ve returned to the Realm of the Gods after his nephew’s anniversary party last week. Even as he’d hovered on the fringes of the partygoers, grief and loneliness had him grinding his teeth to keep his turmoil to himself. Never should he have come into the human realm feeling that way. Clearly, he’d had no business being among mortals.
For that matter, how he’d thought an anniversary party would’ve been anything other than salt in his ancient wounds, he had no idea. He was pleased Boreas’s son, Owen, had found his happiness after so long. The god deserved it and his wife, Megan, was completely worthy of him—Zeph saw that the first time they met. But he couldn’t handle stepping inside someone else’s happily-ever-after, especially when he’d never have one himself.
So he’d raged.
And this woman had paid the price for his torment. Ella, he’d heard the nurses say. Just thinking the name calmed him.
Lingering around the hospital for three days, elemental during the busier daytimes, more often human during the quieter nights, Zephyros had studied the woman, wondered about her. He’d overheard the nurses say she had no family, no husband. How was that possible? Even bruised and battered, with tubes and wires and monitors crisscrossing her body, her youth and beauty shined through. With her eyes wide in her face, dark circles beneath, and bottom lip fuller than the top, hers wasn’t a conventional beauty, but it appealed to him, made him want to know more. How one such as her could be all alone in the world, he simply couldn’t fathom. Or maybe it was just that he didn’t want to, that imagining what caused her solitude just might make him examine the reasons behind his own.