West of Want (Hearts of the Anemoi) (19 page)

“How do you mean?”

“Zephyros’s scent is all over the woman’s house. He’s been with her. Recently. And”—he shook his head—“repeatedly, I’d guess. Good gods, I can’t begin to imagine the scenario in which he’d leave her hurt and unprotected in a dark parking lot.”

“Damn it. I better summon Chrys. Given what Zephyros said when I last saw him, he would not have done that. This has Eurus written all over it. Something has happened to Zeph.”

“Well, the sky’s damn near falling over here, so he’s around somewhere.” He lifted a curtain and glanced out at the street. Save for the pounding rain and streams running along the curbs, it was as quiet and still as when they’d arrived. “The woman’s hand is crushed and she never even stirred as I moved her, but my gut’s saying to keep her here, not to take her to the hospital. There’s something about her, Boreas. There’s an energy around her. Maybe it’s Zeph’s. I don’t know.” Owen fingered the iron amulet resting against his chest, an ancient piece that had belonged to his birth father millennia ago. “Damn mess.”

“Go with your gut. And stay on the alert. I’ll send Chrys your way as soon as I can find him.”

“Okay. Is Megan still awake?”

“No. Fell asleep about a half hour ago.”

“Hmm. Did she eat dinner?” he said, regretting not being there to take care of her.

Boreas chuckled. “Yes, Owen.”

“What? I need to know she’s okay.”

“I understand, son. And she is. They all are. You have my word.”

He sighed. “I know. Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.” Owen exchanged good-byes with Boreas and slipped the cell into his pocket.

At a loss for what to do, Owen returned to Marcella’s room. If it was his woman, he’d hope his brethren wouldn’t let her out of their sight. So he’d do the same for Zephyros and give him the benefit of the doubt. An oversized armchair drew him to a dark corner of her room, and he sank down into the embracing cushions.

He waited and kept watch as darkest night eased in to early morning gray.

…

Brilliant pain roared through Zephyros’s consciousness and poured out of him in the form of driving rain and buffeting winds. But the intensity was unsustainable. Exhaustion swamped the shocking agony and sucker-punching betrayal until he felt gutted, hollow, hardly there at all.

So damn hungry for affection and connection, he’d ignored every fucking warning sign. The odd influence she held over him. The repeated associations with the East. The too goddamned many ways she seemed absolutely perfect. Made for him. As if.

And he’d fallen so hard and so fast, he’d never suspected, when and if an attack came, it would come from her. Why he’d gone back to the human realm, he didn’t know. On some pathetic level, he’d held out blind hope his injury had been just a stupid accident. He’d seen the panic on her face, heard the concern in her voice. Or a close facsimile, anyway.

Now all he could see was the harsh truth staring him in the face. Eurus, all over Ella. Her, pliant and willing against him, passionate moans ringing out into the night.

That he was even surprised showed he never learned.

For the love of the gods, knowing what he knew now, no way her infertility was a coincidence given Eurus’s threats. They were clearly in cahoots.

Zeph howled into the night wind.

His exasperation at himself did absolutely nothing to dull the agony squeezing the center of his being.

Fuck it. He was done.

Allowing the wind to carry him home, Zeph blanked out his mind and rode the flow. His subconscious achieved awareness as he approached the Realm of the Gods, and he willed himself to his private chamber.

Blood and flesh returned around him, adding physical pain to the psychic agony already tormenting him. But it was good. Needed. It drove the fucking lesson home, in spades.

He was better off alone.

Soul-deep weariness crushed his insides, and he collapsed onto his bed so hard the giant wooden headboard crashed against the wall. Yanking covers over his hips, the fifty-pound weights covering his eyes slammed shut. The movie playing on the inside, well, he was going to ignore that fucker like there was no tomorrow.

A jag of warm energy shot through the room. “Comfy, Z? Can I get you anything? Another pillow? An eye mask? An Ambien? A fucking clue?”

Zeph groaned. No way he could handle his little brother right now. “Leave, Chrys. I’m serious. I don’t want to hurt you, but I have only the slightest hold on myself right now. So I can’t make any fucking promises.”

“Try me. I’d love the chance to beat some sense into your thick skull, even if it meant I got my ass kicked in the process.”

Zephyros cut his gaze to the younger god, the picture of rest and repose reclining alongside him on the bed. Bracing back on long arms, ankles crossed, golden waves tousled carelessly around his face, currently wearing an uncharacteristic expression of anger. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, maybe because B was worried enough about your ass to summon me from halfway ’round the world. He seems convinced some shit went down tonight, and you got hurt. But as you seem to have all your parts, I’d like to know what was worth interrupting my holiday.”

“Yeah, because it’s all about you.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit attitude—”

“If Boreas is so damned worried about me, why’d he send you?” Usually Mr. Fucking Sunshine, deep power and aggression resided under the surface of the Supreme God of the South Wind and Summer. Zeph had changed the topic so he didn’t have to deal with his brother’s temper.

“Because B’s a little busy hanging with Owen’s family while Owen takes care of your woman. Which makes me wonder why
you’re
not doing that your damn self.” Golden light burst out of Chrys’s eyes and cut a trail of heat over Zeph’s face.

Zephyros narrowed his gaze, the words a jumbled mess in his brain. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Chrys switched into the ancient language. “What part didn’t you understand, brother, because I thought I was rocking the English pretty damn clearly.”

Hiking himself up to sit against the mammoth headboard, Zeph glared at Chrys and fired words right back in their native tongue. “She’s not my woman, and Owen needs to clear the hell out of there. Now.”

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Chrys shook his head. “Wow. I thought the love ’em and leave ’em bit was my schtick. But at least I leave them happy, not injured and unconscious in the middle of a fucking parking lot.”

“What?” A damp wind whipped through the room.

“Owen found her maybe two hours ago. Took her back to her house. When I left there, she was still out cold.”

What in gods’ hell was going on here? He almost felt he and Chrys were having two different and mutually unintelligible conversations. “You were at Ella’s house?”

Chrys frowned. “Who’s Ella?”

Zeph clunked his head back against the heavy wood. Once. Twice. “Try to keep up, Chrysander. Who the hell were we just talking about?”

“Marcella.”

Zeph’s head flew forward and he stared, disbelieving, at his brother. “I don’t…that’s not…”

Tugging a hand through his curls, Chrys sprang off the bed. “That’s what Owen told me her name was. Maybe I misunderstood. At any rate, doesn’t matter. I know she’s the right woman, since your marking scent and erotic energy are all over that fucking house, and her.”

Marcella. Her name is Marcella?
He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. Could it really be a coincidence that she, too, bore the name of Mars? The god of war and agriculture was his namesake and benefactor. Mars gave his name to the month of March, in ancient times known as Martius, during which Zephyros ascended to power each year.

No, doesn’t matter. She’s with Eurus.

Except…“I’m so fucking confused right now.” His shoulders sagging, he looked up at Chrys.

“Well, that’s pretty damn clear.” Chrys braced his hands on his hips. “There’s a kinda obvious way to get unconfused, you dig?”

Zeph pushed out of bed and materialized jeans to cover himself. “She’s with Eurus, Chrys,” he said, voicing his thoughts. “I saw them.”

“I don’t know what you saw, brother, but Eurus was nowhere to be seen. And Marcella was alone, hurt, and unconscious when Owen found her. Besides, since when has Eurus been with anyone? That shit stinks.”

The truth of Chrys’s words curdled in Zeph’s gut.

Mother of gods, was it possible he’d misunderstood? But how? He’d been sure of what he saw, but then again, how many times had he made an errant assumption? He turned the scene of Ella and Eurus around in his head—what if what he’d seen hadn’t been consensual at all? The new version of what had happened sucked the air from the room. Dread snaked up his spine. If Chrys was right, he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Ella moved to sit up, but only had one hand to readjust her position. Owen rushed to help and piled pillows behind her back. “He who?” she asked, her brain struggling to shake the disorientation, and the pain from her hand adding another layer of haziness.

Kind eyes met hers. They were different colors. So interesting. “Zephyros,” he said.

Zephyros
. The very sound of the name set her body to trembling. Her fear for him. Her longing for him. How his expression shifted from disbelief to devastation as he watched Eurus kiss her. Her own despairing hurt as he abandoned her to the god from whom he’d promised to protect her.

She glanced up at Owen. “Yes, he did,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Well, okay, then.”

A hundred questions raced through Ella’s mind, but the main thing demanding her attention was the blasting throb of her hand. Her fingers extended like fat raw sausages off the softball that used to be her palm. The memory of how it happened shuddered through her. “I need a hospital, Owen,” she said, her voice shaky even to her own ears. No way this didn’t require surgery.

Owen sat at the foot of the bed and sighed. “I know it’s necessary, Marcella, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Uh…” She stuttered, unused to hearing her given name. She so rarely used it. “It’s…actually, it’s Ella. And why the hell not?”

“Sorry. Ella. Something bad went down here last night, and more might be on the way. Keeping all this private is better.”

She scoffed. “For who? For all you god-types? Certainly not for me.” She gestured to her hand, and immediately regretted the movement.

“I know. You’re right. But I think I can help with that, at least temporarily.”

Ella frowned, but the earnest look on the man’s face sucked her in, made her believe him. “You have the ability to heal, too?”

Owen’s mouth dropped open. “Good gods, he told you that, too?”

“Well, yeah, right before he healed me.”

Owen sprang off the bed and paced the room. “I don’t understand this. I don’t understand any of this. No way he would reveal all this about himself if he didn’t trust you and care about you. I know Zeph”—he paused to face her—“he hasn’t had the best luck, so he doesn’t trust easily. But when he does, it’s everything. What happened between the two of you?”

Ella’s breath hitched in response to Owen’s impassioned defense. It just made her miss all the more that she couldn’t have the man she wanted—shouldn’t have him, at the very least. She let out a shaky sigh. “Eurus. Eurus is what happened. Well, mostly.”

Owen held out his hands, silently asking her to continue.

She blew out a halting breath. “Look, I’d be happy to catch you up, but can we get back to how you’re going to help my hand first?”

He bit out a curse under his breath and returned to her bedside. “Sorry. Of course.” He settled by her knees, where he could reach her hand easier. “I’m a snow god,” he said with a shrug. “I should be able to offer you some pain relief and get this swelling down until we can get you more help.”

“A snow god.”

Looking up from her hand, he nodded. “You ready?”

“I have no idea, but give it a try.”

Owen cupped both hands around her injury. Even with the swelling, his big hands engulfed hers. A cold chill bloomed around her skin, only where they touched. The colder it got, the more relief poured through her. The throbbing eased, the ache dulled. She wasn’t fooled into thinking it was all better, but with every passing moment, it became more and more tolerable until she felt she could take an easy, deep breath.

“So, if you’re a snow god, does that mean you’re not one of the Anemoi?”

Owen cocked his head and lifted his mismatched gaze from their joined hands to her eyes. “I am the adopted son of the Anemoi Boreas.” He gave a wry laugh. “Is there anything you don’t know about Zeph?”

“Yeah. Where he is. If he’s okay. And why the hell he let Eurus assault me last night.”

Shock molding his expression into hard angles, Owen sucked in a breath to respond—

“Well, if you’ll let me, perhaps I could shed some light on those questions,” came a voice from the doorway.

Ella craned to see around Owen’s broad shoulders. Her ears must be playing tricks on her.

Belated knuckles wrapped against the wood. “I’ve brought company, Owen,” another voice said.

“Yeah. I hear that,” he murmured under his breath.

“Hey, you look better, Marcella. I’m Chrys.” Whoever he was, the man possessed a star-fallen beauty: wavy, tousled blond hair, bright green eyes, sun-kissed skin, and muscles his shirt did nothing to hide.

“It’s Ella,” she whispered in response, unable to take her eyes off the man standing quietly next to Chrys.

Zephyros. With a haggard face and ancient eyes, he was still the most incredible man she’d ever seen. His gaze moved with calculating intensity between Ella’s face and where her hand was joined with Owen’s.

“Well, okay. See, Z? Clears up that whole name thing.”

From across the room, Ella could tell Zeph was struggling to say something. Though he stood still, she could feel the tension rolling off him, sense his muscles screaming to move. Emotions she didn’t understand played out across his face. “Owen,” he finally said. “What are you doing?”