West of Want (Hearts of the Anemoi) (2 page)

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Authors: Laura Kaye

Tags: #love, #north of need, #Gods, #paranormal romance, #Romance, #fantasy romance, #hearts in darkness, #entangled, #west of want, #her forbidden hero, #Goddesses, #forever freed, #Contemporary Romance, #laura kaye

BOOK: West of Want (Hearts of the Anemoi)
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He glided around the fine boat. No life resided on its decks or within its hull. A sour pit formed in his gut as he began to suspect what had happened.

Rising up to gain a broader view of the sea, Zephyros searched, the dwindling life a beacon he latched onto. Pursued. The thrum of its force vibrated within him. Closing in, he descended toward the surface, the waves passing under him in a blur. There! A flicker of orange upon the dark gray-green.

Flashing into corporeality, Zephyros assumed the form of a giant water kingfisher.

Slate-blue wings exploded twenty feet out on either side of his body. He plunged head-first toward the bobbing figure, the wind ruffling through the crown-like crest of blue feathers atop his head. Rarely did he ever have the need to shift into his sacred animal form, but it was a power all the Anemoi possessed.

Glaring down at the water, Zephyros braced himself. Extreme temperatures pained and weakened him, and he’d be lucky if this water was in the fifties. He skied into the water’s surface, spread wings gentling his landing. No such luck. Mid-forties if it was anything. But this wasn’t about him, was it?

Just ahead, the human bobbed face down, tendrils of long hair floating in strands of silk like a halo. He smelled blood. Best hurry. His senses told him time was short.

Zephyros plunged his regal, avian body into the water, came up with the dead weight draped over his neck. With a shove of a wing, he pushed the legs of the body up, resituating the length along his back. He took flight.

Frigid water shook off him in a fantastic spray as his massive wingspan flapped and lifted them away from the bay. His gaze lit on the sailboat and he banked in its direction. He circled the boat once, twice. The metal cables connecting the mast to the deck would not accommodate his wings. He couldn’t land on the boat.

Taking extra care not to jostle the victim,
his
victim, Zephyros landed behind the sailboat. Instinctively, he commanded the change and shifted into his human form. The biting chill of the water tormented his naked flesh, but more important matters demanded his attention. Grabbing onto one delicate hand, he ensured his hold on the person draped across his back before turning and cradling the body into his arms.

He sucked in a breath. Mother of gods. A bruise mottled the whole left side of her face, from cheek to eyebrow. A nasty gash along the cheekbone oozed a thin line of blood. Her bottom lip was busted open, swollen. But even the severity of her injuries couldn’t hide her beauty.

That sour pit in his stomach grew, suffocated. He’d caused this. Damn it, could he never do anything right? Ancient turmoil roiled through him, threatening to turn him inside out. No, of course he couldn’t.

Zephyros adjusted the woman’s weight in his arms and reached up over the transom. His fingers searched for and found the release, and the swim platform folded out toward them. He lifted the woman above his head and settled her on the glossy wooden surface, then hefted himself up beside her. With solid footing beneath him, he gently lifted her again. He stepped around the massive wheel to the seating area to the fore, and laid her out on a long bench.

Her head lolled to the side. Wheezes morphed into a weak cough. Her whole body seized. Water expelled from her throat. Zephyros supported her shoulders, held her up until she quieted. Her eyelids creaked open, revealing the rolling whites of her eyes. They sagged again, and her whole body went limp.

Zephyros released a breath as unexpected relief flooded him—followed quickly by guilt. His suspicions about what had happened to her were confirmed by an imprinting on her life jacket. The words “True Blue” matched the dark blue calligraphy painted on the back of the boat. She’d been thrown overboard in the storm.
His
storm.

He shivered, a combination of guilt, shame, and the wind against his wet body. Well, the latter problem he could address. He materialized jeans and a T-shirt and made himself decent.

Like a magnet, she drew his gaze. He reached out and stroked his fingers over the reds and purples coloring the side of her face. Her hair appeared deep brown, but he suspected the darkness was an effect of the water still drenching her.

Shaking his head, Zephyros debated. He should leave now. The Coast Guard would find her. The bay had patrols. He could even command the current to carry the boat, with her upon it, to shore. Even as he agreed with himself, agreed leaving her would be for the best, he searched the boat for information he could use to help her. Storage lockers filled the space beneath the bench seats. Empty. His gaze scanned. He’d look below.

Down the companionway steps, he descended into the cabin and stepped in a few inches of sloshing water on the galley floor. All warm wood and white accents, the space was surprisingly spacious and bright. Far forward there appeared to be a berth. Aft of that bedroom, a large sitting area centered round a table. To his immediate left, a small galley kitchen, and to his right, a chart table. Compasses and instruments hung above it on the hull wall.

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.

The words cut through the air and crashed into Zeph so hard he couldn’t breathe.

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.

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