West of Want (Hearts of the Anemoi) (5 page)

The man slowly stepped around the foot of the bed and settled onto the corner of the mattress. Ella’s heart took up root in her throat, making it hard to breathe, to swallow. He clasped his big hands on a muscled thigh. Damn, why was she noticing these things? Who cared if he was handsome. Gorgeous, even. He was totally crazytrain, and he was in her house.

“Ella, I know you have no husband. And I promise you, it’s okay. If you’ll just let me explain.”

His expression of false concern threatened to lure her in. Not taking care to avoid her arm, Ella scrabbled back on the bed until her spine met the headboard. She clutched the sheet’s edge to her neck. Adrenaline flooded her system, provided a cushion against the pain, but she was going to pay for her reckless movements later. If she had a later.
Please, God, let there be a later
.

He reached out a hand. “Don’t! You’ll hurt yourself. Damn it, Ella, listen to me!” His voice echoed around the room, deep and resonant.

She couldn’t restrain the whimper his shout unleashed, so unexpected after the calm tones he’d used earlier to create a false sense of safety. Pulse pounding in her ears, her gaze skittered around the room, looking for something that could serve as a weapon. Something on her side of the room she could get to first. Something she could lift and swing with one hand. In her mind’s eye, she saw Marcus’s lacrosse stick in the utility room and nearly groaned in desire of it.

His extended hand dropped to the bed. The man sighed, a loud, troubled sound, and shook his head. “I’m messing this up. I’m sorry. This wasn’t how I should’ve gone about this. I see that now. But if you’ll just give me five minutes to explain. I wanted only to help you. And then I’ll leave.”

Trapped against the headboard, trembling from adrenaline and barely suppressed pain, Ella stared at him. Man, she must be a complete sucker, because something about the defeated set of his broad shoulders had her almost agreeing. His eyes pleaded with her. She found him hard to look at. Everything about him was physically beautiful in a totally powerful, masculine way, but that didn’t keep him from exuding a hurt that resonated somewhere deep in her chest. She recognized the aura of pain and loneliness that surrounded him.

She shook her head. This was such a monumentally bad idea. But, really, what choice did she have? Meeting his observing eyes, she said, “Five minutes.”

He sat up straighter and nodded. His shoulders eased beneath a dark gray T-shirt pulled taut across his chest and around his biceps. “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

“Uh, okay. Thank you?” There went her hope he’d get right to the point.

“Gods, I don’t know what I’m doing.” He shifted away, leaned his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands. Ella watched him for a long moment. The scared side of her almost snarked that time was a-ticking, but something held her back. The thought to wrap an arm around his bent shoulders, to offer comfort, was just the same urge anyone would have when witnessing someone hurt or upset. Right? But what did
he
have to be upset about? She was the one who woke up to a stranger watching over her.

Watching over her. The hair raised on the back of her neck. A feeling like déjà vu had her frowning and trying to figure out the cause of the odd, niggling sensation.

She sucked in a breath. Last night. “Oh, my god.” The tension in her muscles was sapping her strength. As the initial rush of adrenaline wore off, the freshness of her injuries made its presence known with the force of a jackhammer. She couldn’t control her body’s shaking. “You…you were here last night.”

He lifted his head and laced his hands where they hung between his knees. “Yes.”

Ella’s mouth went dry. The weirdness of the situation ratcheted up her alarm. A single tear spilled down her cheek. Through everything that had happened to her—her parents’ deaths, her inability to conceive, Craig’s betrayal, the stroke that stole her brother in the middle of the night—she had never once wished for an end to it all. And she sure as hell didn’t want to die, now, not after she’d survived all that.

The man rose, hesitated for just a moment, then stalked around the bottom of the bed toward the side on which she huddled. His movement opened up a direct shot to the door to the hallway.

Ella bolted.

Nakedness be damned, she scrabbled across the mattress and flew to the floor. Her foot slipped and she went down to one knee, but she forced herself to ignore the bone-shattering agony and keep moving. She cursed her habit of sleeping with the door closed, even when she was alone in the house. Obviously, that wasn’t the case, was it? If she survived this, she’d start locking the damn thing, too.

Without thinking, she reached out with her right arm, grasped the knob, and flung the door open. Lancing pain tore through her from shoulder blade to fingertips. White spots danced behind her eyes and a cold, tingling sweat broke out across her naked body. Oh, no, no. She was going to faint. She shook her head, attempting to defy unconsciousness’s grasp. Swayed. Crashed into the hall wall, knocking a picture frame to the floor in a spray of glass.

Warmth wrapped around her belly, supported her, cradled her. A soft shushing sounded in her ear. Embraced by the man and the fog of pain, Ella surrendered.

Her feet left the floor. He folded her body in his arms and tucked her against his broad chest. She felt almost sheltered, and a tingling warmth infused her wherever his skin touched hers. Forcing her eyelids open, she finally focused and found the hard angle of the man’s jaw. He looked ahead, toward wherever he was carrying her.

“What’s your name?” she whispered, wanting to know all the details of her demise, including at whose hands it would occur. She was getting to see death barreling at her in a way Marcus never did. She wondered which was better—obliviousness or awareness.

Blue eyes cut down to her face and stayed there. “Zephyros Martius,” he said in a deep rumble.

She tried to repeat what he’d said, but she wasn’t sure she heard him right. “Zeph,” she managed finally.

He stopped and gently settled her back on the bed. Soft cotton fell across her skin, covering her.

Her lethargic brain churned, processed the significance of his actions. He’d kept her from falling, carried her back to bed, shielded her nudity from his gaze, his touch. Someone who meant her harm wouldn’t do that, would he?

“Who are you?” she rasped.

He smoothed a big hand up her forehead and back over her hair. “I am the one who can take the hurt away.”

Words in his native tongue spilled into the quiet of the room. He parted his hands, held them over her prone form, and let the healing energy cover her. The pale, white glow infused her aura, which absorbed the curative force, distributed small doses of it throughout her body.

Ella sucked in a breath.

“Be well, now,” Zeph whispered, knowing from experience the surprising jolt one felt when this process first began. At least, he assumed it was the same for humans.

He focused first on her shoulder, sensing her greatest pain and damage centered there. While he didn’t need to touch her for the magic to work, he couldn’t resist letting his fingers skim the small patch of bare skin just above the bandages. Passing over the joint once, twice, three times, Zeph finally felt the restoration of the tissues’ health. The pain and damage left her body and entered his. He gritted his teeth against the agonizing sensations. Then, slowly, they passed from him and into the nothingness. Gently, he removed the bandages, wanting to see the effects of his labors. The skin beneath was unblemished and whole. He caressed her again, just to be sure, just to feel a bit of connection.

Zeph focused next on the injuries to her face. Alarm threatened as he sensed the hematoma under her ear, but dispelling it was an easy matter. The cuts on her eyebrow and cheek bone knit together, then the bruises faded, revealing the full extent of her beauty. That Zeph had ever been responsible for marring something so exquisite twisted his gut, but he forced the feeling away. Focused. There’d be plenty of time for guilt trips later.

He let his fingers drag over her cracked lips. The sore-looking dryness gave way to a healthy, plump softness. He clenched his teeth, resisting the way even the slightest touches of her body made him feel. The yellow of her aura flared, intensified, pumping that pain-relieving peace into his soul once again. His gaze cut to hers and found her eyes filled with wonder and bewilderment. She looked at him and the corner of her lip quirked up. His chest swelled. Oh, how pitiable that the smallest morsel of kindness or friendliness affected him that way. For a god, he was truly pathetic.

No wonder no one wanted him.

Breathing her calming influence into him, he pushed the tormenting thought away. As her pain decreased, the field of energy around her strengthened. He swayed at its goodness, a balm to his long-battered soul. Leaving was going to be its own torture, but at least he’d always have the memory of this feeling. It was more than he’d had in a long, long time.

He shook his head and looked away from her observation. His hands cast the energy over the rest of her, focusing on the injuries he’d seen on her, dealing with bruises here and lacerations there. Lifting the pain out of her, into him, through him. He paused over the knee she’d fractured, he now realized, when she fell from the bed. Gods, he couldn’t even heal her without hurting her, without fucking up.

Well, he’d be gone soon.

The thought rolled his stomach.

He scanned over her one final time, but found nothing. Good as new. Good as before him.

Clenching his fists, he recalled the power, drew it back into himself, and turned away. He didn’t want to see the fear or rejection that would surely usher his departure. Not that he deserved anything different. After all, she thought him a stalker, a common criminal. Someday that would be funny.

But not today.

A few fatigued steps led him to look out the window into her backyard. Early morning sunlight sprinkled through some tree branches and fell on a garden that ran along a picket fence separating her yard from a neighbor’s. At the rear of the yard, a cluster of early spring greenery caught his eye, and he cursed under his breath. Well, if that wasn’t a perfect fucking end to all this. From one end of the flower bed to the other, the stiff leaves and unopened blooms of hyacinths poked up through the mulch. Even in the human realm, he couldn’t get away from Hy.

If Zeph wasn’t a god, he might’ve thought the gods were laughing at him.

He crossed his arms over his chest and sagged against the window frame. It had been a long time since he’d last used his power to heal, and he’d nearly forgotten the draining effect of it. He focused on a rosebush near the window and directed a burst of energy at it. The bush greened and budded. Brilliant pink petals unfurled into full blooms. There. One last small, good thing, for her.

The sound of shifting bed covers told him Ella had recovered from the healing. He tensed in preparation for the command to leave, which this time he would follow. He breathed in a slow, deep breath, filling himself with her peace, and steeled himself.

“You said your name…was it Zephyr?” came her small, feminine voice.

He turned his head just enough to see Ella from the corner of his eye. She sat on the edge of the bed, blanket clutched around her, watching him. He frowned, confused. “Er, Zephyros.”

“Zephyros,” she repeated.

He swallowed, hard. When she said his name, this time stronger, clearer, with more certainty, he felt it like an incantation. It made him want to go to her. To fall to his knees between hers.

“It’s unusual,” she said after a long pause. “Cool, though.”

He cocked an eyebrow and directed his gaze fully at her. Her beauty, and the hesitant way she looked at him, set off a longing deep in his chest. Gods, he was such a sucker for the slightest bit of attention. He turned away from the window and faced her. “I’ll go now. I’m sorry for the trouble I caused.”

Without waiting to be rejected or for her to respond, Zeph crossed the room and entered the hall. Shattered glass from the picture frame glinted in the morning light. Yet another thing he was responsible for ruining. Zeph frowned and flicked his hand, a preternatural wind sweeping the shards into a pile in the corner. He jogged down the hardwood stairs. Each step placed more distance between them and made his insides feel as though they were being torn asunder. So? What was new?

“Wait!”

Footsteps followed behind him. Zeph bit out a curse, wanting to disappear on the spot, blink into his elemental form, but he’d really rather do that without a witness. He crossed the living room, grasped the doorknob, and stopped as a hand settled on his shoulder.

“Please, wait.”

Zeph’s whole body went rigid. An intoxicating mix of their energies flowed into him where they touched. If he tried, he would be able to sense her from anywhere with the signature of his essence still flowing through her system. This elemental connection made it damn difficult not to turn to her, pull her into his arms. Instead, he heaved a deep breath and commanded his feet to remain planted where they were. Her hand fell away. Zeph nearly groaned from the loss of her warmth, her touch, her energy.

“Please. I don’t understand.”

He shook his head. “It is not for you to understand,” he managed.