Read West of Want (Hearts of the Anemoi) Online
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
West of Want (Hearts of the Anemoi)
WEST
OF WANT
Hearts of the Anemoi
Book Two
Laura Kaye
The Hearts of the Anemoi series
North of Need
West of Want
South of Surrender
East of Ecstacy
Other books by Laura Kaye
Hearts in Darkness
Forever Freed
Just Gotta Say
In the Service of the King
Seduced by the Vampire King
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Laura Kaye. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Edited by Heather Howland
Cover design by Heather Howland
Print ISBN 978-1-62061-055-8
Ebook ISBN 978-1-62061-056-5
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition July 2012
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Morton’s, Gorton’s, M&Ms, Wikipedia, The Wedding Crashers, Porsche Panamera, Pontiac Solstice, Toyota Prius, Jeep.
You can’t choose how or when you die,
but you can choose how you live.
This book is for the living.
Ella Raines knelt on the varnished deck of the sailboat’s cockpit, her dead brother’s ashes in her hands, and stared out at the dark green chop of the Chesapeake Bay. The cold March breeze kicked up sea spray and rippled through the sails, but all Ella could feel was the metal urn turning her aching fingers to ice. She had to let him go—she knew she did—but with everything else she’d lost, how could the world be so cruel as to expect her to give up her twin, too?
She twisted open the urn’s brass lid and stuffed it in the pocket of her windbreaker. Sailing had been the passion over which she and Marcus had most bonded, not just as siblings, but as best friends. A day spent cruising on the bay, blue skies overhead and warm winds lifting the sails, had been Marcus’s favorite thing to do. He wasn’t a religious man, but said he most believed in God when he was out on the open water. So a burial at sea made sense, and it was time. When she’d woken up this morning and seen the clear forecast, she resolved today was the day. After all, it had been two months, and the first day of spring seemed a fitting time for starting over.
Leaning over the stern, Ella tilted the brass container by slow degrees until fine ashes spilled out, swirled on the wind, and blew away in a sad gray ribbon that blurred from her silent tears. Choppy waves splashed against the transom, soaking Ella to the elbows, and the boat heeled to the starboard. She braced herself on the backstay. The fixed steel cable bit into her hand but steadied her enough to empty the urn.
“Good-bye, Marcus. I love you.” She barely heard herself over the sudden gusting of the wind that roared through the sails.
Ella locked down the grief and despair that wanted to claw out of her chest and climbed to a standing position. The boat heeled again, hard, the forty-five-degree angle nearly catching her off guard. She stumbled. The urn dropped with a brassy clang to the deck of the helm and rolled lopsidedly as the sloop tossed.
She turned, her brain already moving her hands and body through the motions of furling the mainsail and tacking upwind. A bright flash caught her gaze and a gasp stuck in her throat.
An enormous dark cloud sprawled low over the water to the southwest. Mountainous black plumes protruded from the top, creating a tower through which brilliant explosions of yellow-orange streaked. Inky fingers reached down from the storm’s edge as the squalling winds lashed at the sea.
Where the hell had
that
come from?
A long growl of thunder rumbled over the bay. Ella felt it in her bones. The boat tossed and heeled. Waves pounded the hull, sloshed over the sides, and soaked her sneakers. A spare glance at her instruments revealed thirty-knot winds. Thirty-five.
A four-foot wave slammed against the port side. Ella slipped on the wet deck and went down hard on one knee. She grasped the wheel just as the boat lurched sideways. Thunder crashed above her, the sound vibrating through the whipping wind. Bitter cold rain poured down over the boat in a torrent. Tendrils of Ella’s hair came loose from her long braid and plastered to her forehead and cheeks.
She needed to turn the boat and reach shore if she had any hope of escaping the wind. Ella wrestled the steering wheel hard to windward, the rudder fighting her every turn. Damn, how could she have been so reckless, so unobservant? Storms like this didn’t just develop out of nowhere. A sailor never trusted the weathermen over her own eyes and ears. How long had she been kneeling on the deck giving in to her woe-is-me routine, anyway? And here she was, in the literal eye of a storm, sailing single-handed without life jacket or tether on. She locked the wheel into place. At least she could remedy
that
problem.
Ella reached for an orange vest and slipped her arms through the holes. A final glance at her instruments revealed forty-knot winds now. Dread threatened to swamp her. She disconnected the electronics, leaving only the compass to guide her. Her mast was a forty-foot lightning rod, so she did what little she could to combat the likelihood of a strike.
The windward course was a short-lived pursuit as the wind direction changed again and again. Eyes on the compass, she adjusted to the wind as best she could. She couldn’t see squat through the deluge, and the hovering gray sheets of rain and spray and six-foot waves obscured the horizon. She’d have to ride it out. With shaking, bone-cold fingers, she connected the bottom of the three buckles on her vest. Small
clicks
sounded from overhead, got louder, more frequent. Hail pelted down the size of dimes, then nickels. Ella crouched against the wheel and shielded her head with her hands and arms. The falling ice ripped into the plastic of her jacket and bit into her knuckles.
Thunder crashed right above her and the storm-darkened sky exploded in ferocious jags of electricity. Rain and hail lashed her body, and wind and waves battered her ship like it had a personal vendetta to settle. With her. A tremendous wave crested over the starboard side, shoving her head against the metal spoke of the wheel. Spots burst across her vision. She cried out, the sound swallowed by the wind.
When she could focus again, her gaze settled on the lidless cremation urn wedged fore of the wheel pedestal. Marcus. What she wouldn’t do to have him with her. She reached around the huge wheel to grab the container, just grasping for something, anything to make her feel less alone. She couldn’t reach. Shifting her hold on the wheel, she stretched, her fingers straining, yearning to feel the cold brass. Not quite.
She lunged for the urn, grabbed it up, and hugged it to her chest.
Thunder and lightning blasted the sky above her. A wall of wind shoved at the side of the sailboat. It lurched. Spun. An ominous crack reverberated from below. A wave pounded Ella’s shoulders and back, flattening her atop the urn onto the deck of the cockpit, holding her hostage with its watery weight. Seawater strangled her, stole her breath, and receded.
The boat reared over a peaked wave and bucked. Ella slid into a free fall.
Not releasing her death grip on the urn, Ella’s right hand shot out and clutched the steel backstay. The ligaments of her shoulder wrenched apart in a sickening, audible pop just as her lower body whipped over the transom and hit the frigid water. The jolt stole her scream, allowed her only to moan long and low. Icy wetness soaked through her heavy clothes and the drag tugged and pulled at her destroyed joint.
Triple bolts of lightning illuminated the gunmetal sky in quick succession. Shaking nonstop from cold and pain and adrenaline, Ella stared up at her hand clutching the metal cable. One strike and she’d be done. Her mind laid out the choices. Ship or sea. Urn or ship. Drown or fry. Life or death.
A wave swamped her. And another. She choked and gagged. The next slammed her head against the fiberglass transom.
Her hands flew open from the impact. She plunged into the storm-tortured water, sucked down nauseating mouthfuls. Her body whipped feet over head, side to side. Impossible to determine which way was up. The violent churning of the sea ripped the lifejacket off one arm, but the orange padding held just enough to finally guide her head to the surface.
Despite her daze, survival instincts had her gulping oxygen, precious oxygen. Her successful fight against the urge to vomit left her shuddering, the sour bile almost a welcome respite from the cold salt. No matter. The next cresting wave forced her to drink more.
Panic jolted through her body, shook the drunken haze from her mind. Kicking and paddling, she spun around and around, until she’d done several three-sixties. The boat. Gone.
As her body crested the top of wave after wave, she strained to see some glimpse of white in the thick, dark gray. At thirty-four feet, the
True Blue
was not little, but the sea was too rough, the wind too forceful.
No. No, no, no. Not their sailboat, too. Not the last place that truly felt like home, the last place filled with memories of laughter and love and honesty.
Deafening thunder rumbled over the world. Jagged electricity flared over the monstrous seascape.
Ella tilted her head back, squinted against the blinding rain, and screamed. “Is that all you got? Well, fuck you! Fuck you and the cloud you blew in on! I’ve got nothing left to lose, so take your best shot!”
A wave smacked her in the face. She gagged. Coughed. Laughed until sobs took over.
Exhaustion. Pure and utter. Like she’d lived a thousand lives.
Debris thudded against her ear. She howled as the jarring hit rang through her head.
Please don’t let it be pieces of
True Blue.
Her eyes focused on the sea next to her. Nothing. She propelled herself around. The urn. Ella gasped and irrational joy filled her chest.
She half-swam—a nearly impossible feat against the thrashing waves with one useless arm. Each leaden stroke sapped what little energy she had left.
She grabbed the urn. Held it in her numb hands.
“I knew you wouldn’t leave me,” she whispered against the brass, all she could manage. “We’re true blue.”
Together, the churn carried them up one side of a wave, then plunged them down the other. Ella’s head slumped against the flat base of the upside down container. Her eyelids sagged.
And everything went black.
A life force was fading.
The sensation tugged at Zephyros’s consciousness, embattled as it was as he raged over the sea. Caught up in his own thoughts, his own pain, his own loss, he writhed and tossed, howled and lashed out. The wind and rain—nature’s very energy—were his to control, even when he was out of control. But, still, the wrongness of the sensation tugged at him, demanded redress. In his elemental form, he felt the call of life and birth and renewal most strongly. He could ignore it no longer.
He forced himself to embrace the calm that had once been the truest manifestation of his nature. Around him, the clouds dispersed, the rains thinned, the winds settled to a bluster. The sea, black and roiling a moment ago, eased into the early spring chop typical of the bay.
Zephyros allowed the tranquility of the open water to fuel the return of his composure. He focused. Scanned for the soul decrying its unnatural end. Commanding the West Wind to carry him down from the heavens, he soared on the gentle gusts. The only thing nearby was a lone sailboat, floundering in the wind.