“I’m coming as chaperone.”
“Uh, I have more important things to do than try to make a move on your daughter.”
“That’s not what I hear.”
I don’t have time for this crap. I do my best to ignore her as she trails right behind me.
Audra’s hair’s back in the braid—figures—and it’s hard not to stare at her mouth, remembering how close it came to pressing against mine.
I shake the flashback away. “I need to talk to you.”
“There’s not much time. I launched a wind flare about an hour ago. They’ll be coming straight here.”
I breathe into my cupped hands, trying to stop shivering. “Fine. I just thought you’d want to know that I remembered something in my dream. I spoke Westerly.”
Arella gasps and I glare at her. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“What do you mean you ‘spoke Westerly’?” Audra asks.
“Yes, Vane—what do you mean?” Arella chimes in.
I move toward Audra, keeping my back to her mom. “It wasn’t your father who saved you in the storm—at least, not the first time. It was me. I called the wind that caught you.”
“But . . . I distinctly remember my father carrying me out of the storm,” Audra argues.
“He did. After I called a Westerly to slow your fall. Don’t you remember how fast you were falling before that?”
She frowns. “I thought my father sent that draft.”
“Nope, it was me.”
“But—”
“If your father had sent the draft, don’t you think it would’ve cushioned your fall more? You hit the ground hard, right? Because I didn’t have enough control.”
Arella grabs my shoulders and spins me to face her. “Does that mean you’ve had the breakthrough?”
Her eyes are bright. Too bright. Desperate.
I jerk away. “I can’t remember what I said to call the wind. I’m not sure if I even knew back then. It was more like my instincts took over somehow.”
Her hands clench into fists as she turns away. “So close.”
Tell me about it.
“Something must have triggered those instincts,” Audra says.
“Yeah. I didn’t want you to die.”
Her gaze softens at that, and I have to stop myself from taking her hands. But I step closer, lowering my voice so only she’ll hear. “I wanted to save you. I still do.”
Pink tinges her cheeks as she stares into my eyes.
She still cares.
Arella clears her throat, ruining the moment.
She’s begging to be tackled.
“I wasn’t try—”
“So if I threatened Audra’s life right now,” she asks, cutting me off, “would your instincts take over again?”
“Uh . . . probably not—because I’d like to believe you wouldn’t actually kill your daughter just to trigger my breakthrough.”
“Then you don’t understand how much your breakthrough means.”
Is this woman psycho? Or are all Windwalkers so caught up in this power struggle, nothing else matters?
I don’t know which is worse.
“We need to try,” Arella continues. “We need something that will trigger your protective instincts for Audra.”
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn when she moves toward Audra. I will pin her arms at her sides if I have to. I remember what she did to the Stormers in my dream.
“It’s too late,” Audra interrupts. She points to the sky, which now looks like a giant bruise. A thunderous roar echoes off the mountains, drowning out the rest of her words.
The Stormers have arrived.
CHAPTER 50
AUDRA
The last time I heard this sound, my father died.
The roar crawls through my ears, slips through my veins, and plants itself in my feet, rooting me to the ground.
For a second I can’t breathe, think, move. Then my training kicks in.
I grab Vane’s arm. “Come with me. Now.”
“Vane should stay with me,” my mother says, grabbing his other arm.
“He’s not leaving my sight.”
“Which of us is the stronger fighter?” she asks.
“Which one of us is his guardian?” I snap back.
“I’m staying with Audra,” Vane says, trying to pull away from my mother. Her grip tightens.
Several seconds pass as we stare each other down. Then she releases her hold. “If he’s taken, it’s on your head.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
She scrutinizes me as we move toward our position. Then the first winds shift away from us, a mass exodus of Northerlies. Answering the Stormers’ call.
My mother reluctantly jogs away, taking her place on the hill right below us. Vane runs with me to the cluster of two-bladed turbines. I point to the center windmill. “Crouch there.”
“What about you?”
“I can take care of myself. Please,” I add when he starts to argue. “You have to let me be in charge now. This is what I’ve trained for.”
His clenched fists tell me he doesn’t want to agree, but he squats in the shadows. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he orders.
I know what he’s referring to, but I can’t make that promise. “Keep your hands on the nearest drafts so you can grab them if you need them.”