West of Want (Hearts of the Anemoi) (22 page)

“I don’t know, Zephyros. I just don’t know.”

“Do you love me?” he asked, blue light playing behind his eyes, giving them a backlit effect that was so mesmerizing.

Ella’s heart hammered within her chest. She could say nothing but the truth. “I do. I love you. And I think I did from the moment you appeared in my hallway that night, soaking wet and asking for a chance.”

“Praise the gods,” Zeph groaned. And then he was on her, parting her knees and climbing into the cradle of her thighs. His hands found her neck and guided their mouths together for an urgent, searing kiss. They swallowed one another’s small needful moans. Clutched at one another with too-tight grips they couldn’t help. The reconnection was pure bliss and full of heat and warmth and belonging and acceptance.

A war erupted inside Ella. Her body was already gone, already his. Her heart wanted, oh it wanted, so desperately to give itself freely and completely. But her mind kept tripping on the questions, on the doubts, on the concerns she wouldn’t be everything he needed.

She broke the kiss and turned her head away. “I can’t,” she said, panting.

“Love?” he rasped.

“I can’t just fall into you, Zephyros. I can’t think. I need to think.”

“What are you saying?”

She released a shuddering breath. “I need some time, some space.”

“How much?” he pressed.

She hated the change that had come over his expression, his eyes. She’d done that. She’d deflated the joy he’d so beautifully worn just moments before. But she couldn’t help herself. She had to be sure. And she just couldn’t think through what was in all their best interests with him here, loving her, wanting her.

“I need the day, Zephyros. At least.”

Zeph’s head dropped back on his shoulders, and Ella had to resist combing her fingers through his short hair, had to resist soothing the hurt she knew she was causing.

“Whatever you need.” He pushed up from the floor. “I need to see my father, so I’ll be departing for a while anyway. But I’ll return just as soon as I can, tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“What for?”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “Just touching base on some family business.”

“Oh, well, then, good. Tonight or tomorrow morning would be…yeah, that would be fine,” she said, her chest pinching at the thought of being separated from him. Didn’t matter that she was the one who asked for it.

“I would like Owen to stay with you, though. Would you permit that? I couldn’t stand the idea of you being here alone, not with Eurus lurking out there somewhere.”

Ella’s answer was immediate. “He can stay. I’d like him to.” She didn’t want to be alone anymore than he wanted her to. Anyway, she liked Owen.

“Thank you.” He shuffled his stance. Tension and unease rolled off him, but Ella didn’t know how to make that better. Finally, Zeph crossed the room to the door, opened it, and stepped through. He paused and leaned back in. “I love you, Ella. Please don’t forget it.”

And then he was gone.

…

Zephyros hadn’t stepped foot on Aeolia in eons.

He and Chrysander materialized on the beach, the Aegean Sea lapping at the white sand. In the distance, the skeletal remains of ancient shipwrecks rocked in the surf, a physical reminder of their storm god father’s power—and temper.

Zephyros turned to his brother. “You don’t have to be here for this.”

Chrys grunted, fidgeting with the traditional tunic and cloak their father still favored. “I don’t mind.”

“I mean it, Chrys. This is not going to be good.”

“Which is why I’m staying. Doesn’t the ‘I’m-an-island-I’m-a-rock’ routine get old after awhile?”

Zeph bit out an ancient curse. Chrys might look too damn pretty for brains, but he was one of the most observant—and loyal—gods Zeph knew. And he was right. Going it alone did get old, it really fucking did. The wave of gratitude had Zeph fidgeting with his own itchy as hell wool tunic. “Come on,” he finally said.

Their father spent half of each year ruling over the winds and causing storms in the human realm from the ancestral citadel built into the bluffs above them. The architecture of the compound reflected its age, having been reconstructed and expanded multiple times over the millennia. A large section of it was situated underground, concealing its true size and strength.

They could’ve materialized in the courtyard outside the main entrance, but Zeph wasn’t in any rush. Instead, they climbed the hidden path that twisted through dense stands of swaying palm trees. All the while, Zeph planned what he wanted to say. It wasn’t a defense, really, because he didn’t believe what he’d done was wrong. But he knew Aeolus wouldn’t see it that way.

The path widened and the trees thinned, allowing more of the intense Mediterranean sunlight to filter through to the ground. Topside, they stepped into a clearing at an iron gate that looked deceptively antiquated. But everything about the compound was high-end, modern, and damn near fool-proof. No question their father knew of their arrival, not to mention their precise location.

Because of their lineage, the gate retracted automatically, sliding along itself to create a five-foot gap that allowed their passage into the side of the main courtyard. Full of well-tended gardens and extensive sculpture, the space was meant to impress. But Zeph barely noticed. The front door opened the same way, reading their genetic connection to the master of the house.

As was expected, they walked to the reception room and waited.

And waited.

“Shit,” Chrys said after a long while.

“That about sums it up,” Zeph agreed. The longer they were made to wait, the more pissed it meant their father was. At this rate, it would definitely be tomorrow morning before he could return to Ella. If he was lucky.

The doors swung open. Two guards in full-out classical military dress flanked the opening. “You are received,” one of them said.

Zeph and Chrys exchanged glances and made for the door.

The guard held up a hand. “Only Zephyros Martius. You are to wait here, Chrysander Notos.”

Dark golden light flared from Chrys’s eyes. “What the hell?”

Zeph squeezed his shoulder. “Probably for the best. Why don’t you just go? I can summon you,” he added, when Chrys started to protest. “I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”

Chrysander crossed his arms over his chest. “I said I’m staying. I’m staying.”

Zeph nodded and left through the doors. They banged shut behind him, the heavy clinking of the locking mechanism echoing in the cavernous hallway. He tracked his father’s presence immediately and cursed. He’d been hoping Aeolus would receive him in his study, but the passing hours should’ve disabused him of that idea already.

Instead, Aeolus’s unique energy signature was located in the Hall of the Winds, the ceremonial center of the compound. So, no warm-and-fuzzy family reunion, then. Not that the Anemoi really did warm or fuzzy.

At the far end of the marble corridor, another larger set of doors opened as he approached. In resplendent color on every wall, massive murals depicting the mythology of the Anemoi covered the walls. Along the sides of the windowless, fortified room, minor wind and storm gods—including some who worked for Zeph himself—lounged and talked in low tones that turned to murmurs, then curious silence, as Zephyros proceeded up the center aisle of the great hall.

Pretending not to notice his approach, Aeolus sat at the head of the room on what could only be called a throne. He was a mountain of a god. Deep red robes wrapped around him in the traditional way, leaving one massive shoulder and a large swath of his broad chest bare. Wavy brown hair alive with golden and bronze highlights hung to his shoulders. Barefooted, his only other adornment was a massive firestone ring with gold carved wings.

At the appointed place, Zephyros dropped to one knee and bowed his head. Ella’s image came to mind then. Deep brown eyes alive with passion. That beautiful open smile. The guileless joy as she’d tilted her head back and let the wind blow through her hair. The sad hesitancy from this morning was there, too—he didn’t allow himself to forget that.

By the time his father acknowledged him, Zeph’s back screamed and his neck had nearly atrophied into the downcast position.

“Zephyros,” Aeolus finally said, his voice booming through the hall and hushing all other conversation. “How fare thee?” His typical greeting.

“Well, my lord. Thank you.”

“And how fares the emergence of spring?”

“The West Wind is fair and powerful, my lord. All is well.”

“Hmm. If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.” He stepped down off the dais, a soft breeze circulating around the hall. “Clear the room,” he commanded.

Zeph held his position as the other gods obeyed. Those who could dematerialize did. Those who couldn’t left with haste. When the doors thundered closed, shutting the two of them in together, Zeph’s heart tripped over itself and set into a sprint.

It wasn’t fear, exactly, but his body was already bracing for whatever was coming. The surge of adrenaline was uncontrollable.

“Your brother is here.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Zeph replied, head still bowed.

“He demanded to come?” Aeolus circled around him.

“He did.”

Aeolus sighed. “Chrysander, come.”

Zephyros felt rather than saw Chrys’s energy enter the room. The rustle of fabric meant Chrys had taken a knee. “My lord,” he said in an uncharacteristically solemn voice.

“Rise, Chrysander,” Aeolus said, skipping the greeting this time. “Why are you here?”

Hold your tongue, Chrys, for the love of the gods.
Zeph clenched his teeth, waiting.

“Because he will need me,” Chrys finally said.

Relief coursed through Zeph. No one could be more irreverent than his little brother. But these words ignited a pride and gratitude that made it a bit easier to straighten his back and hold his position.

“I didn’t want this,” Aeolus said in a tired voice. Chrysander was his favorite, the golden boy, the one to whom he had shown the most paternal affection. Surely, he didn’t want him to witness the pain and horror that were about to unfold here. Zeph had no illusions about that. “But as you are here, so be it. You will stand witness.” Aeolus’s feet appeared directly in Zeph’s line of sight. “Rise and hear the charges against you.”

Ignoring his muscles’ protest, Zeph rose to his feet with as much fluidity as he could muster. Legs spread and arms folded behind his back, he faced his father. “My lord, may I first beg your indulgence?” Afterward, he would be in no position to discuss Eurus with their father, so this needed to be done now, even if the unorthodox interruption further soured Aeolus’s mood.

Bright green eyes bored into him, challenged him to look away. Zeph straightened his shoulders and held the older god’s gaze. Aeolus narrowed his eyes. “You really want to discuss whatever this is now?”

“Only because it’s apparently time-sensitive.”

His father gave a tight nod. “Proceed.”

“Eurus intends to propose his son Alastor as the heir to my line if I don’t conceive one by New Year’s end, which is in less than three days. He intends to submit his petition then and is under the belief you’ll approve it.” Zeph felt and ignored Chrys’s surprise as he stared at his father.

Aeolus’s jaw ticked. “I am aware of his petition.”

The words were a kick in the gut. “And you plan to entertain it? A son of his has no place in the service of the West Wind.”

“It’s not ideal—”

“
Ideal
? A son of the East wouldn’t possess the power of the West.” Not unless what Eurus said about the god’s parentage was true.

Aeolus heaved a sigh. “Normally, that would be the case.”

Zeph growled, “So it’s true then. And you knew. For how long?”

“Zephyros—”

“How long?” The booming shout of his voice echoed against the colored murals.

“Since her father brought the child to Eurus. It’s why you’ve never met him. You would’ve felt the power of spring within him.”

The room spun. Gods, would the betrayals never stop piling up at his feet?

Chrys huffed a breath. “Look, I know I’m supposed to keep my trap shut, but if you’re seriously entertaining a proposal to foist an unwanted heir on Zephyros, that affects me, too. Why the big rush with this?”

Zeph dragged his gaze back to their father, who spoke to Chrys but kept his eyes on Zeph. “Given your proclivities, you likely have a dozen heirs already.”

“That’s not—”

Aeolus’s blazing green eyes cut to Chrys and halted his protest. “The same is not true for Zephyros. Nor does that seem likely to change, particularly as I’ve already been apprised that the woman with whom he now consorts cannot even bear a child.”

Zeph broke position and braced his hands on his hips. “And I have no say in the matter? Several of the Ordinal Anemoi would make superior candidates. As the god of the Northwest, Skiron especially could—”

Aeolus held up a hand and commanded Zeph to cease. “I will take all viable possibilities into consideration.”

Rage seethed under Zeph’s skin until it became difficult to remain still. But not once did any part of him even consider choosing another woman, one whose fertility would solve this dilemma. What he’d said to Ella earlier had been the truth. The possibility of being with her far overshadowed these issues of succession. Besides, Zeph had no plans to go anywhere. He’d stick around just to spite all their asses.

Not to mention he wanted every second he could have with Ella.

Assuming she agreed to give him another chance.

His stomach plummeted. The thought she might say no was far more devastating than Aeolus’s pronouncements about…all of this. And didn’t that tell him everything he needed to know about what was important in the world.

Zephyros resumed his position, feet spread and arms behind his back, and glared at his father.

With a troubled sigh, Aeolus opened his palm and a rolled parchment appeared out of thin air. He unrolled the scroll and read. “Zephyros Martius, Supreme God of the West Wind, son of Aeolus, God of Storms and Ruler of the Winds, you are charged with three counts of unlawful use of divine magic in the form of healings, unlawful revelation of your divinity, and endangering the Realm of the Gods with reckless use of divine magic in the human realm.”

Chrys cursed under his breath. “Why is Zephyros here alone when Eurus’s infractions were the same or worse?”

Zeph ground his teeth and hoped Chrys would say no more. While he appreciated the thought, Zeph didn’t need his father thinking of Eurus while administering his punishment. And, honestly, after the previous conversation, he wasn’t nearly as surprised or troubled by the charges, although the last one seemed a bit kitchen sink to him. He wasn’t certain what it referred to. Maybe dematerializing in a public place? Who knew.

Aeolus glared at Chrys. “I
will
deal with Eurus.” His eyes were blazing when they cut back to Zeph. “Now, what say you?”

“Guilty on the face of it, my lord. But my actions were just.”