West of Want (Hearts of the Anemoi) (27 page)

Zephyros gasped, his gaze lifting from Ella to Mars—no, from
Marcella
to Mars. The pieces clicked into place just as an intense wave of calm and peacefulness poured through Zeph. By the gods, what flowed from Mars’s energy was a thousand times stronger, but it was the same calming influence he’d wondered at over and over in Ella’s presence. Still, he had to hear the god spell it out. “Are you saying—”

“My blood runs through her veins. It is a generations-old familial connection, but I felt the call of it as soon as you entered the divine realm.” Mars cocked an eyebrow. “You bear the name of Martius. You come to power in the traditional month of my dominion. Why would this surprise you so?”

Zeph shook his head, at a loss, his brain struggling to keep up with each new input of information the situation threw at him.

“Do you love her?” Mars asked.

“With everything I am,” Zeph said.

Mars nodded, then stood and moved to Aeolus. “Rise, all of you, so we can sort this mess out. Boreas, your father was correct in one respect. What is to be discussed here does not involve you. And, at any rate, I suspect your youngest brother needs your assistance.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Boreas nodded, cut a supportive glance to Zephyros, and dematerialized.

“Now,” he began. “Aeolus, your son, Eurus, is unworthy of his godhood. He has wreaked havoc on the human realm for years, without provocation, without retribution. For gods’ sake, he killed one of his own sons—another god. He has been out of control for years, but the ruling pantheon has not interceded because it was largely your family’s affair.”

Zeph took a certain satisfaction in his father being confronted with the fact his treatment of Eurus was half the problem, had been for eons.

Aeolus bowed his head. “Everything you say is true, my lord. I—”

“The only thing I want to know is how you’re going to help make this right. She. Is. My. Blood,” he thundered.

Zephyros glanced around the dark, bleak landscape bordering the river, wondering what kind of attention they were attracting. At some point, this wouldn’t go unnoticed. But you didn’t rush a god of Mars’s standing.

“Restoring a life would require major sacrifice,” Aeolus said, voice respectful but firm. “The balance of nature must be preserved at all cost.”

Mars nodded. “I don’t disagree with you there. But your son killed my daughter—makes no difference to me she’s several long generations removed. So, between the three of us, we will make a bargain big enough to pay that cost.”

Aeolus’s eyes went wide. Zephyros almost fell back to his knees in relief.

Mars whirled on Zeph and narrowed his gaze. “How much are you willing to sacrifice to have her live?”

“Anything.”

The god arched an eyebrow. “So be it. Ella will have no memories of you
unless
her love for you was true and strong enough to bind them to her soul.”

A weight fell over Zeph’s heart and he stumbled back a step. The cavernous space of the Underworld closed in on him until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. What if she didn’t remember him? What if she hadn’t loved him enough to meet the god’s requirement? He’d failed her in ways too numerous to list, and they’d been together so few days…

But, still, she’d live. Even if she never remembered him, never loved him again, he would take solace from knowing her beauty and strength still walked the world. In a voice so strained it hurt to speak, he said, “I accept and agree, my lord.”

“On the chance the gods smile upon you and she remembers, you need also to agree to allow Aeolus to appoint Alastor as your heir, or else you will have made no sacrifice at all.”

Zeph ground his teeth until his jaw ached. The thought of losing even more to the god responsible for taking so much of what was rightfully his sat like a white-hot rock in his gut.

“The blood of spring flows in his veins, Zephyros. Alastor is not his father.”

Zeph’s gaze fell to Ella, skin porcelain white, lips a bruised blue. She’d remember him. She had to. Nothing else mattered. Cutting his eyes to Mars, Zeph nodded once. He said he’d give anything, and he meant it. “So be it.”

Mars nodded, turned back to Aeolus. “You will sacrifice your third son’s life.”

Zephyros barely restrained the growl of approval that clawed up his throat. Death was the least of what Eurus deserved. Frankly, it was
more
than he deserved. After all, dying was easy, freeing. It was living—in want, in need, in solitude—that was so goddamned hard.

Aeolus’s eyes flashed green and his mouth dropped open. Outside of occasional bursts of rage, it was more emotion than Zeph had ever seen his father express where Eurus was concerned. So blinded by his grief over their mother’s childbed death, Aeolus couldn’t see what he was doing to Eurus, to all of them.

As Zeph stood there holding the love of his life in his arms, her body cooling with each passing moment, he found himself understanding his father in a way he never could before.

Mars continued, “At my behest, the ruling pantheon has already met and drawn up a list of charges so long they had no choice but to find for the death penalty. Do it yourself or deliver him to me, I care not, but it must be done as soon as possible.”

Aeolus looked shell-shocked. His gaze slid to Zephyros, then to the woman in his arms. “I…I agree and accept,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“My sacrifice will make both of yours worthwhile. I will remain here in the Underworld and meet whatever demands Hades requires to release her soul to my care.” Zephyros opened his mouth to protest, but Mars cut him off. “Understand me, Zephyros. She can be your consort, if she remembers you and so chooses. But her human life force is gone. When we restore her, her godly lineage will come to the fore. She will be a goddess. And she will work for me.”

…

She was disconnected, adrift, floating. A soul without a corporeal home.

Time passed without meaning, without context.

All she knew was the fundamental urge to search. For what or for whom was just beyond the reach of her consciousness. But she knew she must find…whatever it was. When she did, everything would be better, would make sense again, would have meaning once more.

Indeed, deep yearning was all that defined her. She must not give up, lest she fade to nothingness altogether.

Out of nowhere, pain, like the sensation of pins and needles, only a thousand times stronger and with actual pins and needles, wracked her whole existence. The torturous assault concentrated at the very center of her being, sent her heart pounding at such a rate it must surely give out. But even in the pain, there was relief. Because the torment gripping her heart meant she must be corporeal again.

Time stretched on indistinguishably as the phenomenon spread out from her heart in concentric circles of agony. It was like someone was taking her apart and putting her back together again, none of the pieces fitting the right way because the very shape of her had somehow changed.

As the pain roared out her extremities, something miraculous happened. Incredible relief flowed in behind the pain, a wave of peace so sublime she could’ve cried, would’ve begged for more. But she couldn’t, because while she now felt a physical presence in herself, she was still disconnected, still searching, still yearning.

Her hearing came back online first. She couldn’t make sense of the words, but there was something about the voice that made her want to listen and decipher. Feeling returned next. Warm hands surrounded hers, caressed her face, brushed her hair. Her soul sang out at each and every stroke. The sound of it was so loud in her head, she didn’t know why whoever showed such tenderness didn’t hear it.

Sight, speech, and smell came back at the same time.

For long moments, she didn’t realize her eyes had opened. Her optic nerve seemed disconnected from her brain. Then a world in brilliant Technicolor slid into focus. There were colors even for which she had no name. Details she never before noticed. A depth of perception that swamped her in vertigo. A loud moan sounded, and she finally realized it poured from her own throat, but that didn’t mean the voice was familiar to her.

Pounding steps rushed toward her. “Oh, thank the gods. Ella, you returned to me.”

Under soft covers, Ella scrabbled back against…her eyes skittered around, surveying, assessing…she was on a bed, crouched, back against an enormous wooden headboard. As she moved, she didn’t recognize the feel of her own body. Stronger muscles, faster responses. Within her, intense pressure built up, and she had the oddest sense she could release some of it if she wanted.

“Ella?”

Her gaze swung on the male standing at the edge of the bed. Recognition flickered in her mind’s eye, but she couldn’t hold onto it. Power radiated from him, setting off her body’s defensiveness. Worse, looming in the doorway across the room, two other beings stood. Huge males, both of them, and powerful.

“We first met in a hospital, Ella, after the
True Blue
was damaged in a storm I caused. Remember?” His eyes were a beautiful blue and terribly sad. She could barely look away. “And then I came to your house and healed you. We made love. You made me pancakes. And we went sailing on the Chesapeake Bay. Gods, please remember.”

He ducked his head and heaved a breath, looked over his shoulder to the others.

“Keep it up, Zephyros. She is in there. We’ll leave you.” The men at the door turned and left.

The blond one leaned back in wearing a big smile. He waved. “Welcome back, Ella.” Then he was gone and the door clicked shut behind him.

Ella frowned. Fragments of words and images flashed through her brain, but nothing would stick.

“I’m going to sit right here on the corner. Okay?” the man with the sad blue eyes said in a heartrending tone.

She had the oddest urge to crawl to him and stroke his hair. “O-kay,” she said, trying out her voice again. It sounded almost musical to her own ears, and loud.

He sank to the mattress, his body angled toward her. “Your name is Marcella Raines, but you prefer Ella. You had a twin brother named Marcus whom you loved dearly.” He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Ella climbed across the bed, just partway, but felt as if he’d reached into her chest and pulled her to him. “I know you,” she said.

His eyes flashed open and flared an incredible dark blue light. “Gods, yes. You do, Ella. Because I love you. And you love me. We are together. Please remember.”

Warm pressure filled her chest and dragged her forward until her knees touched his thigh. He froze and she lifted her hand between them.

“Go ahead, touch me.”

Lightly, she pressed her palm to his cheek. The skin at his jaw was prickly, and it tickled her hand. She stroked up to his temple and her fingertips pushed into his short hair. She gave into the urge and petted him, softly, slowly. The intense joy and desire reshaping his face nearly knocked the breath out of her. In that moment, she would’ve done anything to draw out his pleasure.

Her heart kicked into a sprint and her mouth dropped open. “I want to kiss you,” she breathed, shocking herself.

“I would adore it if you would.” He tilted his head and gave her a small smile that tugged at her brain.

She leaned in, anticipation and something else—something new, foreign, powerful—trembled within her. He released a shaky breath just as her lips met his.

Skin against skin. Tongue against tongue. Physical contact exploded the locked chest of memories in her brain and rearranged the pieces like a broken mirror reassembling itself.

She was Ella.

And he was Zephyros.

And they were meant to be together forever.

A great moan ripped up her throat, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, break the kiss. She climbed up him, unable to get close enough, and wound her legs and arms around him so tightly she worried for his safety. But she couldn’t fight these urges—to have, to claim, to protect.

Victorious growls rumbled in his chest, against which strong arms strapped her body. She pushed him back against the bed, tore at his clothes, unable to make her vocal chords catch up to her body’s needs and her brain’s plans.

The clothing disappeared from her grasp. She grinned at the delightful surprise, and memories piqued at her consciousness, but she couldn’t slow down to think on them. All she knew was that she wouldn’t be whole, couldn’t be complete until he was in her.

Between them, she found him hard as steel. Her gaze shot to his as she sank down on his cock.

“Thank you, thank you for coming back, for loving me enough,” he groaned. “I have missed you so goddamned much I thought I’d die waiting for you to return. Ride me, Ella, just have me.”

She was already moving, pulled forward by urges more intense than any she’d ever experienced. Rolling her hips, she’d take him all the way inside, an incredible fullness that sucked energy from the rest of her body and congregated low in her belly. She’d lifted off him, until just his tip remained. The shifting expressions on his face guided her. He wore a mask of love and desire, need and contentment. Faster, harder, she went, racing them toward a finish line that might shatter her to pieces.

But it felt so damn right.

His hands grasped her hips. Guiding fingers dug into her flesh and threw her body over the edge. A scream ripped up her throat as her muscles convulsed around him. Relentlessly, he moved her through it and ground himself up into her until his own body went rigid. Head digging back into the covers, neck taut, mouth open, her beloved Zephyros shouted her name in release.

She crashed into his chest. Arms embraced her. Oh, he held her so very tight.

Emotion gathered into a rushing current, built into a tidal wave, and swamped her where she lay. Sobs she didn’t understand poured from her mouth and wracked her body.

“Oh, love.” Zeph rolled them so they lay side by side. His big hand cupped her face and his thumbs swiped beneath her eyes.

“Ov-er-whel-med,” she hitched, unable to control her breathing. Tears streamed from her eyes, dripped over her nose and into her hair. It was like the physical symptoms of a panic attack, without the panic. As she lay there, struggling to pull herself together, the analogy drew a darker memory from her brain. Her eyes went wide, allowing more wetness to spill. “Eu-eu-eur—”

“I know. I know. Sshh. It will be okay.” He stroked her hair. “He’s not here, and a death sentence has been placed on his head. It’s only a matter of time. He will pay, Ella, for what he did to you.”

“Was so…so…worried.” She sucked in a deep breath, frustrated with the overload of emotion.

“Oh, gods, love. So was I.”

She shook her head. “No. No. About…you.”

He groaned and his mouth pressed to hers. The gentle slide of lips and tongue was soft, slow, reconnecting. And it proved she was alive. Surely she had been hurt in the fall from the bridge—seconds of her life that were so terrifying she couldn’t let herself linger on the memory in her current state—but once again, Zeph had come to her rescue.

Leaning her forehead against his, she asked. “How bad was it this time?” His eyebrows drew down and he searched her gaze. “The healing,” she offered.

“Ella, so much has happened.”

She pushed onto an elbow and leaned into him, the curtain of her hair dropping around her face. His back! Oh no! She wrenched off of him. “I’m sorry. I totally forgot. Why didn’t you say something?”