Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(81)

I guess I could also call it a womb—but that sounds way too gross.

So we were in this freaky cocoon-thing, floating around with all these warm breezes that were singing about salvaging our heritage. Meanwhile we could still see the battle going on all around us—kinda like watching a movie but somehow knowing you’re not just watching?

And then . . . everything went quiet, and we were set down gently in the crushed grass, and we all just stared at each other like, WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED???

So yeah.

I don’t know.

But I guess it doesn’t matter.

WE’RE ALIVE!!!

And, WE WON!

Os celebrates by ordering everyone to gather up the bodies, proving that he seriously knows how to kill the buzz.

I offer to help. But yeah . . .

The gore is way too much.

Especially when I realize that most of the Stormers have their necks snapped.

“Suicide drafts,” Aston breathes. “He terminated his whole army.”

“Why would he do that?” Solana whispers. “Would he truly give up that easily?”

No one has any real answers, though they debate a bunch of different theories.

I try to pay attention, but I can’t stop thinking about all the dead dudes watching me. Audra has the same I’m gonna hurl look in her eyes that I’m sure is in mine, so I take her arm and lead her to the fringes, to a soft spot of grass peppered with wildflowers. When we keep our backs to the battlefield, it’s almost like we’re sitting in a park somewhere, watching the sunset. You know, if we really pretend.

“Do you think it hurt?” Audra whispers. “When the drafts . . .”

I picture Gus’s face the moment his draft triggered.

One second he was Gus.

The next he was blank.

“No, I don’t think they feel anything. It happens too fast.”

Minutes tick by, and I count the cars in the visitor center parking lot, glad to see they’re still in the same neat rows, untouched by the storm.

“What if the people over there saw the battle?” I ask.

“They probably went underground to a storm shelter,” Audra says. “And if they didn’t, I’m sure they’ll come up with some sort of rational explanation. Groundlings are good at making excuses for the impossible. Even you did it when you thought you were one of them.”

“Not always,” I tell her. “I never let myself make excuses for believing in you.”

Her eyes turn soft at that, and half a smile curls her lips.

I scoot a little closer, deciding to press my luck. Our legs touch, and the rush of heat gives me a burst of courage. “I knew it was crazy to believe that the girl I dreamed about every night was really out there somewhere. I just wanted you to be real so bad that I didn’t care.”

That earns me the rest of the smile, and I reach for her hand, surprised to feel the soft rush of her Westerly shield draped around her skin.

“The draft didn’t want to leave,” she says as I brush the breeze with my thumb. “Is it weird that I hope it never does?”

“Hey, you and that wind have been through a lot. Maybe more than you and I have.”

“Not quite.” She traces my palm with her fingertips—such a simple gesture, but seriously: sparks and shivers. “You told me once that I was the one constant thing in your life,” she whispers. “But you’ve been the constant in mine, too. I know you probably don’t remember—and I’m so sorry about that—”

“It’s okay,” I tell her.

And actually, it is.

I still need to sort out my past—and I will.

But right now I care way more about our future.

I reach for her other hand, and her heat rockets up my arm so fast it settles into my heart.

Does she have any idea what she does to me?

Our eyes meet and my breath catches.

Maybe she does.

“So,” she says, licking her lips and leaning a little closer. Close enough that my brain screams, THIS IS IT!!!

I decide I’m not stopping it.

I don’t care that we’re only a few feet away from death and destruction.

Maybe battlefield kissing will be our “thing.”

I’m trying to remember the last time I brushed my teeth—and hoping I’m not blasting her with BO—when she takes a deep breath and asks, “What are we going to do about Raiden?”

That’s what she was thinking about?

Why doesn’t the universe just punch me in the nuts???

Especially since . . . I’d kinda forgotten about him.

His army’s gone—mostly. Doesn’t that mean it’s over?

I wish it could be that simple. But Audra’s right.

Raiden’s still out there, and as long as he is, he can start this mess all over again.

But what the hell are we supposed to do now? He’s locked away in his fortress, still protected by his backlash.

I lean back on the grass and stare up at the darkening sky, feeling like an insignificant ant.

It’d be awesome if we could just beg Audra’s shield to get its windy friends back together and blast over to Brezengarde to finish the job. But . . . I don’t think the wind works that way.

If it did, wouldn’t it have crushed Raiden a long time ago?