Let the Sky Fall (Sky Fall #1)(15)

But I’m not dreaming. I can feel the breezes streaking across my face. And I’m definitely not imagining the songs floating on the wind. The melodies satisfy a craving I’ve always felt but never knew how to understand.

Audra moves close enough that I can make her out through the dim light. The fabric of her skimpy dress looks like it’s come to life in the wind, rippling over the curves of her body. I have to force myself to focus on her face—which looks just like it does in my dreams, the way her eyes are watching me and her hair’s swirling around her cheeks. Her lips part and I expect her to whisper the same floaty sounds I’m used to hearing every night.

Instead, she says, “None of this matters. Right now you need to focus on your training.”

“Training?”

“You need to learn to fight. To defend yourself when the Stormers come for you. It’s why I’m here. To teach you what you need to fulfill your role.”

“My role?”

“We’re back to you repeating everything I say.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do? Nothing you say makes any freaking sense!”

I can tell by the way her jaw locks that she wants to yell at me. “You’re right,” she says instead. “But you’ve had more revelations in one hour than anyone can handle—and I have to figure out what to do about the Stormers coming.”

A hint of defeat returns to her eyes.

“Are people really going to die?” I ask, giving her the cue to tell me this is all a big, elaborate prank.

“I hope not.”

Not the reassurance I’m looking for.

But then she squares her shoulders. “I won’t let anything happen. I’m one of the strongest fighters—even with some water in my system. And I’ll get help.”

“Help? Like . . . other sylphs? What, you call them up and say, ‘Hey, Windwalkers, we need you to come fight some bad guys,’ and they just blow into town and save the day?”

One side of her lips twists into a smile. “It’s not that simple.” The smile fades. “It’s not simple at all. But I’ll take care of it. As soon as I take you home.”

My mouth opens with a new question—but I freeze when she puts her finger on my lips.

“I know you want more answers, but if I’m going to call for backup, I need to do that as soon as possible. Please, just give me a few hours and I’ll explain more in the morning.”

I want to argue—there’s a boatload of crap she hasn’t explained—but I’m too distracted by the electric warmth radiating from her fingertip, tingling through my whole face. I’ve never felt anything like it, and it’s a tremendous accomplishment to give even the slightest nod.

Her eyes lower, focusing on her finger on my mouth, and some sort of indecipherable emotion flickers across her face. “Thank you.”

The words sound almost choked as she drops her hand to her side and shakes it. Then she turns away and whispers the same incantation she used before.

“Come to me swiftly, carry no trace. Lift me softly, then flow and race.”

This time I know what she’s doing. She’s controlling the wind. And the wind obeys her command, streaming around us.

She steps toward me, standing only inches away. Close enough that I can feel her body heat radiating through the air. Close enough that I become even more aware of her lips. The winds tangle tighter, separating us from the rest of the world. A safe, private space for just the two of us.

“Hold on to me,” she orders, and it takes me a second to realize I didn’t imagine it. I was thinking of doing just that.

My hands circle her tiny waist, so small my fingers almost touch. Everything about her is fragile and delicate. But she surges with strength and warmth and power.

And I want her.

She’s all I’ve wanted for years. No matter how much I’ve tried to fight or ignore it.

Does she want me?

Would she stand so close if she doesn’t?

I wet my lips, searching for the courage to make my move. I lean a tiny bit forward and . . .

Almost throw up on her when the wind yanks us off the mountain.

The free fall makes any roller coaster I’ve ever been on feel like a merry-go-round, and I cling to her, hating myself for yelping again.

Way to be cool, man. I’m sure she’s really impressed.

I can’t tell if she heard me scream. Her eyes are closed, and her mind seems a million miles away—which would be a relief if we weren’t on a collision course with the valley floor.

“Uh—Audra,” I shout, my pounding heart drowning out the wind.

She doesn’t blink.

I shake her, but she still doesn’t flinch, like she’s decided that plummeting from a mountain is the perfect time for a nap. “Seriously, Audra, this isn’t funny!”

Still she doesn’t respond. So I shut my eyes as the ground races toward us, preparing to experience what a bug feels when it hits a car windshield. But at the last second she whispers, “Steady,” and the winds pull up, moving parallel to the ground.

“Don’t do that again!” I yell between gasping breaths.

“Did I scare you?”

“Uh—yeah.” I damn near wet myself—not that I’d tell her that.

“Let that be lesson number one. The things I’m going to teach you will seem impossible, but I know what I’m doing. You have to trust me.”