Let the Sky Fall (Sky Fall #1)(57)

But I have to figure out what to do about Vane. We still have to train together, and judging by how hurt and angry he looked as he left, that’s going to be a challenge.

Spots flicker behind my eyes just thinking about being close to him again. Flying together. Holding on to each other . . .

I scrape together the last of my willpower and push those feelings away.

I can do this.

I just need to get used to it. And Vane clearly needs the night off. So tonight we’ll take our space. Give ourselves time to come to terms with everything. No harm can come from that.

Unless . . .

Panic closes off my lungs.

Vane has a rebellious side. I’ve seen it flare against even my smallest attempts at control during our training—and this is much, much bigger. Who knows what he might do in response?

I can think of one thing that would be very bad.

Irreversible.

I curse my stupidity as I take off through the grove, leaping over fallen branches and pushing my legs harder than I’ve ever pushed them. But when I reach the main road, his car is long gone.

Quick and catlike, I scale the nearest palm, standing on the wobbly branches at the top. I don’t care if anyone sees me. I have to feel as much air as I can.

Hands shaking from nerves and adrenaline and anger at myself for allowing yet another disaster, I undo the buttons of my jacket, slipping it off my shoulders and dropping it to the ground, exposing as much skin as possible. I close my eyes and concentrate on the air around me, feeling for Vane’s trace with each cell of my skin.

Every sylph leaves their mark on the wind. A change in the draft’s tune, as though the wind ran into a friend and added new notes to its song to carry away the memory of the meeting. We can brand the wind by commanding it too loudly—like I did when I called the Northerly I attacked Vane with—and have it carry our trace permanently. But even silent contact leaves a faint trail. The draft only carries it until it finds something else to chant about and drops the tune. Before that, anyone listening can pick up the trace and follow it to the source.

I read traces better on the winds of my heritage, so I focus on the Easterlies in the grove. Most carry no sign of having seen either of us. But when I listen near Vane’s house, I find a soft breeze singing of the jarring blur of motion caused by someone on the run.

That has to be Vane.

I call the draft to me and inhale the trace.

A tingling rush knocks me back, and I lose my footing in the branches, toppling to the ground. A nearby Southerly saves me from a painful fall, but when I’m safely on my feet, I can’t calm my tremors.

It’s like I’ve taken in a small part of him, a fractured piece he left behind.

Almost like a loss.

I have no idea if that’s possible—or what it means if it is—but I’ll worry about it later. For now, all that matters is finding Vane. I have to track him down before he does something he’ll regret. Something we’ll both regret.

Already running, I call the nearest Northerly and spin the wind around me so fast I’ll be nothing more than a blur in the sky.

“High,” I whisper, catching my breath as the gust sweeps me away.

In seconds I’m over the main roadway, the setting sun making me squint as I concentrate on the air. The warm tingles of Vane’s trace tell me which way to turn. An inner compass guiding me straight to him.

I just hope I reach him in time.





CHAPTER 33


VANE


I didn’t plan to meet up with Isaac after I sped down my driveway. I just needed to put as much distance between myself and that crazy life Audra was trying to cage me in, before it was too late to escape. And I was too mad/hurt/disgusted to look at her anymore.

But then my phone vibrated and I realized the first step to taking back my life was right there, in my hands. Well, in my butt pocket—but still.

Which is how I ended up back at the River, this time at the noisy, crowded Cheesecake Factory. They really need to build some decent places to hang out in this crappy valley. I’m crammed into a booth next to Hannah, and Isaac and Shelby are across the table, watching us with the smug grins all long-term couples wear when they watch their friends on a double date.

Probably waiting to see how I’ll blow it this time.

Shoot, knowing Isaac, they probably placed bets on it.

But I’m not screwing up tonight. I left Audra and her chaperone-from-hell skills in the dust at my house.

Which is good because I have big plans for me and Hannah, number one of which is kissing her and proving that (a) I don’t need Audra, (b) I make my own decisions regarding my life, and (c) a kiss is just a kiss. I don’t buy that bonding crap. And I’m determined to prove it.

The thought makes my palms sweat and my heart race and my stomach twist like I swallowed something alive. I tell myself those are nerves.

But I know it’s mostly guilt.

I feel guilty for using Hannah. It’s not that I don’t like her—she’s really nice. Cute, too. Especially tonight, in her tight pink halter top. More than a few guys have checked her out. But when she bumps my leg under the table or grazes my arm, I don’t feel any warmth. If anything, I feel colder. Like my body’s telling me I’m sitting next to the wrong girl.

And there’s the other type of guilt too.

Guilt for betraying Audra. Cheating on her by simply being here with Hannah.