Let the Sky Fall (Sky Fall #1)(77)

CHAPTER 47


VANE


Her words hang in the air: these ridiculous, impossible things that refuse to make sense.

“You didn’t kill them,” I tell her.

She couldn’t have. Wouldn’t have.

Would she?

No—she couldn’t have.

“Yes, I did.”

“So you started the storm that sucked them up and trapped them in the winds? You aimed the gnarled tree at my mom? That was you?”

“It might as well have been.” Her lips move a few times, like she’s trying to force them to work. “I gave away our location.”

She cries so hard then, I want to rush to her side. Wrap my arms around her.

But I need the rest of the story first.

She chokes back a sob. “I had to save Gavin. He was falling and I didn’t want him to die, so I called the wind. And then I lied to my parents. I could’ve warned them—but I was afraid to get in trouble. So I pretended nothing happened. And then the Stormer showed up and it was too late. I tried to help and only made it worse, and now they’re all dead and it’s my fault.”

I run my hands over my face, giving myself a moment to process.

That’s a lot of information to get in twenty seconds.

My legs shake as I stand, trying to make sense of the chaos in my head. Each detail swims through my brain, latching to a broken memory and tying them together.

I can remember her now. Standing in the field getting whipped by the winds. Her face streaked with tears and dirt and blood. Telling me the same things she just repeated. Shaking. Sobbing.

I do the same thing I did then.

I close the gap between us, pull her against me, and hold her as tight as I can.

Back then I did it because she was all I had left to hold on to. Ten years later I do it for the right reason.

I slide my hands down her back, trying to calm her heaving sobs. “You can’t blame yourself, Audra. You were just a kid.”

“It’s still my fault.” Her voice is hoarse and raw. “I’m so sorry.”

My chest hurts for her. For the scared little girl she was. For the hard, broken girl she’s become. I can’t imagine growing up with that kind of guilt on my shoulders. No wonder she pushes everyone away.

Not anymore.

“Listen,” I say, waiting for her to look at me. “I don’t blame you for what happened. I will never blame you for what happened. The only person who deserves any blame is Raiden—no, don’t shake your head. I mean it, Audra. It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault. Nobody blames you.”

“My mother does.” She says it so softly, I’m not sure I hear it at first.

I tighten my grip on her. “Then your mother’s an idiot.”

I already hate her for denying Audra backup for the battle, and whatever else she said or did to shatter her strong, brave, beautiful daughter. I hope we never meet, because I have a feeling I’ll suddenly have no problem getting violent.

I take Audra’s face between my hands, cradling it like she’s fragile—because she is.

“I mean it, Audra. I’m removing all of your guilt, right now.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Uh—yes I can. They were my parents. I get to blame whoever I want for their deaths—and it’ll never be you. Never.”

Her glassy eyes hold mine, and I want to lean in and kiss all her pain and fear and hurt away. Okay, fine—I also just want to kiss her.

But I won’t take advantage like that.

She has to heal first.

I reach up, fingering a strand of her hair that’s pulled free and fallen in her face. “Will you do me a favor? Will you please take your hair out of this ridiculous braid?”

I know it’s just a hairdo. But it’s also this tight, restrictive thing she does to punish herself. And I’m not going to let her do it anymore.

Her hands reach for the knot at the end and I stop them.

“No. Let me.”

She doesn’t resist.

I help her lower herself to the ground, then sit behind her. In my head, I picture this cool, romantic moment, like something from a movie where violins play in the background and the lighting’s all moody and seductive.

In reality, I kinda botch it, tangling her hair about a million different ways and taking three times longer than necessary. But come on, I’m a guy. I don’t have a lot of hair-unbraiding experience.

Audra turns to face me when the last strands come free.

My breath catches.

This is Audra. Not the fierce guardian always ready to fight. Just the girl from my dreams. Only now she’s right in front of me, and I can reach out and touch her. Grab her. Kiss her.

I sit on my hands and lean back.

I’m not going to force her—even if everything in me is screaming to screw caution and spend what could very well be our last night on earth in a tangle of heat and lips and limbs.

It has to be her choice.

She reaches for me, her soft fingers sliding down my cheek, leaving trails of sparks.

My eyes focus on her mouth as she licks her lips and leans closer.

She’s going to do it. She’s going to kiss me.

I resist the urge to fist pump the sky.

“You’re beautiful,” I breathe instead.