Let the Sky Fall (Sky Fall #1)(84)

There’s nothing I can do. I can’t surrender myself if the winds won’t take me.

Tears stream down my face. I want to scream. Crumble. Collapse.

But over the roar of the storm I hear another sound.

Laughter.

I open my eyes and find a Stormer a few feet in front of me. He smooths back his dark hair and grins like a lion stalking his prey. “Now, now, we can’t have you sacrificing yourself. That would ruin everything.”

He slams me with a cold, ruined Northerly. Another frozen whip, this time cracking against my face.

He laughs as I wipe blood off my cheek. “We’ve been chasing your windsong all over the desert, worrying we were up against some all-powerful ghost of a Gale. But you’re just a scrawny little girl with the same boring trick up her sleeve as her father. Too bad for you we were ready for that play this time.”

He whips me again, pummeling my chest, knocking the wind out of me. He laughs as I hack and wheeze. “Don’t worry. If you want to die, that can easily be arranged.”

I scream as a burst of strength fills me.

I never wanted to die.

I wanted to save Vane.

I will save Vane.

My grip tightens on my windslicer.

They can break the winds. But they won’t break me.

Time to show these Stormers what kind of guardian they’re dealing with.





CHAPTER 51


VANE


I expected to scream, cry—maybe even soil myself—if the Stormers ever caught me. Bravery isn’t my thing.

But as the Stormer launches me away from the ground, away from Audra, away from my life, my world, I don’t feel afraid.

I feel rage.

This is what they did to my parents. To countless Westerlies.

They won’t do it to me.

I’m the last freaking Westerly—I can break some stupid wind bonds.

The streams of cold, semisolid air rush across my wrists and ankles, keeping me tied up and hovering in the gray-blue sky. I strain against them and they tighten. I strain harder and they tighten more. Not my most brilliant moment, but I’m desperate here.

My head’s getting fuzzy, my muscles mushy. It feels like the wind bonds are wearing me down, sapping my strength. I don’t know if that’s possible, but I’m not about to sit around and find out.

An Easterly streaks by and I order it to slam into my bonds. It bounces off like rubber. At least it responds. I must be high enough above those creepy busted winds down in the storm. My skin still remembers the way they scraped against it, like they’d turned rough. Hard.

I guess I should’ve grabbed a knife before I left. I can move my arms a little—I could’ve stabbed the Stormer when he gets close.

Metal slicing through flesh. Blood splashing on my skin.

I suck in huge gulps of air, trying to fight the sudden nausea and dizziness.

I’m not going to get out of this with rainbows and sunshine. If it takes violence, I will pull together the guts to use it.

Not that it matters. I wasn’t smart enough to grab a knife. All I grabbed was a stupid packet of pain pills.

Pills.

I twist and squirm, straining every muscle in my body trying to reach my pocket.

Dammit—why can’t I be more flexible?

I shove all the air out of my lungs and contort myself into arguably the most unnatural position ever—legs up, back arched, arms stretching down. My eyes water from the pain, but my fingers slide into my pocket and feel the edge of the packet of pills.

I pinch the corner between my fingers and pull like my life depends on it—because it does. But the packet doesn’t move. I wiggle my hips to loosen it, and it pulls a fraction of an inch, but not enough.

Oh God—this is going to hurt.

And I’m so tired. All I want to do is close my eyes, let my limbs relax . . .

I shake myself awake. Then I hold my breath and strain my back to bend that Last. Little. Bit. I feel something tear—and the scream that slips out of my mouth backs me up on that. But the packet comes free.

It takes more bending and straining—I swear I qualify for yoga master now—to get the packet to my teeth. I tear it open and dump the two smooth pills into my sweaty palm. My fingers close around them before the wind can sweep them away.

Now I just need a way to get the Stormers to swallow them.

I spit out the packet and try not to look as the winds toss it back and forth on its long way to the ground.

“I’m not going to fall,” I tell myself.

“Oh, we would never let that happen,” a deep, hard voice says behind me.

I hate myself for yelping.

Cold hands spin me around and I’m face to face with a Stormer. His wavy blond hair and blue eyes belong on a surfer—not on a heartless warrior in a sleek gray uniform. I never thought the Stormers would look so . . . human.

“If you’re plotting escape, you can stop now,” he mocks me. “There’s nothing you can throw at me that I haven’t anticipated.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Big words for someone caught in unbreakable bonds.”

He shouts something I can’t understand and the bonds spread, clamping around my chest. My fist grips my pills as I cough and fight for air.

“Let. Me. Go.” I know it’s a stupid thing to say, but I’m pretty sure every hostage has to scream it at some point.