Let the Storm Break (Sky Fall #2)(51)

Raiden laughs so hard it echoes around the canyon. “And thus ends the final stand of the last living Westerlies.”

The Stormers drag us to our feet as the winds return. But when they crash again they barely stir up more dust than the first time.

Raiden laughs harder, shouting a word that makes his draining gray winds tangle around Vane and Gus as he grabs my wrist with one hand and unsheathes his windslicer with his other. The blade is a dull black color, and when he presses the needled edge into my side, the hundreds of razor-sharp points burn and sting with an energy I’ve never felt before. I’m sure being struck by lightning is less painful.

Vane thrashes to get to me—but the Stormer holds him too tightly. And when the Westerlies touch down again, their crash is almost weaker this time, only scattering a few pebbles.

“Now who’s the powerful one?” Raiden asks as he presses the blade deeper into my side.

This time I bite back my scream, but I feel blood running down my skin and I can see Vane watching it. He wrenches himself free from the Stormer, but with his arms and legs still bound by the draining winds, he crumples to the dry, cracked ground in a heap.

Raiden kicks him in the shoulder so hard it leaves a welt immediately. “I could split her in half right now and there’s nothing you could do to stop me. Though it does seem like such a waste.”

He runs his fingers over my wounded hip, making my skin burn with the salt of his sweaty touch.

Tears stream down Vane’s face as he struggles forward, but Raiden kicks him again, this time in his side. I hear the crunch of bone as Vane collapses and doesn’t move. The sickly winds binding him have turned him pale—and when I turn back to Gus I see he’s already passed out.

“Please,” I beg the Westerlies when I feel them crash down again. “Please fight harder. Please help us.”

Three of the winds don’t respond. But my loyal shield sweeps to my side, coiling around me, easing the pain of my wound with its cool breeze. I close my eyes, and as I sink into the calm, I feel two words burn my tongue.

Get help.

I shout them and the draft races away, gathering with the others before they whip into the sky.

“Looks like your winds have abandoned you,” Raiden whispers in my ear. “Such is the folly of giving them a choice.”

He pulls his windslicer away—cutting me one more time in the process—and tangles me in his wicked winds. The sharp, draining drafts drag across my skin and I feel my energy fade. My ears start to ring and my vision turns dim and I’m about to surrender to the darkness when a clap louder than thunder erupts all around, rocking the ground so hard Raiden loses his grip on me.

I collapse to my knees, coughing from the cloud of dust that burns my eyes as I fight to breathe. The thick brown air blurs everything, but I can make out a dark splotch on the ground nearby and scramble toward it, feeling my first real hope when I see that it’s Raiden’s windslicer.

The earth shakes again and I realize it’s the Westerlies. Dozens of them—maybe even hundreds—crashing in unison and kicking up so much sand the sky turns black. I hear coughing and screaming as Raiden and the Stormers command their broken winds, but the ruined drafts only swirl the dust and debris more.

I wriggle in my bonds, twisting until I free my right hand. I can barely bend the wrist, but I manage to grab the hilt of the windslicer and tilt the blade up enough that when I lean against it, the winds binding me unravel in a puff of smoke. Then I grab the windslicer and stumble to my feet, groping through the blinding dust, unable to tell if I’m moving toward Vane or away.

My progress is slow, and twice I bump into Stormers and barely duck the sweep of their blade. I shout for my loyal shield and the draft rushes to my side.

When it drapes itself around me, I can finally breathe and see again, and I take off running, searching for Vane and Gus—hoping the Stormers haven’t dragged them away. I find Gus first—cast aside like a pile of trash. His head falls limply as I move him, but when I sever his bonds, his eyes flutter open—and then immediately close from the dust.

I call another Westerly and beg it to shield him.The draft doesn’t want to obey, but it finally agrees to coil around Gus’s face, clearing the air enough for him to breathe.

“Where’s Vane?” he asks when he’s done coughing and hacking.

“I don’t know.” I pull Gus to his feet and he reaches for Raiden’s windslicer. My training screams for me to resist, but I remind myself of what happened when I attacked Aston. Better to have the weapon in the hands of someone capable of killing.

“Please,” I whisper to my Westerly shield. “If you know where Vane is, help me find him.”

The draft doesn’t respond, leaving Gus and me on our own.

Gus grabs my hand so we can’t get separated and we wade into the thickest part of the storm.

“You and Vane are bonded, right?” he shouts as we run. “I didn’t imagine that part?”

My face burns as I nod, but I hear no judgment in his tone when he says, “Then can’t you feel where he is?’”

He slashes at a Stormer who crosses our path, and I close my eyes, trying not to think about the spray of red. “The pull of our bond weakens when we’re this close to each other, but I’ll see if I can feel it.”

I ask my Westerly to leave me for a minute so I can search the sky for Vane’s trace.