Roar (Stormheart #1)(101)

Horror filled her, and she actually felt the storm recoil in response, which meant he could feel her exactly like she felt him. She tried to fill herself with remorse, and she felt the tentative brush of him against her mind. She looked at Locke, frighteningly still on the sand, and sent all her fear and worry to the storm.

Thunder rumbled, and though she saw no corresponding light, she felt the same emotion come back at her that she had sent before. Remorse.

She sat there, stunned, her body still pulsing with adrenaline. She looked to the distance, to the craggy rolling hills that she could not see against the dark sky. But she imagined them as they were in the day and pictured the storm lighting up over the rocks. She tried to infuse the image with happiness, tempting the storm to move there.

She swore she heard a whine on the air as lightning touched down again, close, but not too close. She thought of the way a dog’s ears would drop and its tail would curve down when someone yelled for it to go.

She was trying to think of how to bargain with the young storm. Could she ask it to let her take Locke to safety, to the hunters who could make sure he was okay? Would he let her if she promised to return? She was contemplating how best to communicate this when a groan sounded behind her and Locke’s body shifted on the ground.

“Stay,” she told the storm. “Wait.”

And dutifully, the skyfire remained overhead, only streaking between clouds.

Locke was awake and disoriented, but she saw him fumbling with his belt, the only piece of equipment he wore. He pulled out a skyfire Stormheart. When his skin touched the stone, she felt a flare of electric magic, and moments later, curiosity, followed by the eager image of two skyfire storms, flashing together in the night, playing over the land like friends.

“What are you doing?” Roar whispered to Locke.

He winced as he sat up, gripping the stone harder. “Calling out the heart.”

All at once, Roar had a much clearer picture of how Stormhearts worked. Because as she sat there beside Locke, she could sense another storm. She could feel its soul—intense and protective and riddled with guilt—and she knew it was Locke. That somehow when he touched the dead Stormheart, his own soul brought it to life. And she could tell the storm above thought it was real. The child storm waited restlessly for a friend to form. Just as she could feel his presence before the storm manifested, he thought that was what he was feeling now—building magic in the air and a rising soul that would collide to form a playmate for him.

A brilliant light shone above her, not the blinding flash of another skyfire bolt but something both brighter and softer. A small, swirling orb of energy drifted toward them. The light was white, but as it swirled and moved, she saw a dozen other colors reflected inside the revolving sphere, flicking in scattered branches like a smaller version of skyfire. And she knew that inside that cluster of lights lay the living heart of the storm. Every emotion and desire she felt bleeding into her came from that ball of light.

“Get back,” Locke said, using his free hand to physically push her away from him. The storm’s heart hovered closer now, so close that tears gathered in her eyes at the brilliance of it. It seared through her—intense and beautiful. “When I move,” Locke said, “you run. Hard and fast back toward town. Don’t look back, princess. No matter what.”

Then before she could protest, he lunged toward the soul, thrusting his free hand inside it like a blade into a heart.

Roar screamed. Locke screamed. The storm screamed.

Agony burned through her—sharp and hot—accompanied by a burning smell so strong it singed her nostrils. A dozen small spears of skyfire shot off in every direction, and Locke’s body convulsed, rising off the ground as he held tight to the soul that trembled and throbbed with pain.

“Stop!” she cried out, but she did not think he could hear her. She could barely hear herself over his tortured yells and the wailing inside her head. She could feel the storm fighting back, funneling a terrifying amount of energy into Locke. He was weak and fatigued, and she could sense all too clearly the way the battle between their souls tipped back and forth. He had caught the storm off guard, giving him the advantage, but the skyfire’s magic was potent and powerful. She knew Locke could win, but what damage would be done to him in the process? The storm’s strength began to crumble, its light dimming, and the pain was unimaginable, as if her own soul were being ripped open.

Before she could think it through, she ran and tackled Locke, catching him by surprise. His hand pulled loose, and the storm howled in pain. Roar’s body was on top of Locke’s, and she saw his eyelids flutter as he struggled to stay conscious. She could feel his pain too—acute and crippling. And then the world around them became nothing more than fire and light.

“I did it,” she cried. “It’s my fault. I called it. Oh, gods. I called it.”

The storm howled and raged, lashing out with every bit of power it had, the earth shaking as dozens of bolts struck all at once. They did not strike her or the man she covered with her body. But the waves of power reached them anyway, conducted through the earth. Locke groaned and his body shuddered. Now it was him that was in danger, Locke that was fading. She could feel his soul through his Stormheart, but it was faint, too faint.

“ENOUGH!” she yelled at the storm.

There was a momentary pause, long enough for her to sit up and stare at an orb so bright that her eyes burned. But the little storm was too hurt, too afraid. And she could not blame him. She sent waves of calm and healing and remorse, but fierce and frantic, he bucked her hold. And when she saw clearly his intent, electricity crackling through the air around her, she had no other choice.