Roar (Stormheart #1)(51)
That’s what this was about? He was … was seducing her to make a point about distraction? She grabbed his wrist, digging in her nails a little harder than necessary, and ripped his hand from her face. She shoved at his chest, and he had to let go of her hip to keep from plunging into the water again.
Scrambling backward, she put as much distance between them as possible. Because right now, she was definitely feeling strong emotions. The old betrayal and rage she felt with Cassius mixed with the anger she felt now, until a black fury permeated every part of her.
Her words were close to a snarl when she answered, “If I were trapped in a fog and I could not run, I would tie myself to a tree before I lost my senses, so that I wouldn’t wander. I would divest myself of any weapons, should the fog cause me to be a danger to myself. Then I would try to clear my mind and wait it out. And hope my mind was still mine when it passed.”
She did not wait for him to pronounce her answer satisfactory; she knew it was. She whirled around, climbed up onto the bank, and set off at a hard run once again.
When he fell into stride beside her, she sped up so she didn’t have to see him in her peripheral vision, anger still thick and potent in her blood. And even though he was faster than her, even though he could have easily passed her, this time he didn’t. He stayed behind and out of sight. She seethed, unsure whether she was more upset with him or herself. Because she had hesitated. She’d gotten the right answer in the end, but it had taken too long. Long enough that had the threat been real, she likely could have been mesmerized, just like he said.
Once again a man had manipulated her, and she’d fallen right into his trap.
In facing death, the first Stormlings found life.
In risking their souls, they gained dominion over the souls of tempests.
—The History of Stormlings
12
On the way back to camp, her exhausted legs were the only thing distracting her from the riot of emotions inside her. Roar heard a shrill whistle break through the trees, followed by the low, vibrating sound of a horn. Locke cursed loudly behind her, and she could no longer pretend he wasn’t there. She spun around, and his eyes met hers.
He reached out to grab her, and she swung her arm away before he could make contact.
“Storm coming. We have to get back.”
They ran through the trees, gnarled branches scraping at her arms. When she emerged into open air, her head whipped backward so fast she would likely be sore tomorrow. But the sky was … fine. A little dull for this soon after sunrise, and a smattering of clouds hung above them, but they didn’t appear dark, nor did Roar see any sign of rotation or skyfire. She spun around, searching for what the hunters called storms of tide. There was none of the fog Locke had quizzed her on. No dust storm or strong winds that she could detect. There was nothing at all.
Locke skidded to a stop behind her, and she turned to see the same confusion cross his face. But when the horn blew a second time, he took off toward camp again. They’d run far enough down the bending river that the crew was nowhere in sight. And it became clear within moments that the relentless, punishing pace Locke set in their workouts wasn’t even him at full speed. He’d been taking it easy on her, and now he was pushing himself so hard that Roar couldn’t keep up, not even when she urged her limbs to their limits. She chased after him, her lungs threatening to rebel and collapse.
When they rounded a bend and the camp came into sight, everyone was in motion. They’d already packed up. Ransom and Sly worked to calm the panicking horses. Duke and Bait were in the Rock, the top of the carriage still open as they fiddled with different instruments. Jinx was pacing, apparently waiting for them, and she ran to meet them halfway. Roar knew she should be afraid. She was about to face a storm for the very first time, but her earlier anger blocked out the fear.
The crystal tucked beneath Roar’s tunic went from warm to blisteringly hot. She sucked in a breath and tugged it up by the leather strap to keep it off her skin.
“What is it?” Locke asked Jinx as they covered the last of the distance to camp.
“No clue,” Jinx said. “We were all eating breakfast when the instruments went haywire. Temperature dropped so fast Bait thought the gauge was broken. Pressure is all over the place, rising and falling like nothing I’ve ever seen. The storm crystal is measuring at the hottest level. Whatever is coming, it’s packed with magic.”
They pulled to a halt and Locke nodded, his expression blank as the sky. “Roar, in the Rock. Now.”
“What? But there’s nothing even happening. I can—”
“I said now.”
She fisted her hands until her nails bit painfully into her palms.
“I can handle this. I know—”
He gripped both of her arms, pulling until Roar was on her tiptoes. “This is not a discussion. You get in there, or we drop you off the next time we’re near a town. Your choice.”
She batted his hands away, rage bubbling up so fast in her chest that she nearly attacked him. She wanted to … with a ferocity she had never felt, not even back in the water. Roar was not a violent person. Or perhaps she hadn’t been before. Before she’d left her whole life behind, abandoned her mother, and thrown herself on the mercy of this brutal world for the slimmest chance that something might change.
She looked at Locke, felt his fingers pinching her arms, and rage replaced her lungs. She screamed something halfway between words and a wail. Locke’s face went slack with surprise, and only his quick reflexes saved him from the claw of her fingernails. He cursed, and his arms banded around her middle, locking her elbows against her waist. Roar kicked and yelled and dug her fingers into his forearms. He picked her up, burying his head in her neck to protect his face. She wrenched her body in different directions as he barked out commands.