The smallest part of our DNA binds, my blood mutating his. Our own bond forms. I’ll only be able to feel when he needs help or if something is seriously wrong, like a father to a child.
I never thought I’d ever be a sire.
Especially not to my fated mate’s brother.
He’s going to fucking hate me when he wakes up.
“You’ll be okay.” I carry him to be next to his sister. “I promise.”
I stand, circling to take in my surroundings, when I seeherstumbling towards me.
Snarling, my claws are at the ready. I slide to the left to protect my family.
I finally have a family.
“Where is he?” she cries again, stumbling left and right. “I feel his storms. Here. Right here. I feel them. They burn.”
I have no idea what she’s saying. She’s rambling.
As she comes closer, her bright blue eyes struggle to ignite like they did before. They spark and fizzle as if she’s running out of energy. The right side of her is charred, ash drifting into the air with every step.
Lightning brightens her veins as she chokes, struggling to breathe. I catch her before she hits the ground, placing her over my knee. Now that I can see her up close, I can tell she’s a paranormal.
I don’t know what kind. By the scent of her, she smells like multiple.
Lorcan would know more about that.
“I only wanted to find him.” She inhales deeply between every sob. “That’s all I wanted.”
“What’s your name?” I ask, wanting to know the woman who will die in my arms.
“It’s all I wanted. Him. His storms. I’m so—I’m sorry for—” She glances around, her eyes bouncing left and right. “Foreverything. I’ll be back. Tell him…” She gasps, her mouth opening and closing, trying to suck in as much air as possible. “Tell him I’ll be back.”
“Who? What’s his name?”
A tear leaves the corner of her eye as her pupils blow. The last bit of air rasps from her lungs.
“Damn it.” I hang my head in exhaustion and sadness. “I’m sorry you didn’t find who you were looking for.” Her body dissipates into ash, and they find the current of the wind, swirling, dancing to the person she’s looking for, I hope.
A black feather lulls to the ground between my boots. I pick it up, running my fingers up and down the silky threads.
What was she?
I tuck the feather in my back pocket, then spin on my heel when I hear the first breath taken.
I’m by her side in a second, lifting her onto my lap. Her body is caked in mud, and her clothes are stained with blood. She would have died without me.
I would have died without them.
The emotions slam into me, adding to my own of relief.
I press my head against her stomach and break, my shoulders shaking with every sob. I clutch onto her, my fingers digging into her sides to leave bruises. Her fingers play with my hair in tired, weak strokes.
She’s alive.
TheNext Day
The tornado was an EF5. The strongest ever recorded, and there’s no one who can find answers on the bizarre weather pattern.
