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“The Storm Sword was forged by the three Cyclopes.” Hecate steps forward, and the flames lean with her. “Brontes the Thunderer, Steropes the Lightning Bolt, and Arges the Flashing One.”

Logan straightens beside me. “The same Cyclopes who forged Zeus’s thunderbolt.”

“And Poseidon’s trident.” Her gaze shifts to him for the first time, and Logan’s hand tightens around mine. “As well as the Helm of Darkness for Hades. They are the original divine weaponsmiths, and they forged the Storm Sword for Tempest, then placed it somewhere no mortal would stumble across it.”

“Where?” I ask, praying with every bone in my body that she’ll tell me instead of turning this into a divine scavenger hunt.

“A lake in Venezuela,” she answers simply. “The mortals call it Lake Maracaibo.”

I blink. “Venezuela.”

“Yes. Specifically, the southwestern corner of the lake, where the Catatumbo River feeds into the basin. Lightning strikes the same spot over and over again—hundreds of bolts per hour in a storm that’s raged for five hundred years.” She holds my gaze, as if in challenge. “Mortal scientists have theories. Methane gas, atmospheric conditions, and wind patterns off the Andes, to name a few. But none of them fully explain why one spot on this planet produces more lightning than anywhere else on Earth.”

My electricity’s crackling so hard along my arms that Logan’s getting the full force of it through our joined hands. His body shudders once, and his breathing quickens beside me, the sound making it impossible to focus on divine weaponry. But I force myself to refocus on Hecate, because she’s far more important than Logan getting turned on by my magic, or whatever the hell my electricity does to him when it runs through his veins.

“The Storm Sword’s causing the lightning,” I say, knowing it’s true deep in my bones.

“Yes.” Hecate nods once. “Five hundred years ago, Tempest placed the sword in the mystical realm beneath the lake, and its power has been leaking into the mortal realm ever since. The locals call it the Everlasting Storm.” She pauses, and her violet eyes bore into mine, as if they’re seeing into my soul. “We prefer the Eternal Storm. And it’s there, Jade Harrington, that you’ll find your celestial sword.”

I look at Logan, and he looks at me. His gray eyes are steady, his thumb still on my wrist, my pulse hammering against it.

“Venezuela,” I say slowly, since out of all the places in the world, I never thought I’d end up going there.

“The Eternal Storm.” His eyes focus in the way that tells me he’s already planning the route. “It seems like our seafaring days aren’t over quite yet.”

21

JADE

The guest room door in Connor and Ruby’s cabin closes behind us, and Logan leans against it, watching me with a look in his eyes that I’m pretty sure means you’re not going to like what I’m about to say next.

“You don’t trust what Hecate told us,” I guess, speaking faster as theories swirl through my mind. “Or you think Thalia’s a Revenant. Or you think the wolves know what you are, and that they won’t let us leave Pine Valley, or⁠—”

He cuts me off by lifting one hand, and orange flames ripple up the walls in a thin, translucent sheet that seals the room in a shimmer that eats sound. It’s ordinary witch fire, no black edges, the kind any Blaze first-year could cast.

“No.” He shakes his head, stopping my spiral. “But we should leave for Venezuela tomorrow. Which means I need to feed tonight.”

I stop breathing. Because I knew this was coming. Every time I eat now, I think about how food isn’t the full sustenance that Logan needs.

His fingers drift to the chain at his neck, and he presses the rings against his chest.

“I can find another source.” He holds my gaze, and I can tell by the softness in his eyes that he’ll do it, if it makes me feel better. “There are plenty of supernaturals in Pine Valley. I can feed from one of them and compel them to forget it happened.”

An image slams through my mind of Logan’s mouth on another person’s neck, and my electricity spikes so hard that the lamp on the nightstand flickers. I see Logan’s arms around another body. Logan making that low, desperate sound against another person’s skin while their blood runs across his tongue, the intimacy of it wrapping around them the way it wrapped around us on the ship.

“No.” The word comes out harder than I intended. “Absolutely not.”

His eyebrows lift a fraction.

“You’re not feeding from another person.” I cross the room toward him, and each step tightens the charge in the air between us until the hair on my arms is standing up. “You’re not putting your mouth on another person’s neck. You’re not biting them and making them feel what I felt on the ship, then compelling them to forget about it, as if what we shared was a transaction you can replicate with whoever’s convenient.”

My pulse is hammering, electricity arcing between my fingers in bright, rapid sparks. He’s looking at me with an expression I haven’t seen before—his gray eyes darker than usual, his lips slightly parted, and his body still against the door.

“You feed from me, and only me,” I continue, and I’ll tell him a million times if that’s what it takes for him to know how much I mean it. “You’re mine, Logan Ashford, and I don’t share. Not when it comes to you.”

His hand leaves the rings at his neck and finds my cheek. Electricity jumps from my skin into his palm, and he closes his eyes to take a long, deep breath, as if he’s breathing my magic into his bones.

When they open, they’re burning with so much desire that it takes me a few seconds to find words.