Page 2 of Above Cursed Winds

When his balance finally righted, he called upon his supernatural gifts to heal his ailments. Within seconds, the air filling his lungs became a healing balm, and the room purified. The stench of last night stopped seeping into his skin, and the bruises from his violent outlet slowly faded.

One breath. Two breaths. Three.

Opening crystal-clear blue eyes, he sighed. Upon examination, his knuckles looked no worse for wear, their flawless ivory revealing nothing incriminating.

Good. Jeremiah didn’t need Gideon rooting around in his affairs, or any meddling in how he was dealing with his residual rage.

He shifted to get a better look at the place he’d slept during the night. Two queen beds, their lumpy comforters still tucked in, were to his left, and an ancient rear-projection television sat on a rickety table to his right.

A real classy place, this.

Grunting, Jeremiah sifted a hand through his shoulder-length red hair. It never mattered where he slept or what he did to ease his turmoil. He felt his old self slip further away every day, along with any shred of lightheartedness and joy.

Absently, he examined each amateurish work of art that hung on the smoke-stained walls. As with every other time he awoke in similar surroundings, he was thankfully alone. Though he’d never been partial to long-term relationships or taking a wife, he’d never noticed the absence.

That is, until his two best friends found their soulmates.

He’d spent over three hundred years living and working alongside Gideon and Rukia, and he keenly felt their absence now that their main focus was the other half of their souls.

Gideon had Rona. Rukia had Isaiah—and now she’d had his child. All Jeremiah had was a job that seemed far less fulfilling than it had been three years ago, in a town that no longer felt like home, and a morbid outlet that was barely fit for his purpose.

He gingerly rose to his feet. One glance around the room told him his shirt wasn’t anywhere within reach. Jeremiah trudged through shag carpeting toward the bathroom, and regrettably solved that mystery. The shirt he’d been in last night was partially floating in the porcelain throne, waterlogged and sodden with a questionable yellow.

He must’ve drunk more than he’d thought last night.

Part of him was almost impressed. It was nearly impossible for an Elemental to become inebriated. Their metabolism was too high to feel the effects of alcohol without ingesting a massive amount in quick succession. He gave up on rescuing his shirt. No sense in attempting to save something he’d just pitch regardless.

Turning to look for his shoes, Jeremiah had just pulled them on when he was surprised by a decisive knock on the door.

No one knew he was here; he hadn’t informed any of his ‘friends’ of his extracurriculars. In fact, he hadn’t even texted them to notify them he’d left the Elemental compound. For all intents and purposes, he might as well have been in his home. But that didn’t explain the eerie feeling that the man behind the door was someone he knew exceptionally well.

Gideon.

When his hand settled on the cool steel of the doorknob, his eyes briefly closed. Mentally, he prepared himself for the lecture that’d inevitably follow, the disappointment that’d fill those molten gold eyes.

Though it’d be for good reason, whenever Gideon chastised him for venting his rage or taking part in activities that the other man had deemed harmful, Jeremiah’s irritation only grew.

There was only so much a man could take, and he’d had more than enough of it from his monarch.

Another bang on the door, this one seemingly more urgent. Twisting the handle, he pulled it open to reveal the man in question—and, of course, his wife, Rona, right beside him.

“Where have you been?”

Gideon’s gold eyes speared around the room as if spying for an ancient artifact, the keen intelligence behind them otherworldly. Almost annoyed, the earth Elemental brushed past him, while Rona remained patiently outside.

No one could mistake Gideon for anything other than a powerful immortal. The man exuded an innate hum of energy that belied explanation, a tangible pulse that seemed to wash against the skin. Each step he took was a predator’s gait, a jungle cat prowling beneath his easygoing demeanor.

Taking a staggering step backwards, Jeremiah scoffed. “What are you doing here?”

“You haven’t answered your phone.”

Jeremiah’s lip curled. “I’ve been busy. How did you even know I was here?”

The earth Elemental gave him a blank look. “Credit cards aren’t that hard to track, Jeremiah. And Rona used suggestion on the motel clerk to discover which room you’d taken.”

“Doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

Crossing his arms, Jeremiah bristled as Rona stepped inside and softly closed the door behind her. The vampire strode around him to her husband’s side, and Jeremiah finally noticed the prickling dose of anxiety they both wore like a second skin.

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