Page 53 of Above Cursed Winds

Something between a sob and a shout rumbled from his chest. “It is my fault!”

“You weren’t holding that gun, Jeremiah.”

“But I could’ve stopped it!” No matter what he tried, he couldn’t dam the flow of words from his lips, nor the anguish that assaulted him as the scenarios played out before his mental eye. “I could’ve taken the air from his lungs and made Torrin suffocate. I could’ve used my abilities to stop those bullets and move Gideon back to protection! I could’ve taken the punishment for him!”

Jeremiah fisted his fingers in his damp hair, still colored crimson with blood. Yanking at the roots, his back collided with the wall once more as he hunched forward.

Zia’s palm pressed into him, keeping him upright, but it didn’t hold for long. Her hand retreated so she could embrace the Elemental and murmur, “No, Jeremiah. You couldn’t have saved him. Nero told me what happened that night; that the dam would’ve burst, threatening everyone if Gideon didn’t give himself up. You made the right choice.”

Nestling into the stubborn woman’s shoulder, Jeremiah allowed the touch to comfort his overwhelming grief.

“But I didn’t,” his voice was muffled against her skin. “I would’ve killed Torrin, but my element didn’t work. It stopped working for me, Z. I tried to save Gideon, tried to do those things to keep him alive, but Zia, my element wouldn’t let me.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Softly stroking her fingers through Jeremiah’s thick hair, Zia mourned. The strands tickled the sensitive inner surfaces of her fingers as tears trailed down her cheeks.

On the heels of Jeremiah’s admission, she’d understood the grief that’d ravaged him. He’d failed in protecting Gideon, and he’d been betrayed by the element that’d been his for four centuries. A horrific lack of control, one the burned in a place so deep, comforting words could not reach.

She still tried, though.

Zia took them both to her bedroom and let him explore the pain that finally broken through the wall of ice built to protect not only himself, but also his closest friends.

Jeremiah hadn’t told Gideon, and likely never would.

Right now, the Elemental monarch believed the lie. He believed that Jeremiah had willfully held back his element from saving him because of moral high ground. The truth was much more devastating: Jeremiah had valued Gideon’s life above all the lives of those downstream, but he’d failed to save him regardless of the cost. He simply hadn’t been strong enough.

Following that disastrous attempt, Gideon’s heart had nearly ceased beating, and Jeremiah had had to deal with his colossal failure alone. He couldn’t even tell Rukia, the only other person in the world that might’ve understood. He believed the water Elemental would have either blamed him for his shortcomings or cursed him for even trying.

Jeremiah had been completely and utterly alone.

No longer, Zia thought as she gazed down at the sleeping man beside her. His head rested in her lap, his eyes closed, breath steady and slow. The guilt had sloughed off his shoulders as he’d confessed. She’d sensed as much in his psychic signature. It still hadn’t changed, but it’d become lighter, less heavy.

Zia gently brushed a hand over the dried blood on his eyebrow. As soon as he’d fallen asleep, his element had begun working. The cuts had sealed, and the abrasions marring his skin had scabbed over and disappeared within minutes. She had sent her own healing gift into his core, the damage from internal bleeding fading under the pulse of her power. She watched almost absently, knowing that the true source of his pain was soul-deep and would likely never disappear entirely.

The depth of her affection for him astounded her: it ran deeper, stronger than anything she’d felt romantically before. In the few short days he’d been around, he’d slotted into her life as if he’d been made for it. He’d been kind to her son, made her breakfast, fixed her home, and saved her life, without her having to ask or expose vulnerability. Jeremiah saw her needs, even the ones she hid away, and met them.

It was confusing, for a woman who’d never become close to anyone for fear of—

Zia’s spine when ramrod stiff, panic pouring through her veins. She sent an alarmed telepathic knock to Key’s mind.

The Foreseer’s reply was sleepy. Yes, my friend?

Is Jeremiah my mate? The words held an acrid bitterness that threatened to revolt in her stomach.

Why do you ask?

Key! Zia growled. You’ve cursed me once already. You will answer me this: Is. Jeremiah. My. Mate?

All trace of coyness disappeared from the other woman’s voice. Vehemence that matched Zia’s own infused the reply: What do you desire, Zia? Do you want him to be your mate and cling to what little hope you have for your future? Or should I tell you the truth?

Breath caught in her throat. What is the truth?

He belongs to someone already, Zia.

There was sincere pity in Key’s tone. Raw honesty. Zia could sense as much with her own inherent gifts.

She thought of Jeremiah’s true mate, who’d claim him mind, body, and soul, know his secrets and love him without reservation. Zia could only hope the woman would cherish him as much as he deserved.

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