Page 55 of Above Cursed Winds

Now, the Raeth lay curled over his chest, kitten-like, and dead asleep.

Jeremiah brushed his fingers through her thick ebony hair. Lavender, red, and blue highlights were woven deftly between layers, a riot of color. The tones were muted, the barest touch of pizzaz, not a loud or garish statement. But her intent shone brightly, just like her inner fire.

Risking a glance at his bare chest, he was relieved to see the abrasions and bruises had faded during the night. He probed his soul too, like someone who couldn’t resist poking their tongue at a painful tooth. His guilt over the three who hadn’t lived to see the moon rise had also dulled with Zia’s words, although it would never fully leave him.

As his memory of last night sharpened, he remembered all he’d revealed. He went completely still underneath the beauty resting on his chest. He’d vowed he’d never speak of it.

Zia now knew his innermost secret, the damning failure that’d left him as worthless as a dry well. Everything lay bare, the way he’d recklessly attempted to save Gideon and hadn’t succeeded, how he’d been willing to shirk his duty to the people downstream of the damaged dam, and been ready to sacrifice it all by attempting to intervene.

And she hadn’t judged him. At least not last night. Today was a different day, and Jeremiah could only hope that Zia would not dwell or bring it up again.

Carefully, he got out of bed and paused to look at her. Jeremiah tucked her hair behind her ear then pressed the lightest of lingering kisses against her high cheekbone, savoring the contact and breathing her in. Eventually, he forced himself to leave her room.

He was halfway down to the ground floor when he realized he wasn’t alone.

Every muscle tensed. His eyes connected with the male who stood smirking at the foot of the stairs. Jeremiah’s element whirled around him, a primal response to a very real threat.

Even without knowing who the man was, Jeremiah could tell he was powerful. Elementals were imbued with a supernatural ability to sense another’s immortality and what breed they were.

Currently, his senses were screaming danger. And the presence of a Raeth.

For a beat, Jeremiah simply took him in. The stranger rivaled him in height at six and a half feet tall, though the Raeth was more muscular. Brown eyes the color of coffee beans, with the slightest uptilt at the corner, watched him from a face with strong features, set in a dark-olive skin tone that hinted at a mixed heritage.

“You’re Jeremiah.” Cruel, the smile that greeted him revealed a savage nature beneath that civilized exterior. “I’m Myko’s father, Sehrin.”

He still wasn’t sure whether he should’ve felt relieved or not. Slowly, Jeremiah descended the stairs, almost pleased when the other man backed half a stride to allow him to step onto the landing.

“A pleasure.”

He extended his arm in a warrior’s greeting, battling back the instinctive flinch that warned against touching the Raeth.

The harsh smirk seemed to permanently hover on Sehrin’s features. Behind it, under the superficial callousness, something deeper roamed. Before Jeremiah could read too far into it, Myko’s excited shout echoed down the hallway.

“Father!”

Speeding up to him, Myko leapt into Sehrin’s open arms, all childish joy and enthusiasm. Jeremiah noted—happily—that the darkness across Sehrin’s features was swiftly replaced by tempered affection. The man couldn’t be all bad if he welcomed his son so openly, and Jeremiah wondered for a moment if he was letting his mood affect his first impressions. After all, this man was Myko’s father. Part of Zia’s family, one of the people who had truly won a place in her life.

Professionally, however, Jeremiah remained conflicted. Sehrin was clanless, had access to Nero’s clan lands, and had ties to Zia. If there was even the least possibility that he was involved in the breach, Jeremiah had to investigate that avenue. He wouldn’t let someone who had potentially blackmailed Zia go free out of a reluctance to intrude in family business.

“Son.” Sehrin allowed one more embrace before holding Myko at arm’s length. “How is your ability progressing?”

“Strong, sir.” A soldier reporting to his general, the boy’s back went ramrod stiff.

“Are you able to control it yet?”

Though it was posed as a polite inquiry, a hint of pressure lingered beneath the words, and hesitation grew on Myko’s innocent features. “I—I’m getting better.”

Something akin to contempt flashed across Sehrin’s eyes before it dissolved into a forced smile. “Where is your mother?”

Only seconds later, the prickling of electricity ran down Jeremiah’s spine. He heard a startled gasp from Zia’s room and then movement above their heads. A muscle jumped in his jaw. No one should call Zia like a dog.

She appeared at the top of the stairs, still hastily braiding her hair, but her clothes looked as if she’d just stepped out of the pages of a high fashion magazine.

Had she gotten dressed up for Sehrin?

A pang of jealousy, cold and dark, seeped into his mind as Zia descended the stairs and Jeremiah let his eyes linger on her graceful approach.

You have no claim on her, the dark voice inside his mind whispered. You’re the unwelcome guest who overshares his personal life. Remember your place. It’s not with these happy people, who have each other. His inner monologue brought down his mood even further.

---