Chapter 31
Chapter
Thirty-One
The cave finally emptied of the massive shifters, and Ash groaned as the tension slid off her shoulders.
She turned to Race with a breathless laugh, running both hands through her hair. Her tie slipped loose and fell to the stone floor. “Wow, I didn’t think I’d get through to her.”
A smile ghosted over his lips. “You did well. Now, we have two days to work on your powers and your weapons.”
She picked up her tie, stuffed it in her jeans pocket, then tilted her head at him, raising one eyebrow. “Gosh, thanks for the effusive praise. Really, stop, please, before I swoon.”
His laugh warmed the cavern, making her smile.
With a sigh, she scrunched her face. “Now I really need proper training to hold the storm’s eye in place.”
“Come. An hour of weapons training first, then we’ll focus on summoning and control. You need to be ready to defend yourself if need be.”
Hard to argue with that. Whatever waited for them out there, she refused to be anyone’s weakness.
Ash shrugged off her parka, tossed it onto the rock seat, and joined him outside.
The towering trees hemmed in the clearing, their trunks so wide they looked like pillars holding up the sky.
Chilly noon air wrapped around her, crisp and sharp enough to make her shiver, but she’d be sweaty again, soon enough.
She stepped into the thin spears of sunlight piercing through the canopy above and spilling across the moss and rubble underfoot.
“Let’s start.” Race’s voice shifted, all trainer now. “Summon your dagger. Choose a target. The trunks are hard, but with a little more give than granite.”
Ash glanced around, sizing up her options. The enormous, death-black trunks veined with bleeding white resin looked like they could shrug off cannon fire, but one of the slimmer ones might just pity her enough to take a hit.
Ash summoned her dagger, that familiar tingle blooming into solid weight in her palm. She focused on a narrower trunk, drew back her arm, and hurled it.
The black blade hissed through the air—
And sailed clean past the blasted trunk.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she muttered, glaring. “No skinny trunk is going to get the better of me!”
“That’s the spirit.” Race leaned against a nearby tree, arms folded over his chest, his smirk pure sin.
She shot him the evil eye.
His low laugh rolled over her, warmer than the sun. “You can do this, Ash. C’mon.”
Recalling Echo’s instructions, Ash summoned the blade again. This time, she shut one eye, narrowing her focus to the exact spot on the trunk she wanted. Drawing her arm back, she flung the dagger hard.
It struck with a sharp crack, biting into the bark. The blade quivered, sagging slightly under its own weight, but it held, the black metal catching a glint of sunlight.
“Yes!” She whooped, fist-punching the air before she spun toward Race, grinning so hard her cheeks ached. “Did you see that?”
“Aye.” His eyes were bright with warmth. “Again. More strength behind the throw.”
Hours later, when her arm and shoulder muscles threatened to cramp, Ash groaned, dropping her hand. “I’m done.”
Race crossed the clearing, grasped her arm, and gently kneaded her sore biceps. “We’ll work on your storm calling abilities. Get your jacket.”
Back outside, parka on, he wrapped his arm around her, and the world shifted in a shimmer of heat and dispersing molecules.
The forest vanished, replaced by a familiar small plateau, the same place where she’d checked the weather pressure earlier.
The winds continued, and thin, icy air stung her lungs.
The vast sweep of snow-dusted peaks stretched endlessly around them.
Her stomach gave a loud grumble.
Race’s lips twitched. “We should’ve stopped for lunch first…” He pulled her fur-trimmed hood lower over her face. “I’ll hunt us something, and we can start after.”
Her gaze returned to the pale, endless sky, and she shook her head. “I can wait a little longer. We’re already up here anyway. Let’s do this first.”
“You sure?”
She nodded, trepidation curling low in her belly.
“All right.” Race moved behind her, his hands settling on her hips, grounding her. “Show me how you call the storm, and we’ll work from there.”
Ash fixed her gaze on the sky. No cloud cover yet, just the wide, washed-out blue and the thin bite of wind. She reached inward for the familiar crackling pinpricks beneath her skin.
Lightning came easily—it always did—rushing up like an eager hound at her call. But the rain, the wind… those were wilder, harder to bend to her will.
“Don’t force it,” he murmured close to her ear. “Feel the air currents, like you did when checking the pressure system. The storm’s already in there, waiting.”
Ash inhaled deeply, stretching her senses outward. The air was dry, thin, yet she could taste the moisture hidden above, coiled in cold pockets of pressure. She lifted her hand and tugged at it. Gradually, a cloud began to form, thin wisps darkening, swelling to her will.
Sweat beaded her brow as she held on. Her body trembled, her arms shaking as the weight of the forming storm pushed back, straining for freedom. This wasn’t just about the weather, but hope. Because if she failed, there’d be more graves carved into that mountain.
“You can do this, Ash.”
At Race’s absolute conviction in her, Ash gritted her teeth, steadying her burning arms.
“Good. Now hold it. Don’t let it break yet.” He let her go and stepped back.
Jaw clenched, she willed the growing storm cloud to remain over the gorge, held on as the pressure escalated, stretching her to breaking—
Her control snapped.
The cloud catapulted across and split. Icy drizzle poured down in a sharp, needling curtain. Ash sputtered, wiping water from her lashes and face. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry! It refused to stay where I wanted.”
Race’s low laugh rumbled behind her. “Try again. This time, imagine the rain as threads you can weave, so you can control it.” Droplets clung to his wet silver hair before sliding down his temple.
Ash brushed them away, her fingers trailing along his jaw. “Is that how dragons do it?”
His eyes gleamed with wicked heat, and a flicker of images slammed through her mind—her wrists pinned above her head, his body moving over hers in a rhythm that had nothing to do with training.
Her pulse pounded like a runaway horse. Desire unfurled, and she scrunched her nose.
“Dragons don’t control weather,” he said, maddeningly calm as ever, though his gaze burned with something fierce and possessive. “But you can, Ash. The storm’s part of you.”
Right, then. She turned, drew in a breath, squared her shoulders, and reached within again.
This time, she pictured the rain as silver strands, delicate, unbreakable, sliding between her fingers. The clouds gathered faster, darker, denser over the gorge. Her heartbeat matched the distant rumble of thunder. The moment she tried to direct them—
Another downpour. Over them.
“Bloody hell!” She wiped her face.
“Better,” Race said, his lips twitching, equally wet.
“How-how?” She threw up her hands in frustration, tendrils of hair plastered to her face.
He moved closer, his warmth wrapping around her and chasing off the bitter chill as he dried her. “You’re thinking too much. Let your instincts guide you.”
“My instincts usually involve frying those trying to kill us,” she grumbled. “Or climbing you.”
He laughed, the sound wrapping around her, warm as a hug.
“A deal, then. Do this, and you can climb me right here.”
“And freeze my bum?” She glanced back, catching his smirk. “Ohhh, no. But the moment we get back to the cave? I’m going to ride you—”
His groan was low, pained, and he dropped his brow to her shoulder. “You torment me.”
Ash grinned, leaning against him, relishing in his heat seeping through her. She glanced up to the sky, the pulse of the storm still thrumming in her veins.
“Send out your senses. Feel the climate change.” He straightened and grasped her biceps, back in coaching mode. “The pressure drops, the wind shifts—you’ll know exactly when that front will break.”
“How do you know all this?” she glanced back.
“Dragon, remember?”
Right. Ash tilted her head, closing her eyes. The air brushed over her skin, light and teasing, shifting in temperature and weight. “It’s like…music, almost. Different rhythms in the air.”
“Then conduct it.” He slid his hands down the length of her arms in a slow, deliberate caress, and her breath caught. “Make the storm dance to your song.”
A spark of heat curled low in her belly at the way he said it, part challenge, part promise.
She opened her eyes, staring at the sky again, this time letting her awareness stretch far and wide, mapping the invisible currents and pockets of moisture.
The clouds responded to her call, drawing together until they hung dark and heavy above.
“Now, make it rain there.” He pointed toward a distant, jagged peak resembling the letter M.
Ash drew a breath, lifted her hand, and pushed. The cloudbank shifted, holding its shape as it rolled toward the target. A sharp tickle built in her nose—
“Achoo!”
Rain promptly dumped down over the wrong slope. “Noooo!”
“You would’ve hit that target if it weren’t for—”
“Stupid bloody sneeze,” she grumbled, glaring at the slope.
Her back straight, she refocused, raising her arms and reaching and coaxing the pressure to build again. The clouds thickened, and with her mind, she sailed them across to the distant peak and released. Rain spilled in a silver curtain, glinting against the rock face.
“I did it!” she shouted, spinning toward him, grinning. “Did you see—”
He cut her off with his mouth on hers, the kiss deep and claiming, tasting of dragon heat and the cool triumph of rain. She swayed into him, but he’d already pulled back, his expression back to serious.
“Again,” he said, “and this time, draw the pressure along. Spin it into a gale.”