A Tempest of Wind and Fate (The Choosing Chronicles #4)

Chapter 1 One Missed Call

One Missed Call

The skies darkened, from one heartbeat to the next.

Nikhail Galebringer was standing among the charred, ruined remains of Hydrangea House. The building, which had served as Chancellor Rose’s residence until it was attacked mere hours ago, was now a crime scene.

He was mid-conversation with Therian Firebreath when clouds swept across the sky, replacing the clear blue expanse that had been there moments before. Nikhail paused mid-sentence and curled his fingers around the sooty brick he’d been bagging for evidence.

The air shifted. Nikhail tilted his head, scanning the sky.

The sun vanished altogether. Disappeared, as though it had never been there. The temperature plummeted. Icy fingers clawed at his cheeks, seeking his attention.

Demanding it.

Unease churned in Nikhail’s stomach, dark and unwanted. His skin prickled, and a chill swept down his spine.

“What the fuck?” Therian’s gruff voice broke through Nikhail’s thoughts. The dragon shifter craned his neck. “Was it supposed to rain today?”

Nikhail’s skin crawled, and a sense of utter wrongness, as though he’d ingested oil, swept through him.

It had nothing to do with the rebels’ attack on the Chancellor’s home, the fact that the Black Night had escalated to mass murder, or even that deep down, he knew that the republic they called their home was broken and neither the Representatives nor the murderous rebels were the right people to fix it.

No, Nikhail felt off in a way he’d never before experienced because those weren’t regular clouds. This storm was not a natural force of nature. It was coming on too hard, too fast. The clouds were too dark. Abnormal in size and shape. The wind had a sharp edge, like the tip of a polished blade.

Instead of answering, Nikhail stepped away from Therian and moved out from beneath the canvas pop-up tent where they’d been working. His stomach churned.

This is wrong, the wind whispered in Nikhail’s ears. It’s—

The charcoal clouds burst.

Rain fell—not in tiny droplets or a misty shower. This wasn’t a passing sprinkle or something that could easily be ignored. Water gushed from the sky in a torrent, as if someone had turned on a tap full blast.

Everything was soaked in a heartbeat.

Puddles formed where there had been none. Rain sluiced off the tops of temporary tents, gathering on the frozen ground. Thunder rumbled angrily in the distance.

The dark, unnatural storm raged around them, and Nikhail’s chest wrenched.

And then, the rain touched him. The moment he felt it, he knew. By the Blessed Obsidian Sands, he knew exactly where this storm had originated.

Nikhail’s magic slammed against the confines of his veins, a battering ram unwilling to be ignored. Dread churned inside him, a terrible whirlpool. Every part of him screamed.

He was drenched in a heartbeat, hair sticking to his face and clothes molding to his frame, but it didn’t matter. Nor did it matter that his suit was ruined or that his designer shoes would have to be thrown out.

What were appearances in the face of this?

For one singular moment, Nikhail froze. Fear, unlike anything he had ever felt, swept through him. Gripped him in its claws and refused to release him. Therian might’ve spoken, but the dragon shifter’s words didn’t register.

Nikhail couldn’t hear anything at all. The only thing he could do was stare at the endless expanse of black sky and the deluge of water, knowing that there was only one person who could cause such an abundance of devastation in such a short period of time.

His person.

He’d left River a few hours ago, and everything had seemed fine. She’d been going to her parents’ house. He’d thought everything would be okay…

But he’d been wrong.

Nikhail pushed past the fear, forcing it to release him. He couldn’t afford to remain frozen any longer.

Reaching a trembling hand into his pocket, somehow already knowing what he’d find when he did so, he pulled out his phone. The fae tech was waterproof and fireproof, built to withstand even the strongest of storms and the hottest of fires. He wiped away the water gathering on the surface.

One missed call—Princess

The nickname he’d given River blurred on the screen, and his heart plummeted to his feet.

“I have to go,” he said, still staring at the screen.

“What?”

“I need to leave,” Nikhail repeated, lifting his head.

Therian stared at him as though he’d lost his mind, and maybe he had. Maybe he was going mad. “What are you talking about, Nik? We were all called here. The investigation—”

Nikhail curled his fingers around the phone, and if it weren’t constructed of the strongest fae material, it would’ve cracked beneath the pressure. “It won’t matter if I don’t go. None of this will.”

Because they would all be dead.

He knew it, like he knew River was the origin of this storm. Water was rising faster than the early winter ground could absorb it. Shouts of confusion whirled around them as military and police personnel raced to set up more tents to preserve the evidence from the sudden storm.

“What kind of storm is this?”

“I just got a call from my husband downtown; it’s pouring there, too.”

“Radar shows the storm is covering the Central Region.”

“This is unnatural!”

“Who is responsible for this?”

“If this is the rebels’ doing, we’re going to…”

Nikhail tuned out the voices. It wouldn’t take them long to figure out that a water fae was behind the storm. Once they reached that conclusion, the next logical step would be to look at the Waterborns. After all, their power was renowned throughout the Republic of Balance.

He had to get ahead of them; he had to be the first to find River.

Therian’s shrewd gaze swept over Nikhail. “You know what’s going on, don’t you?”

He wished he were wrong. That this was a normal storm and that it would pass soon. But the roaring wind screamed the truth in his ears, echoing the one he felt deep in his soul.

This storm belonged to River. And if she’d lost control, if she was the cause of this, then something truly unthinkable had happened.

And he hadn’t been there.

Guilt slammed into Nikhail, a punch to his gut. His chest constricted, and he gasped for breath, barely managing to slip his phone into his pocket.

All of him hurt.

He had promised River, given her his word that he would be there for her, and now…

He’d failed her. Dropped the ball in the most spectacular of fashions. Something had happened, and he hadn’t been there for her.

Yes, he’d been called in to work, but so what? What good was a fucking job when the single most important person in his life needed him?

Bile rose in Nikhail’s throat, but he forced it down. He had to find River and help her before it was too late. He had to focus. Later, when River was out of harm’s way, he could berate himself for not being there for her when she needed him most.

“Nikhail.” The dragon shifter gripped his arm. “Do you know what is going on?”

“Yes,” he gritted out. “I know what’s happening.”

At least, he had a vague understanding. Nikhail was fairly certain the voicemail would fill in the blanks for him, but he couldn’t listen yet.

Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was pretty sure whatever was waiting for him on the other end would break him far more than anything else he’d ever experienced.

More than his father abandoning them, more than having to step up and be the man of the house when he should’ve been able to be a child and just have fun. More than every other experience he’d ever had combined.

Nikhail had to be strong, not just for himself, but for River.

“Hurry!” The wind shrieked in his ears, stirring the magic in his veins. “Hurry, hurry, hurry!”

So, despite his guilt and the horror over the situation, Nikhail did what he did best: He took charge. There would be a time for breaking, but it would have to wait.

River needed him.

Dragon scales and storms did not mix.

Blinking rapidly to clear the water streaming down his face, Nikhail clung to the black dragon beneath him.

The slippery scales made sitting astride Therian’s back a nightmare, and the water crashing down on them was an added obstacle that made everything worse.

If it wasn’t for Nikhail’s control over the wind and the magic he wielded, he would’ve fallen the moment the dragon ascended.

Powerful black wings beat steadily as Therian flew towards the eye of the storm. The backpack Nikhail had hurriedly packed was surely waterlogged by now, but it was too late to worry about such things.

“Faster,” he cried out, shouting to be heard over the storm. Every gods-damned minute felt like an hour. “Please, fly faster.”

Therian picked up speed, and Nikhail clung to his back.

They couldn’t be too late. He refused to think of a world where he didn’t get to River in time.

The storm’s center was looming, the clouds circling ominously, beckoning them forward. Only then did Nikhail reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. He unlocked it with a swipe of his thumb, calling his voicemail.

His heart lodged in his throat as he entered his password, and at the first sound of River’s broken, “You promised,” any hope he’d had of being wrong vanished on the blustering winds.

Each word was a knife, slicing his heart. It wasn’t long before his vital organ was nothing but a mangled, bloody mess.

He didn’t hang up. The message played on repeat as Nikhail absorbed River’s pain. Her sorrows would be his. He would bear her burden alongside her—this was his penance for failing her.

The dragon roared, the sound snapping Nikhail out of his guilt spiral. He closed out of the voicemail, but he didn’t delete it. He never would. Adjusting his grip on the dragon’s back, he clasped the black spines as Therian dipped, aiming for where the storm was the strongest.

The tempest raged, trying to push them back. Rain battered Nikhail’s face, each drop a painful reminder that he’d failed River.