Marie Harte - Gale Season

Knowing she probably looked like an idiot, Alandra threw caution to the wind and relaxed the hold on her magic. A sense of freedom filled her as she felt the familiar stirring of wings at her back. A mystical presence, her wings were the purest part of her magic that could manifest physically.

Increasing the desire to fly, to lose herself in feeling, she flexed her back and knew the pleasure of creation. Glancing over her shoulder, she noted two fine, down-like wings that shimmered as if covered with glitter. From several inches above her head to her calves, her wings had been likened to angel down and butterfly silk by even the haughtiest of the royal Aellei.

Needing to express her complete delight with her life at the moment, she flapped her wings and rose off the floor. The rapid movement stirred the air, fanning the unrefined magic she saw lying about the house like small piles of gold in forgotten corners. As her wings moved, the magic gravitated to her, increasing the beauty of her newfound liberty.

“I do so love the wind,” she said on giddy breath and twirled around. Unbidden came the thought that she’d chosen the right Storm Lord to watch. Aerolus controlled the winds, and he had an obvious talent for stirring trouble as well as air—a talent her rule-abiding Wind Mage would no doubt deny.

Smiling, she toyed with her dimensions, shrinking to the size of a sprite, then growing back into her normal frame. Shadow’s Mark, but she hadn’t felt so carefree in years! Visions of Aerolus naked and in bed lifted her higher, making her long to recreate last night.

“Aerolus Storm,” she said with a smile, lusting after him anew as his name rolled from her lips. She shrank to the size of a walnut. “I could really grow to lo—”

“What will it take to convince you creatures to leave well enough alone?” a gritty voice rumbled before smacking her into the refrigerator door with enough force to snap the magic in her left wing.

She cried out and fell, the attack stimulating her reserve to fight. Instinctively growing to her normal size and losing the wings, she turned and glared at her attacker, rage at his intrusion ridding her of the fear she should have felt.

“Well, if it isn’t Arim the mighty.” She swore heatedly as clarity descended with a sharp twist under the sting of his soundless assault. That bastard! She tried flexing her magic and grew dizzy, the pain unbearable. That he had literally clipped her freedom made her see red, and she felt an astonishing urge to do him physical harm.

How typical of a Light Bringer to taint the simple pleasures in life. Glaring, she threw her hands in his direction, her fingers splayed wide, and demanded recompense for his detestable presence.

A blast of wind suddenly shot from her fingertips, the fury of air growing until the kitchen filled with several mini-tornadoes destroying everything in their path.

Arim smashed into the ceiling, three walls and the floor twice before he could shield himself, incurring several bruises and a bloodied lip when he fell to the floor. The way he looked at her from beneath his dark black hair gone askew reminded her of Aerolus, and as quickly as her anger had flared, it faded.

Though she liked to play games, she didn’t like causing undue harm. Arim had instigated trouble, certainly. But from his perspective, she was the intruder. No doubt she’d feel aggravated were their positions reversed.

However, her spontaneous reprisal had stoked an unnecessary and dangerous response from the one person she’d been taught never to confront. Stupid, stupid, stupid. When would she learn to think before she acted?

She could see red pulses of rage burning in Arim’s aura, and her worry grew. He meant to destroy her. She still couldn’t believe she’d knocked him around, and with wind, no less. Where the hell had that come from? Alandra was no warrior. She was, truth be told, a scholar with a penchant for mischief.

Hurriedly constructing a shield of Shadow, she gasped and jerked under Arim’s massive jolt of Light. Seething in a quiet that alarmed her more than if he’d shouted and threatened, he pummelled her with too much magic to absorb, overwhelming her senses with the sheer rage he projected.

Weakened to the point of panic, she understood, too late, just whom she had dared attack: Arim the Light Bringer, Killer of Shadow .

Arim raised one arm, his hand spread as he gathered the latent magic around him. His eyes were no longer black but swirling in myriad colours, so totally foreign from anything she’d ever seen that fear bloomed and took root as she stared into the face of her death.

“What’s going on in here?”

She spun around to see Aerolus and noted that Arim turned as well, his eyes still doing that funky kaleidoscope thing. Not sure if he was fully in control of himself, she instinctively lowered her shield to dart between him and Aerolus, her impulse to protect her lover greater than her need to protect herself.

In that instant Arim attacked.

The pain was intolerable. She could barely think as ice burned a hole in her chest and spread to her limbs, freezing her attempt to flee, to fear, to even care anymore. Her bones stretched, and her flesh began to sink, the cold drying her from the inside out. Cracks fissured the skin around her eyes and mouth and beams of light speared through.

Yet amid the pain and the fear, thoughts of losing Aerolus tortured her more than the knowledge she was dying.

“Arim, stop!” Aerolus tried, but his uncle was oblivious to everything but destroying Alandra. Her face twisted in pain, and her eyes sought Aerolus’, not with a plea to make it stop, but with a strange regret.

“By the Light, Uncle, cease!”

Arim blinked, a sign he’d finally heard Aerolus, but did not stop his attack.

“Shit.” Making a snap decision, Aerolus stepped between Arim and Alandra, freezing as Arim’s power sought a hold into his being. Under the magical onslaught, he recognised the spell and tried to relax. His uncle used a counter-Shadow spell, one that shouldn’t have caused too much pain, a bit of discomfort perhaps, but no more.

Yet Aerolus’ anguish grew as the Light actually hurt him. Instead of the heat he would have thought to feel, a frosty fist of cold made his breath catch and his body stiffen. Pain enveloped him, freezing everything but his mind.

“Aerolus,” he dimly heard Arim shout. “What are you thinking?”

Arim pressed a hand to Aerolus’ heart, increasing the ache in his chest. Gradually, the pain stopped throbbing, and the aggravating prickles of ice faded into a comforting warmth.

“That really hurt,” Aerolus mumbled before shaking his head and turning to Alandra. “ Purie ,” he said sharply, alarmed at her lack of colour. He scrambled to her side and reached the spot below her heart to feel for her aura’s pulse, swearing when he felt nothing.

“What are you doing with an Aellei?” Arim asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He stared from her to Aerolus, and a flare of heat lit his gaze. “Don’t tell me you slept with her?” He stared hard at Alandra, exhaling with an odd sound of relief. “At least she’s female.”

“I’ll ask you just what that means later. Now I need you to heal her. Tell me what I can do, and I’ll help.”

“Aerolus—”

“Just do it!” Air seethed and shook the cabinets left hanging in the kitchen as Aerolus’ stress hit the breaking point. Churning energy broke what dishes and glasses remained intact. But the air around Alandra fluttered gently, stroking with warm laps of wind.

Arim muttered something under his breath and squatted down. Frowning, he placed a hand on Alandra’s forehead and began a healing chant. Aerolus joined him, willing her to get well, praying for her to wake so he could shake some sense into her.