Chapter Seven
Isla
TheGod of Air.
Isla took in the man before her, trying to find a difference between him and the statue in Lockhurt. His chin-length, dark brown hair swayed chaotically in the breeze, a lock of it fluttering in front of his piercing gray eyes, which stared intently at her. As her eyes traveled further down, his lips settled into a grim line. His ash gray tunic was tucked into riding pants that clung to his legs and showed off his lean yet muscular form.
Isla stood there, open-mouthed, while her bow slumped to her side.
“I would not put that down quite yet. Something is coming,” he said. His voice was strong and beautiful, with an accent she couldn’t quite place. But his words were a warning, and she could’ve sworn the end of her copper braid swung in the wind as they washed over her.
Isla shivered and shook herself from her daze. Notching another arrow, she lifted it and pointed the tip straight at his heart. He cocked his head, his brow creasing slightly in faint curiosity.
“Who are you?” she asked, surprised by her even tone despite the pounding in her chest. She’d never seen someone do what he had just done—stop a speeding arrow and pluck it out of the air as if picking a piece of lint off his shoulder. And she knew it wasn’t possible, but he lookedexactlylike that blasted statue.
She quickly looked back at Bri to make sure she wasn’t hurt. August and Damien were caring for a couple of wounded campers they had rescued, and Bri sat atop her horse, staring slack-jawed at Isla and the stranger. Isla slipped into a protective stance, putting herself between him and her friend.
“I am not going to hurt them,” the man said softly.
Her head snapped back to face him. “Answer the question, then.”
“It does not matter. I’m no threat to you, but others are coming. Take your men and leave.”
“They’re notmymen—hey, where do you think you’re going?” she shouted as he turned and began to walk to the edges of the Aataran Mountains. She groaned internally but couldn’t seem to stop herself from chasing after him. She had many questions, like who else was coming and how he’d stopped the arrow. Andhowdid he look exactly like the statue that consumed her thoughts every time she laid eyes on it?
“It does not look like you need any help from me.” He glanced at her sideways.
“How did you do that? Back there, with the arrow?” she asked warily, keeping her distance.
“I am very fast,” he replied.
She couldn’t tell if he was attempting to joke or being serious. Isla gritted her teeth. “What did you mean when you said something was coming? More attackers?”
“Of a sort.”
“That doesn’t help. Whoareyou?” She tried again, practically jogging to keep up with his long strides.
“Someone passing through.”
She let out an angry snort. “You’re incredibly infuriating,” she snapped.
“Am I?”
As she opened her mouth to continue berating him, she tripped over a tree root. One second she was free-falling, and the next she was hovering in the air, inches from banging her head on a large boulder. The wind that held her aloft felt like a cool, invisible cloud, gently rustling her hair and cloak as if it were trying to taste her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man quickly flick his wrist, and the barrier of wind beneath her disappeared, causing her to land softly on the forest floor. When she looked up at him, his face was lined with confusion, as if he couldn’t figure out why he had helped her.
“You’re him,” she said, rolling onto her back to face him.
He clenched his jaw. “You should not be here. Go back to your friends.” He hesitated before reaching down and offering his hand. Isla stared at him for a moment, and from this close, she noticed a ring of light blue around his gray irises. His skin was warm beige and unblemished, a stark contrast against his dark hair. That same errant lock still hung loosely in front of his right eye, and she had to close her fist to keep from brushing it out of the way.
She took his hand to pull herself up. Her skin buzzed with the contact and sent goosebumps trailing up her arm. The very air around them stilled, then picked up again in a frenzy, sending leaves whirling around her feet. Metal pressed into her hand, and she looked down at the small gold ring on the man’s little finger.
When he dropped her hand and turned away again, the wind ceased.
“Thank you,” she called after his retreating figure.
“Stay away from Aataran,” he said in response, looking back and meeting her eyes. There were countless questions she wanted to ask, but she held her tongue and watched as he faded into the shadows of the mountains, never taking his gaze off her face.
