The first man straddled her over her cloak, his weight pressing in and suffocating her. “And my buddy back there? You cut his finger right off. Maybe you should get a taste of that.” He had a maniacal glint in his eyes as he took her right hand and slid the dagger to her pinky.
Isla sobbed, fear and pain racking every inch of her body. Her hand shook in his grasp. She closed her eyes as the knife dug into her finger.
Before he could go further, shouts came from the other side of the clearing. The knife paused, and the man’s weight left her body. The one holding her arms down also released his grip. Opening her good eye, she saw both of them running away toward their friends. She couldn’t see what was happening beyond them, but she heard strangled screams of terror and felt a blast of wind so strong that the dirt rose up in swirls around her. A second later, four of the men came rushing back toward her, in the opposite direction of the shouts.
“It’s him! It's actually him!” One of them gasped as they sprinted away, completely forgetting about Isla.
She didn’t have the strength to feel any more fear. Numb to the chaos around her, she was ready to fall into that pit of pounding blackness, to succumb to the pain begging to pull her under. All that existed was the throbbing heat below her eye and the exhaustion seeping into her bones.
A figure approached. She tried opening both eyes again, wincing at the pain it caused on the left side. Isla looked into a familiar face, one she saw etched in stone almost every day. Gray eyes stared down at her with such anger, such powerful indignation. He was pure fury, the very air rustling and crackling around them. His shaking finger gently grazed her left cheek and pulled away, coated in ruby red.
Isla whimpered. She didn’t know how much blood she’d lost, but could still feel it trickling down her face. The adrenaline that fueled her body had retreated, and darkness gathered at the edges of her vision. She blinked it away with a groan, sending another scorching pang across her cheek, blurring the figure before her.
Carefully, he collected her in his arms, holding her tight to his hard body. “I’ve got you,” he said.
With those words, her grasp on consciousness slipped further. This time, she let herself fall.
Chapter Thirteen
Rynn
Herscreamwouldhaunthis nightmares for weeks.
Rynn had known instantly who it belonged to. The stunning huntress with hair like a blood moon. The one who had aimed an arrow at his face and called him “infuriating.” The human girl who had avenged the fallen.
Her cries had echoed to him on the wind. He had not even realized he had been listening; perhaps his air simply knew where he needed to be. His fellow elementals had a habit of idolizing their magic, of letting their respective elements lead them and mold them. Throughout their lifetimes, they had placed tremendous faith in their aspects of nature and claimed that it was what gave them purpose, gave them power.
Rynn had never been fond of this notion. He viewed his air as a tool and a weapon that answered tohimand him alone. The air did not command him;hecommandedit.
Yet even he had to admit, there were times when the wind acted seemingly of its own accord. As it brought her cries to his ears, he had shot out of his cavern in the mountains and flown to the campsite of vile men. This had been one of the rare moments when he let his wind guide him without question.
He had known this group had been resting there for a few days but had seen no point in intervening with the affairs of men. He had listened in from time to time to ensure they were still oblivious to his presence, tucked away in his secret cave. Their words bored him: greed, violence, sex. A thousand years had not changed the drivel that flowed from the mouths of men. There had been no need to step in or even concern himself with their activities.
But taking her? Harming her? He would not let that stand.
He did not understand this foreign urge within him to protect her, a mortal he had only spoken a handful of sentences to. When he had found himself inexplicably drawn to the campsite of victims at the foothills of Aataran three nights previously, he had been enraptured with the way she had protected both her companions and complete strangers. The compassion and innocence in her eyes contrasted curiously with the bravery and ease of her violent actions, hinting at a strength within her that he wanted to explore.
He had tried to forget about their interaction. He knew better than anyone how immortals could corrupt those around them. Yet he could not ignore her cries.
Rynn was not always a being of action. He had spent most of his existence lying in wait, observing those around him and garnering knowledge of weaknesses, strengths, motivations. Even during the events leading up to the civil war that blackened the canvas of his past. For decades, he had stood by and tolerated selfish acts of human kings while his peers had been driven to anxiety and misplaced passion. Rynn had done his best to stay away from the situation and watched as the people continued to live under their leader, but that had all changed when a human friend who was closer than a brother had been massacred by the mortal who deigned to wear a crown and call himself king.
Years of waiting silently, abandoned.
Knowledge collected like stones in his pocket, wielded.
Anger at the oppressive ruler and all humans like him, released.
The other elementals had wished to stay passive in the ensuing war between those who wanted the elementals in power and those who wanted freedom. That had been perfectly fine with Rynn. He had not needed them to accomplish his goals, then or now.
When he had reached the group of men who held the girl—Isla, he recalled—captive, there had been a sense of calm within him. That was often how it felt before his rage took over—a stillness in his mind that showed him with perfect clarity what must be done.
And then he had unleashed his storm.
They had not even seen him coming until it was too late. He had been like a ravaging whirlwind, striking the small men with beady eyes that had whispered such wicked words about the mortal girl. When he had finally seen her, lying on the ground with blood streaming from her face and pinned between the legs of another man, he had thought his wind was going to rip the skin from the man’s body. The coward had fled, and it had taken every ounce of self-control to not hunt him down right then.
Now, as he held her slack body in his arms, her skin at his fingertips, the scent of apples and evergreen trees flooding his senses, rage resurfaced. Once he made sure she was safe and protected in his cave, he would go after the man. That piece of filth would never draw breath again.
He needed to let her go back to her home. It was foolish and reckless of him to keep her longer than necessary. Rynn had never claimed to be good; far from it, and for some reason he was desperate to make sure she did not get caught up in his tempest. He had experienced firsthand what happened to mortals when he got too close. He would let her heal and ensure her safe return.
