She clenched her fists, trying to hold the storm inside.
“We’re waiting,” Michael bit out.
“Race—” Ash spun to him, grasped his shirt, her powers overwhelming her, sparking through her fingertips. “I-I…”
“Breathe,” he said softly, rubbing her arms. “Just breathe, heart-fire. You’ve got this.”
“Damn,” someone drawled, rough amusement cutting through the tension. “I would never have believed this if I weren’t seeing it. Race, she’s got you?—”
The lights flickered. The room plunged into shadow.
“What the fuck?” someone cursed as rain fell in a violent torrent, drenching everyone, hissing over the hearth, and drowning the flames. Lightning crackled, spidering across the ceiling and striking the wall?—
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Ash wrenched the door open and fled onto the terrace. The freezing air slapped her wet skin, and her cloud followed, dumping sheets of rain on her.
Oh, God, what did I do?
“Ash, look at me.” Race caught her shoulders, turning her to face him. Rain coursed down his face, but his claret eyes remained calm and steady. “Lock down your abilities. You can do this. I know you’re exhausted and overwhelmed after everything that’s happened, but you need to focus. Pull your powers back into you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, dragging the storm’s wild energy deep into herself. In her mind, she pictured steel walls and slammed them into place—one after another—until the crackling faded, and the air stilled.
With a shaky breath, she opened her eyes and found the drenched Guardians watching. None of them looked furious. Not even surprised.
Race’s warmth seeped through her, wrapping around her like a blanket, drying her skin and clothes, and she swallowed hard.
Laughter broke out, rolling through the room and mingling with the steady drip of water from furniture and soaked clothes.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you mofos,” Race growled.
More than that, she sensed his pride beneath the roughness.
Okay then. She inhaled deeply.
“She’s likely psionic. When she’s overwhelmed, this happens. Come.” He guided Ash back into the sodden study, the carpet squelching beneath her boots.
Michael watched her for a beat, water dripping off his drenched hair and clothes. Then, with a flick of his hand, the room righted itself—the fire roared back to life, his clothes and the furniture dried, and puddles vanished. As if the storm had never been.
He strolled around the desk and sat in his chair, and it squeaked under his weight.
Race hooked his booted foot under one of the leather chairs across the desk and shoved it behind her. Ash sank into it and almost groaned, the weight of her fatigue hitting all at once.
He dropped her backpack on the floor next to her and stayed close, a steady presence at her side.
She glanced at all these powerful Guardians, every one of them intimidating and still dripping like they’d taken a wrong turn into a pond. Ash bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I didn’t mean to rain on you. Literally.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Týr said, slicking back his drenched hair. “Most fun I’ve had today.”
Kira burst out laughing, perfectly dry. “God, you should have seen their faces! But that was a great intro, Ash. And welcome to the castle.”
It was as if the archangel deliberately left the men soaking.
“It sure lightened up this day,” the blue-eyed Guardian, Blaéz, added, making her smile.
“This is Ashaya James,” Race introduced her. “Ash, these are some of my fellow Guardians. I’d introduce each one, but it’ll just confuse you more.”
Like she wasn’t already.
“You going to fill us in now?” Michael asked, one eyebrow raised, leaning back in his squeaky chair.
