“Don’t force it,” he murmured close to her ear. “Feel the air currents, like you did when checking the pressure system. The storm’s already in there, waiting.”
Ash inhaled deeply, stretching her senses outward. The air was dry, thin, yet she couldtastethe moisture hidden above, coiled in cold pockets of pressure. She lifted her hand and tugged at it. Gradually, a cloud began to form, thin wisps darkening, swelling to her will.
Sweat beaded her brow as she held on. Her body trembled, her arms shaking as the weight of the forming storm pushed back, straining for freedom. This wasn’t just about the weather, but hope. Because if she failed, there’d be more graves carved into that mountain.
“You can do this, Ash.”
At Race’s absolute conviction in her, Ash gritted her teeth, steadying her burning arms.
“Good. Now hold it. Don’t let it break yet.” He let her go and stepped back.
Jaw clenched, she willed the growing storm cloud to remain over the gorge, held on as the pressure escalated, stretching her to breaking?—
Her control snapped.
The cloud catapulted across and split. Icy drizzle poured down in a sharp, needling curtain. Ash sputtered, wiping water from her lashes and face. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry! It refused to stay where I wanted.”
Race’s low laugh rumbled behind her. “Try again. This time, imagine the rain as threads you can weave, so you can control it.” Droplets clung to his wet silver hair before sliding down his temple.
Ash brushed them away, her fingers trailing along his jaw. “Is that how dragons do it?”
His eyes gleamed with wicked heat, and a flicker of images slammed through her mind—her wrists pinned above her head, his body moving over hers in a rhythm that had nothing to do with training.
Her pulse pounded like a runaway horse. Desire unfurled, and she scrunched her nose.
“Dragons don’t control weather,” he said, maddeningly calm as ever, though his gaze burned with something fierce and possessive. “But you can, Ash. The storm’s part of you.”
Right, then.She turned, drew in a breath, squared her shoulders, and reached within again.
This time, she pictured the rain as silver strands, delicate, unbreakable, sliding between her fingers. The clouds gathered faster, darker, denser over the gorge. Her heartbeat matched the distant rumble of thunder. The moment she tried to direct them?—
Another downpour. Over them.
“Bloody hell!” She wiped her face.
“Better,” Race said, his lips twitching, equally wet.
“How-how?” She threw up her hands in frustration, tendrils of hair plastered to her face.
He moved closer, his warmth wrapping around her and chasing off the bitter chill as he dried her. “You’re thinking too much. Let your instincts guide you.”
“My instincts usually involve frying those trying to kill us,” she grumbled. “Or climbing you.”
He laughed, the sound wrapping around her, warm as a hug.
“A deal, then. Do this, and you can climb me right here.”
“And freeze my bum?” She glanced back, catching his smirk. “Ohhh, no. But the moment we get back to the cave? I’m going to ride you?—”
His groan was low, pained, and he dropped his brow to her shoulder. “You torment me.”
Ash grinned, leaning against him, relishing in his heat seeping through her. She glanced up to the sky, the pulse of the storm still thrumming in her veins.
“Send out your senses. Feel the climate change.” He straightened and grasped her biceps, back in coaching mode. “The pressure drops, the wind shifts—you’ll know exactly when that front will break.”
“How do you know all this?” she glanced back.
“Dragon, remember?”
