Page 65 of The Storm
Because Max couldn’t wait to escape anything having to do with Peter. Leo glanced at Max and saw his stony face. “It’s a useful skill, even if you’re assigned to a house with a good smith.”
Leo saw someone walk out of the farmhouse door and stand on the wooden steps. The giant man had dark hair and light skin. Leo thought he could see Peter’s unusual green eyes from this distance, but it was probably only a memory. His father’s eyes weren’t blue like Leo and Max’s. They were green like seaweed bleached in the sand. He and Max had both gotten their coloring from their mothers, but they came from tall people on both sides. Peter was well over six feet tall and broad as the side of their barn, his chest and arms bulky from smithing. Artis was just as tall, slightly thinner, with a body similarly hardened by the forge.
Max parked the car, but none of them opened the doors.
Leo glanced at his cousin, who was staring at Peter with narrowed eyes. Leo reached for Max’s hand on the gearshift, squeezed it, and said, “It’s fine. Come. It will be fine.”
Max turned to Leo. “I won’t hold my tongue. I’m not a boy anymore.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
Max gave Leo a slight nod; then he released his grip on the shift and opened the door. He got out and opened Renata’s door for her, grabbing her hand before he walked to meet Peter.
Leo opened his door and got out. Kyra’s door was already open, but he held it for her as she climbed out and stretched, avoiding the mud in the farmyard. He put a hand on her cheek and bent down to take her lips.
That simple touch gave him life. Kyra slid her hand along the back of Leo’s neck and pressed herself closer. Her touch told him without words:I adore you. You are mine.Leo released her lips and rested his forehead against hers.
“Thank you for loving me,” he whispered.
She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Introduce me to your father, Leo. Remember, he cannot be worse than mine.”
Leo’s smile was immediate and bright. “I suppose you’re right.”
“That’s the one benefit of mating with akareshta.” She slid her hand in his and pushed his shoulder to turn him around. “You’ll win the less-evil-family contest every single time.”
* * *
Hand in Renata’s,Max approached his uncle. The man looked exactly as he had the last time Max had seen him. He hadn’t aged at all—he was keeping up his longevity spells—though grey touched the wild hair he tied back with a leather strap.
They did not embrace. That wasn’t something they did in their family. But Peter stared at Renata with a look Max couldn’t decipher, and it wasn’t unwelcoming.
“Does the fire still burn in this house?” Max asked, the formal greeting of the Irin giving him the script he needed in the moment.
“It does,” Peter answered. “And you are welcome to its light.” He glanced at Renata, then past them to Leo and Kyra. “You and your own.”
Max inclined his head but didn’t release Renata. “Uncle, this is my mate, Renata von Meren, a singer of the Istanbul house.”
“Well met in this place, Renata.” Peter inclined his head. “You honor us with your voice.”
“Welcomed with grace,” Renata said. “I’m happy to be here.”
“I am Peteris of Dunte, son of Artis.” He paused, his eyes drawn to Leo even as he tried to address Renata. “I am Maxim’s uncle.”
“I know,” Renata said. “And Leo’s father.”
Leo and Kyra stopped in the middle of the yard. “Peter,” Leo said, gripping Kyra’s hand. “This is my mate, Kyra.”
That indefinable look flickered in Peter’s eyes again.
“Well met, Leontios.” Peter’s voice cracked. “And Kyra.” He tore his eyes from them and looked at the barn. “I need… the cows. The cows need to be milked.” He motioned toward the house. “You know your home. Artis is in the library.”
Max heard the bells coming closer as the cows heard their master’s voice and walked back from the orchard with full udders. It was midmorning, and the fact that they hadn’t already been milked surprised Max. It also told him that Peter was distracted.
Renata stepped forward to greet the cows. “I’ll help you. I like cows.”
Peter nodded. “Very well.”
Kyra released Leo’s hand and walked through the kitchen garden, past the porch to the massive outdoor oven between the farmhouse and the orchard. She walked around it, her hand running over the whitewashed walls. Peter paused and watched her.
