Page 87 of When Sisters Collide
“What do you mean?”
He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Who else has Gifted you?” He enunciated each word slowly, as if speaking to a child.
Alena clenched her jaw but kept her tone cool. “The Huntress.”
She said it with pride, hoping the name of one of the Twelve would knock some smugness off his face. She even kicked off her boots, relishing the cool stone beneath her feet.
But when she glanced back, the god had raised a single unimpressed eyebrow.
“That’s it?” he asked, dry as dust. “Well, it’s no wonder you’re in that state.”
Alena narrowed her eyes. Phoebe had warned her that not all gods would be as helpful as the Huntress, but she hadn’t expected outright disdain.
“I also met the Grey-Eyed Maiden,” she added shortly, brushing damp hair from her face. The cave’s cool air kissed her skin, a small relief from the furnace outside. “But she couldn’t Gift me.”
That got his attention.
He stilled. Slowly, his gaze slid back to her. “Why not?”
“She said her magic was weakening.”
A flicker of unease cracked his perfect mask. Then he scoffed and turned away. “Impossible.”
Alena clicked her tongue and followed, the slap of her bare feet echoing off the cave walls. “The Rasennan Emperor has been attacking her temples. Her followers are being hunted across Achaea. Maybe if you spent less time collecting jars on this beach and more time paying attention to the mortal world, you’d understand how bad things really are.”
The god froze.
Outside, the waves crashed harder, swelling like war drums. The air thickened. Pressure dropped. Alena’s ears popped.
Her injured hand flared with new pain as raw magic pressed against her, coiling through the cave like a predator tasting blood.
The hairs on her arms rose. Her breath caught.
“Ican’tgo yet,” the god snapped.
When he turned, Alena almost stumbled back. His amber eyes blazed with ethereal fire, his beauty sharpened into something terrifying. She had to remember—petulant or not—he was still a god.
The wind howled without warning, swirling through the cave like a cyclone. Sand exploded, stinging her skin. Alena winced and shielded her face, hair whipping around her.
“I am the South Wind,” he boomed, his voice shaking the cave and her bones alike. “I am the storm that breaks the summer heat. Every year, my winds ravage fields and thrash the seas.”
Outside, thunder cracked like a whip across the sea. The pressure in the cave dropped again, heavy and suffocating. For one breathless moment, Alena braced herself, certain lightning would strike her.
Then—silence.
The wind stilled, and only the gentle lapping of waves remained. Alena cautiously opened her eyes. The god—the South Wind—was calmly filling his jar.
He sniffed at her. “Right now, it’s still that grumpy bastard’s turn.”
Grumpy bastard?Alena blinked, realisation dawning. “You mean… the North Wind?”
It was still winter. The spring equinox hadn’t yet passed. Of course, the cold belonged to the North Wind.
“Yes.” The South Wind’s expression shifted to mild irritation. “Terrible temper, that one. Anyway, I suppose I should give you Philippos’ Gift.”
She frowned. “Philippos?”
“That was his Achaean name,” he said with a dismissive wave. “He’s not worthy of my magic after what he did. Betrayed his own people, and for what? To gallivant through Achaea and use my winds to punish slaves? Idiot.” With a lazy flick of his fingers, a small corked jar appeared at his feet. Unlike the others, this one shimmered gold, radiant against the cave floor. “His Gift is in there. Uncork it, and my winds will be yours.” He leaned in, his smile sharpening. “I hope you’re ready for them.”
