An icy wind filled Lycus’s lungs, cooling the smoke burning within his throat from the fires. So many fires. He fisted his hands and frowned at the thin ridges of frost forming along his knuckles. The power of Air that Zeus had granted him not moments ago flooded his body. But this was not the gentle breeze of a summer’s day.

Nay, this was the frigid, unforgiving howl of an Arctic night. Precisely what he required to avenge his family. His people. His lands.

Her.

Oh, gods. Airla. What if the Minotaurs…

Around him, his bloodsworne brothers and sister marveled at their new gifts. The slash still cut across his palm from the vows they’d made each other. He should trust in them and beseech their aid, but what if they refused? Their village had been burned, their families murdered while they’d hidden, and now, the Minotaurs continued to ravage their lands. On to the next village, and the next. Only by the grace of Zeus had they managed to escape to Mount Ida, where it was safe. For the moment.

Nay, ’twas better to go alone and not risk them, too.

He gave his head a swift swing to clear it, then dashed through the cavern.

“Where are you going? ’Tis not safe,” Rhoetus’s booming voice bellowed behind him, but there was no time to waste.

Lycus squeezed his eyes and vanished into the wind, swooping and swirling like a newly born calf. He smacked into a rock wall, shook out his jitters, and refocused. He had to master this new gift, now.

Before it was too late once again.

Determined, he raced to the meadow. Here, sunlight broke through the tree tops, though dense clouds of crimson smoke snuffed out the horizon. The sight of the cornelian cherry tree grove unharmed eased the strain in his chest enough for him to seize in a deep breath and transform into his centaur shape.

“Airla!” He pressed a hand against the bark of a central tree. She belonged to a race of nymphs bound to the trees that birthed them. Hamadryades. In the distance, a shrieking wail echoed, reminding him of the urgency. He had to save her, to save them all.

“Lycus.” A spritely young maiden stepped out from within the tree’s trunk, the concealment of bark fading from her flesh. Terror and anguish misted her evergreen eyes. “Thank the gods you’re safe, but what are you doing here? What’s happening out there? The smoke is choking my leaves.” Rushing toward him, she squeezed her arms tightly around his waist, and he fought not to shed any tears.

He trailed a trembling hand across and down her long, vibrant green locks. “Nay, lass. None of us are safe anymore. You can’t hide. They’ll find you and burn your trees to the ground.” Minotaurs were good at burning things. Homes. Lives. Dreams.

“Who?”

“Minotaurs.” He curled his lip. “Sent by King Minos to destroy us.”

“Minotaurs?” She whimpered and buried her cheek against his chest. “We are done for.”

He’d been helpless listening to those savages slaughter his family, but this impotence destroyed him. Her slender form was so frail in his arms. As a nymph, she wouldn’t be able to lift a hand in her defense. He refused to watch her nymph race destroyed like his sister Cyane’s had been.

Another screech carried on the wind, easy for his ears now to detect. Time was running out. The Minotaurs were going to burn this whole damn island to the ground.

Bloody hell if he let them have his mate.

Even if it meant he would never hold her again.

* * *

Airla quivered against Lycus’s reassuring embrace. She might be only a young nymph, but even she was wise enough to realize this was defeat.

Lycus was barely older than she was. He couldn’t save her people, no more than she could. Even now, her sisters were hiding within their trees, unaware of their impending doom. It would break her heart to tell them, but she must. The best thing for them to do would be to retreat inside their trees, away from the Minotaurs’ savage grasp.

Though that meant they’d never walk in this realm again.

Resolve poured through her. Lycus was her best friend, her confidante. Someday, when they were both older, she’d hoped he might be more.

The truth was bitter in her throat, but she stepped back from his embrace, pressing one hand to his youthful cheek. His pale eyes were the hue of an endless expanse of ice, not purely white but with touches of gray and blue. His lashes, long hair, and horse hide were of the same cool coloring. Yet there was nothing frigid in the way he gazed at her, longing and desperation in his scrutiny.

“This is farewell, my sweet friend. Please don’t cry for me. May we meet again.” She seized another pace back, toward her tree’s illuminated bark. It would open only twice in her existence, once for her birth and once for her death. However, she would continue to exist in the place from whence she’d been formed.

Whatever that would mean.

Her fingers slipped from Lycus’s cheek, and his tears splashed onto them. She brought her wet fingertips to her lips, though she couldn’t kiss away his suffering.

He stared at the ground, clenching both fists, then he glanced up at her, his eyes full of determination. “Forgive me, Aella, my sweet whirlwind, but I’m afraid we won’t.” Streams of air spiraled from his hands, spinning in icy currents around and outward, toward the hundred trees in her meadow.

“What are you doing?” She spun, panic flooding her chest, making the air sting her lungs. The wisps of frigid wind surrounded her family, uprooting them.

Around them, the dryads screamed while their trees shot into the air.

She whirled to Lycus, but he knelt on the ground, his fists clamped tight in the air and a frosty, luminescent mist consuming his form. “Don’t do this!” Whatever this was.

Airla lifted one leg, attempting to veer toward him, but the gusts of a thousand winds blew at her so hard it was like fighting a solid wall. She slammed her open palms against the barrier, yet the gale wrenched her backward, sweeping her up, too, with the trees and the dryads.

The whirlwind engulfed them, spinning them higher and faster, stealing her breath. On the ground below, she spotted the centaur, frozen as the winds encasing them.

Lycus, no. She formed the words, but no sound escaped her lips.

The meadow below vanished and blinding white light struck her.

Long, terror-filled moments later, she crashed into something soft, fluffy, and cold as death. Snow? Coughing into air almost too icy to inhale, Airla staggered to her feet and whipped toward her tree. Those massive roots plunged into the rolling banks of snow, down deeper and deeper she sensed them, until finally they discovered soil and sank in relief, rooting firmly.

Around her, a cascade of concerned cries arose as the other nymphs emerged from behind their trees.

Airla gawked at their surroundings, at a sea of white land, so harsh and forbidding, it was like staring into oblivion.

She rubbed her arms and blew on her hands to warm them.

Damn you, Lycus. You’ve killed us all.