Storm Gods - G. Bailey Page 0,37

me on the comforter, helping me to prop my head up against a pillow before brushing the tear-stained red curls out of my face. “It’s okay, Karma,” he murmurs, his tone calm and soothing. “I’m here. We’re all here. Just breathe.”

“You’re not all here,” I protest, my voice cracking even as I say it. “Hugo’s dead. He’s dead because of me.”

Storm’s violet eyes go steely at that, his lips pressing together. “Hey, stop. Look at me, little one,” he says, taking my chin in his hand and turning my head so that I meet his gaze. “This wasn’t your fault,” he says, but even the conviction in his tone isn’t enough to convince me, and I can only shake my head numbly.

“This doesn’t feel real,” I mutter, staring down at the bedspread like it might burst into flames at any minute. It would be no less than what I deserve, I think bitterly.

“I know,” he says, using his thumbs to wipe the tears off my cheeks. “It never does, I think.” I just stare at him for a moment, not comprehending, and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. For someone I know is immortal, he looks more tired right now than he ever has before. “Back at the prison,” he says slowly, “I saw a great deal of death. More than my fair share. It was part of living in a place where people spent their whole lives.”

“This is different,” I insist. “Those prisoners didn’t die because of your mistake.”

“You were trying to do the right thing,” Storm replies, still rubbing tender circles over my cheekbones. His touch feels like the only thing keeping me grounded in reality. “You were trying to prevent more death. After what happened to San Francisco…” He seems to realise his mistake, his eyes going wide as a fresh bout of sobbing takes me over. “That wasn’t your fault, either,” he insists, pulling me into his embrace once more.

“You keep saying that,” I mutter.

“That’s because it’s true. None of this—none of what’s happened to us—has been your fault, Karma. And I’m going to keep reminding you of that until you believe it.”

Sniffling, I pull back to look him in the eyes. “All the people who died in San Francisco, and this still hits harder.”

“He was your brother,” Storm replies simply. It’s all that needs to be said. I bury my face in my hands. “He was your brother, and he loved you.”

“I loved him, too,” I murmur.

For a while, neither of us speaks, and then Storm clears his throat. “We will need to have a funeral,” he says. “It’s the least we can do, to honour him.”

I nod. “I don’t… I mean, I’ve never…”

“Don’t worry about that, little one,” Storm tells me. “Killian, Seth, and I will help. You and your family deserve time to grieve.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, reaching out to touch his cheek. “I mean it.”

“I know you do, Karma,” Storm murmurs. “Now get some rest.”

“I don’t know if I can sleep,” I confess. Truthfully, I’m exhausted, but I’m afraid of what dreams might come in the aftermath of what’s happened.

“I’ll stay here with you,” the storm god offers. “If you want, of course.”

“Yes,” I say, nodding. “Yeah, I… please.” The bright white agony is giving way to numbness, shock, and disbelief. The only other death I’ve witnessed was Jade’s, and I only knew her for a few days before being swept off into Xur’s dominion. Somehow, the idea of having time to process this makes the whole thing even more painful.

Moving slowly, like he doesn’t want to cause me undue stress, Storm helps me under the covers before climbing in beside me and wrapping his arm around my shoulders. To his credit, he doesn’t mumble platitudes or make half-hearted reassurances that it’s all going to be okay. He’s seen enough death in his four hundred years to know without asking that the world is coming down around me right now. Instead, he just runs his hands through my hair in the same simple, soothing movement, and in spite of my fear, I can feel the fatigue hitting me like a freight train. The world dims around me, and when sleep finally comes, it’s a mercy.

I’ve always hated funerals. Granted, until this period in my life, I’ve been fortunate not to have very much experience with death in general, but what little I had before doesn’t make me feel any better. I remember the time we went to the funeral of