The Wind Weaver (Reign of Remnants, #1)

by Julie Johnson

I’m glad they plan to kill me at night, under the stars. It would somehow be worse to die with the sun shining down and a light breeze stirring the grass at my feet. Shadows paint a more fitting final scene for the snapping of my neck.

“For a long time, I thought there was nothing I would not do, no length I would not go to, if only to undo it. To rewind that day. To bring her back. To make it right.” He sucks in a breath so deep, his whole frame expands. “It is only lately, for the first time in seventy years, that I have felt my first bit of respite from those pointless longings. For if she were still here…you would not be.”

“Is it just because I’m the Remnant?” I wish my voice weren’t shaking. “Just because of some stupid prophecy that makes you honor bound to protect me?” “Fucking hell, Rhya!” His eyes bore into mine, aglow in the darkness. “I don’t give a damn about the prophecy. Not anymore. I care about you.”

“What if I want you complicating my life? What if I told you I can’t sleep or see straight without knowing you’re safe? What if I said just the thought of you being hurt, being killed, is enough to tear me to shreds?”

“Rhya.” His voice is very nearly a caress. “Some grief is too heavy to carry alone. Let go of it. Give it to me. I will carry it for you.”

You are the storm, Rhya Fleetwood.