Page 13 of Where Lightning Strikes Twice (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #2)

KAEL

I reach the mountain clearing an hour before our agreed meeting time.

The night is perfect for secrecy—clouds obscuring the moon, a gentle breeze masking sounds, the promise of rain keeping patrols close to the aerie.

I’ve chosen this location carefully: a natural depression surrounded by ancient pines, invisible from both ground and air unless you know exactly where to look.

Elena should be safe here. Should be. The thought of her risking everything to meet me sends equal measures of dread and anticipation through my body.

I shift into human form and begin preparing the space, arranging the items I’ve brought from the aerie. A small lantern with a hood to direct light downward. A sealed container of healing herbs Elena requested for her research. The ancient text on storm-touched bloodlines I promised to show her.

The mate bond tugs at me, stronger now after multiple meetings. I can sense her approaching even before I hear her footsteps—a subtle warmth in my chest, an awareness that grows more insistent with proximity.

My visits to Elena over the past weeks have become necessary, addictive.

What began as exchanges of information—her analyzing my blood while I explained Storm Eagle traditions—has evolved into something dangerously intimate.

Our conversations reveal parallels between us that transcend our different worlds.

Her scientific mind complements my strategic one.

Her compassion balances my pragmatism. Her quiet strength matches my more visible power.

I’ve never met anyone who understands the burden of exceptional ability like Elena does.

A twig snaps nearby. I tense, lightning crackling instinctively between my fingers, then relax as I catch her scent on the breeze. Moments later, she appears through the trees, moving with the careful precision of someone accustomed to laboratories rather than forests.

“I wasn’t followed,” she says immediately, dropping her pack beside the lantern. “I took the route we discussed, and doubled back twice just in case.”

“Good.” I nod, unable to stop my eyes from tracing her features in the dim light. Her cheeks are flushed from the climb, wisps of chestnut hair escaping her practical braid. “You’re early.”

“So are you.” A hint of a smile touches her lips. “I wanted time to prepare my equipment.”

She kneels beside her pack, extracting several small devices that look distinctly more advanced than the portable testing kits she usually brings. My curiosity piques.

“New technology?”

“My own modifications.” Pride colors her voice as she arranges the equipment. “I’ve been adapting Haven’s Heart medical scanners to detect and analyze magical energy signatures. If I’m right, they’ll help us understand how storm magic interacts with your physiology at a molecular level.”

I crouch beside her, fascinated despite myself. “You built this yourself?”

“Technically, I repurposed existing technology.” She activates a scanner that emits a soft blue glow. “But yes, the adaptations are my design. The standard equipment wasn’t equipped to detect energy fields beyond normal biological readings.”

This is what continually draws me back to her—her brilliant mind constantly pushing boundaries, questioning assumptions, seeking deeper understanding. In another life, she would have made a formidable Storm Eagle elder.

“What do you need from me?” I ask.

She gestures to a clear space on the ground. “Sit there. I’d like to take readings while you channel different levels of storm magic.”

I comply, lowering myself cross-legged onto the forest floor. Elena moves around me, placing sensors at strategic points—on the ground surrounding me, clipped to my clothing, one held carefully in her hand.

“Start with minimal power,” she instructs, all professional focus now. “Just enough to create a visible effect.”

I extend my hand palm-up and summon the faintest trace of storm energy—a small spark dancing across my fingertips, barely enough to illuminate my skin. The sensors respond with soft beeps and flashing indicators.

“Incredible,” Elena murmurs, eyes fixed on her readings. “Even at minimal output, the energy signature is orders of magnitude more complex than anything in our database. Now increase gradually.”

I comply, letting more power flow through me. A small ball of lightning forms above my palm, crackling softly. The forest around us brightens with blue-white light, casting sharp shadows among the trees.

Elena circles me, adjusting sensors, her face illuminated by both my lightning and the glow of her equipment. “The molecular structure of the energy changes as it increases in intensity,” she notes. “Almost as if it’s… evolving in response to your emotional state.”

She’s right, though few outside the Storm Eagles understand this fundamental truth. Our magic responds to our emotions, becoming more volatile or controlled depending on our mental state.

“It is,” I confirm. “Storm magic is an extension of ourselves, not merely a tool we wield.”

She nods, continuing her measurements with methodical precision. “Now, maximum safe output, please.”

I hesitate. “That might not be wise. The energy could damage your equipment.”

“I’ve built in protective measures. Besides,” her eyes meet mine, determined and curious, “we need complete data.”

Reluctantly, I channel more power, letting the storm energy build around me. Lightning arcs between my hands, dancing up my arms, casting Elena’s face in stark relief. The air crackles with electricity, and the sensors emit a cacophony of urgent beeps.

Then something unexpected happens. As the lightning intensifies around me, I notice a faint answering glow emanating from Elena’s hands. She sees it too, pausing in her measurements to stare at her own fingers with a mixture of scientific fascination and personal alarm.

“It’s responding to you,” I say quietly.

She flexes her fingers, watching the silvery-blue light pulse with her movements. “The storm-touched bloodline Zara mentioned. It’s becoming more active with each exposure to your magic.”

I let my power fade, returning the clearing to near-darkness. The glow from Elena’s hands lingers for several seconds before slowly fading as well.

“Does it frighten you?” I ask.

She considers this seriously, a scientist evaluating data. “Not frighten, exactly. It’s… disorienting. My entire life, I’ve understood myself one way. Now I’m discovering I may be something else entirely.”

I understand this feeling better than she knows. Since meeting her, everything I believed about my nature, my destiny, my people’s place in the world has been called into question.

“What does the mate bond feel like to you?” I ask suddenly, surprising myself with the directness of the question.

Elena looks up, clearly startled. We’ve carefully avoided discussing this aspect of our connection, focusing instead on the scientific and cultural exchanges that give our meetings a veneer of pragmatic purpose.

“It’s…” she pauses, searching for words. “A constant awareness. Like gravity pulling toward you. Sometimes subtle, sometimes overwhelming.”

“Yes,” I agree, relieved by her honesty. “For me as well.”

She sets down her equipment, moving to sit across from me. The lantern casts her face in gentle light, revealing an expression of careful consideration.

“In my research,” she says slowly, “I’ve found references to storm-touched humans throughout history. They were rare, but they existed—often as bridges between different shifter territories.”

“Our histories mention them too,” I admit. “Though many of those texts have been… selectively interpreted by elders like Viktor.”

“The data I’ve gathered from your blood samples suggests the Storm Eagles weren’t always isolated,” she continues. “There are genetic markers indicating extensive interaction with other shifter types, and even with storm-touched humans.”

This aligns with my own recent discoveries in the ancient texts—revelations that challenge everything Viktor and the traditionalists preach about Storm Eagle purity.

“Viktor would call that contamination,” I say bitterly. “He believes isolation preserved our power.”

“But your people are struggling,” Elena points out. “The resource shortages, the dwindling territories—these aren’t just consequences of external pressure. Your genetic research must show the same patterns I’m seeing.”

I nod reluctantly. “Our healers have documented increasing difficulties with each generation. Fewer children are born. More developmental challenges. Harder to maintain eagle form for extended periods.”

“Classic signs of genetic isolation,” Elena says. “Without diversity, bloodlines weaken. It’s basic biology.”

“And yet we’re taught that our blood must remain pure to maintain our connection to the storm.”

Elena’s eyes flash with intellectual fire. “That’s scientifically unsound. My analysis shows the opposite—storm magic expression is actually enhanced by certain genetic combinations. The mate bond between us is proof of that. When our energies interact, both become stronger.”

I can’t argue with her logic, nor with what I’ve experienced myself. Since our connection began, my storm magic has grown more precise, more controlled. I can manipulate lightning in ways I never could before.

“Viktor would never accept this,” I say. “Too many of our people have invested too heavily in the myth of Storm Eagle superiority.”

“People cling to comforting lies over uncomfortable truths,” Elena replies. “Haven’s Heart is no different. They refuse to acknowledge that cooperation with shifter territories might be more beneficial than conquest.”

The parallels between our situations strike me anew. Both leaders in our own way, both questioning the orthodoxies of our people, both seeking a better path forward.

Lightning flickers in the distance, followed by a low rumble of thunder. A real storm approaches, not just the magic I control. Elena glances up at the darkening sky.