Page 9 of Where Lightning Strikes Twice (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #2)

KAEL

I fly through the pre-dawn darkness, wings cutting silently through the mountain air. Behind me, the aerie’s distant lights shrink to pinpricks against the cliffside. No one knows I’ve left. No one can know where I’m going.

My wings burn with fatigue. The journey to and from the human settlement last night drained reserves I didn’t know I possessed. Yet here I am again, racing back toward enemy territory, toward her—the healer who worked impossible magic on my sister.

The eastern horizon begins to lighten, shifting from black to deepest purple. I push harder, knowing time grows short. I must return before the clan awakens, before Viktor notices my absence.

The human settlement appears below, nestled in the valley like a cluster of glowing insects. I circle once, memorizing patrol patterns, noting the reduced guard presence in the medical sector where the healer—Elena—keeps watch over my sister.

I descend in a tight spiral, landing with barely a sound on the facility’s roof. The shift from eagle to human sends familiar pain through my body, bones and muscles reshaping themselves into my human form. I crouch, listening, counting heartbeats until I’m certain no alarm has been raised.

The service entrance lies unguarded. Either Elena has arranged this, or the humans are more careless than I believed. I slip inside, moving through shadows with the silent precision that comes from hunting in three dimensions.

I find her in the quarantine room, bent over monitoring equipment, her chestnut hair falling across her face as she adjusts settings on a medical device. She doesn’t look up when I enter, though I’ve made no effort to announce myself.

“You’re early,” she says, still focused on her work. “I expected you after midnight.”

Her awareness of my presence surprises me. No ground-dweller should be able to sense a Storm Eagle approach. “How did you know I was here?”

She straightens, finally turning to meet my gaze. “I felt you coming. Like static electricity before a storm.”

The implications of her statement should disturb me. Instead, I find myself fascinated. This human doesn’t just have healing abilities—she has storm-sense, a trait exclusive to aerial shifters.

“Your sister is recovering well,” Elena continues, gesturing toward Zara, who sleeps peacefully on the medical bed. “The toxin is completely neutralized, and the tissue regeneration is proceeding faster than any medical technology could explain.”

I approach the bed cautiously. Zara looks peaceful, her color healthy, no trace of the fevered pallor that terrified me yesterday. The wound that had been black with corruption now appears as little more than a healing silver line along her arm.

“You did this,” I say. Not a question, but a statement of fact. “With the light from your hands.”

Elena’s expression shifts, becoming guarded. “I don’t understand what happened any more than you do. I’m a scientist, not a… whatever this is.”

“Magic,” I supply. “Ancient storm-touched healing magic.”

She bristles visibly at the word. “There’s no such thing as magic. Just biological processes we don’t yet understand.”

I almost smile at her stubborn rationality. How very human, to deny the evidence before her eyes. “Then how would you explain what happened?”

“I’m working on several hypotheses,” she replies, lifting her chin slightly. “Most likely, the electrical conductivity of my nervous system temporarily aligned with the storm energy that powers your people’s abilities, creating a bioenergetic feedback loop that accelerated cellular regeneration.”

I do smile then, unable to help myself. Her scientific explanation is both absurdly complex and endearingly earnest. “That’s a very long way of saying magic, Doctor.”

She narrows her eyes, but I notice the corner of her mouth twitch with reluctant amusement. “I prefer explanations that don’t rely on mystical forces.”

“And yet you’re harboring the sister of your enemy and waiting for his return. Why?”

The question hangs between us, unavoidable and dangerous. Elena turns away, checking Zara’s vitals on a monitor, but I sense it’s merely to avoid meeting my gaze.

“Professional curiosity,” she says finally. “Your sister’s physiology is unlike anything I’ve studied. The regenerative capabilities alone could revolutionize medical science.”

“Is that the only reason?” I press, moving closer.

She stiffens at my proximity but doesn’t retreat.

For a heartbeat, the desire to close the last breath between us is almost overwhelming.

I lower my head slightly, catching the subtle citrus-and-lilac scent of her skin.

My hand itches to reach up and trace the line of her jaw, to discover whether her lips taste as intoxicating as they look.

Her eyes widen, pupils dilating, but she doesn’t back away.

My breath mingles with hers as we hover on the edge of a kiss neither of us is supposed to want.

The tension snaps like a tightened bowstring when she suddenly turns back to the monitor, leaving me to swallow the ache of what almost happened.

“What other reason would there be?”

The air between us feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

I recognize it now for what it is—the nascent mate bond, pulling us together despite every logical reason to stay apart.

I wonder if she feels it too, this inexplicable connection that defies everything I’ve been taught about ground-dwellers.

“You promised answers,” she says, changing the subject abruptly. “About what I am. What this power means.”

I nod, accepting her deflection for now. “You’re storm-touched. A human carrying ancient Storm Eagle bloodlines.”

“That’s impossible. I would know if I had shifter ancestry.”

“Not necessarily. The storm-touch can remain dormant for generations, activated only by proximity to powerful storm magic.” I glance meaningfully at my sleeping sister. “Or by necessity, when healing is required.”

Elena shakes her head, but I can see uncertainty in her expression. “I’m a geneticist. I’ve studied my own DNA extensively. There were no shifter markers.”

“You were looking for physical transformation markers. Storm-touch is different—more subtle, more elemental.” I hesitate, then make a decision. Reaching inside my leather tunic, I withdraw a small vial of golden liquid. “This may help answer your questions.”

She takes it cautiously. “What is it?”

“My blood. Freely given, not taken in battle or theft.” The distinction matters in Storm Eagle culture—blood freely given carries intent, purpose, power. “Compare it to your own. You’ll find similarities your instruments couldn’t detect before.”

Elena stares at the vial with naked scientific hunger that makes me oddly proud. The healer may deny magic, but she craves understanding with a passion I recognize.

“Why would you give me this?” she asks. “It could be used against your people.”

“The same reason you saved my sister when you could have called guards to capture me,” I reply. “Because something tells you this matters more than the conflicts between our peoples.”

She doesn’t deny it, which feels like its own kind of victory.

“There’s something else,” I continue, nodding toward Zara. “When you healed her, you didn’t just repair damage. You altered her genetic structure slightly.”

Elena’s face pales. “That’s not possible. I wouldn’t?—”

“Not intentionally,” I assure her. “But the storm-touch in your blood resonated with her eagle nature. She’s stronger now, her connection to storm magic enhanced.” I meet Elena’s troubled gaze. “And it goes both ways. Your contact with her has further awakened your own abilities.”

“How can you know that?”

“I can see it. The storm aura around you has intensified since yesterday.” I reach out slowly, telegraphing my movement, and touch her hand. A small spark jumps between our fingers. “Feel that? Your energy recognizes mine.”

She doesn’t pull away as I expected. Instead, she stares at our connected hands with the same analytical focus she might give a laboratory specimen. “This defies everything I understand about biology.”

“Perhaps your understanding is incomplete.”

This earns me a sharp look, pride flashing in her eyes. “Or perhaps your magical explanations are simplistic substitutes for complex bioenergetic phenomena.”

I laugh, genuinely delighted by her stubborn defense of science. “We could debate terminology all night, but it doesn’t change what’s happening between us.”

“And what exactly is happening between us?” she challenges.

The question brings us to dangerous territory. I should leave, take Zara, and never return to this settlement. The mate pull is unmistakable now—a compulsion in my blood, a need to be near this infuriating, brilliant human who challenges everything I thought I knew.

Our traditions are clear: mating outside the clan is forbidden. The punishment is exile at best, execution at worst. And that’s for ordinary clan members, not the Stormwright himself.

Yet here I stand, unable to tear myself away from this ground-dweller who glows with storm light.

“Kael?” Zara’s voice, weak but clear, interrupts the moment. “When did you come back?”

I move quickly to my sister’s side, relief flooding through me as her golden eyes focus on my face. “Just now. How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been dropped from the highest peak,” she says, wincing as she tries to sit up. “But alive. Which is unexpected.”

Elena approaches cautiously from the other side of the bed. “You should lie still. Your body needs time to adjust to the accelerated healing.”

Zara’s gaze shifts to Elena, sharpening with interest. “You’re the human healer. I remember your hands… they glowed.” She looks between us, her expression growing troubled. “Brother, what have you done?”

The question carries layers of meaning only another Storm Eagle would understand. What traditions have you broken? What laws have you defied? What consequences have you brought upon our clan?