Thin Air

“It’s just…big.”

He nodded slowly. “It is.”

And it had taken him a lot to risk the question-I knew that. David’s feelings for me were fierce and constant; it was part of who the Dji

Being married wouldn’t lessen that risk, but it was a symbol. A trust.

It all came down to trust. His, and mine.

“This is crazy,” I breathed. “What the hell are the Dji

“Nothing, if they know what’s good for them.” There was a glimmer of coldness to his tone. David was the leader of about half of the Dji

But I had to think about that, didn’t I? It wasn’t just the two of us. The Wardens might have a thing or two to say about a human marrying a Dji

The day was getting darker, the sky sliding from denim to indigo. On the horizon, the sun was nearly down, pulling its glorious trailing rays with it.

“Jo,” he said. “Please. Give me an answer. Either way, I still love you.”

I ought to say no. I knew that. I just knew.

“Yes,” I said, and something in me broke with a wild, silent cry. I was off the cliff now, and I realized, with a fierce joy, that I wasn’t falling-I was soaring.

His eyes ignited into the color of melting copper. “Yes?”

“Yes, already. I’ll marry you. Yes. Hell, yes.”

The phone rang again. David let go of my hands, picked up the extension, and thumbed it on without looking away from my face. “Mr. Garrett, I’m taking my lover to bed,” he said. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll reschedule your deadline.”

And he crushed the phone as if it were made of marshmallow crème, and dropped the smashed pieces on the patio table.

“Oh,” I said faintly. “Problem solved.”

On the horizon, the fire in Alligator Alley continued to glow. I discovered that I didn’t care at all.

But I did when I woke up, hours later, to the sound of sirens screaming, and David telling me that it was time to go, because my apartment complex was on fire.

That was it. I was never going on vacation.

Ever.

About the Author

Rachel Caine is the author of more than twenty novels, including the Weather Warden series. She was born at White Sands Missile Range, which people who know her say explains a lot. She has been an accountant, a professional musician, and an insurance investigator, and still carries on a secret identity in the corporate world. She and her husband, fantasy artist R. Cat Conrad, live in Texas with their iguanas, Popeye and Darwin, a mali uromastyx named (appropriately) O’Malley, and a leopard tortoise named Shelley (for the poet, of course). Visit her Web site at www.rachelcaine.com.