It screamed, and it burned.
When her quiver emptied, she used her knife, her fists, her feet to clear a path so she could grab up bloodied bolts and reload.
Another vial exploded, and again, and still more gushed from the black sky.
“It’s now.” Bran grabbed her hand, then shouted for Riley to set off the first bottle. “Hold on,” he told Sasha, and wrapped his arm firmly around her waist.
It wasn’t like flying—somehow she’d thought it would be. It was like riding a rocket, so hot, so fast, all blurred in speed.
Then she was on the promontory with him, as she’d been in dreams.
“Stay behind me, or I swear I’ll send you back.” He pulled her against him. “Whatever happens, stay behind me.” His mouth crushed down on hers in a kiss as full of heat as the flight. “I love you,” he said, then turned to call the storm.
She thought she knew. She’d dreamed it, hadn’t she? Again and again. But she hadn’t known what he could call, what he could rule, what he could risk.
Power shook the air, the ground, and the sea below as he lifted his arms.
“In this place, in this hour, I call upon all worlds of power. What you are, bring to me across the land, across the sea, to rise and rage with furious might and rid the world of this blight. Roar the thunder!”
It boomed like cannon fire.
“And with your voice rip them asunder. Hot blue flames of lightning spears.”
It tore out of the sky, electric blue and blinding.
“To burn all darkness that appears.
“Whirl wind across their flight and send them spinning into the night. Pour the rain in white-hot flood and drown them in their own black blood.”
She’d fallen to her knees, rocked by what he unleashed. The wind shrieked around her, tore at her clothes even as the wild rain plastered them to her skin.
Through the gale she could see flashes below—the bottles with their blinding light exploding, the slashing lights, then sudden strikes of lightning.
And hundreds, perhaps thousands of those winged bodies spinning, tumbling, falling with screams that rang in her ears.
And yes, he was the storm. He burned as blue and hot as the lightning he called, arms raised high, that wild light flaming from his fingertips.
Even through the deluge, she tasted triumph. They were beating back the dark.
And Nerezza rode through the storm.
Her hair flew black as the night in the wind. Her eyes glowed through the dark, full of hate and fury and terrible power.
She rode a three-headed beast with snapping jaws, long, flicking tongues.
On a peal of laughter, she batted a spear of lightning aside, grabbed another and hoisted it like a lance.
“Do you think your puny powers can stop me?” Her voice boomed, like the thunder. The taste of triumph iced into fear.
“I am a god. I rule the dark, and your light is nothing but a dying flame against my power. I will drink your blood, sorcerer, and suck the seer’s mind empty.”
She glanced down when the light exploded below.
“And when I’m done, I’ll cut the others to pieces for my hounds to feast on. Give me the star, and live.”
His answer was to fling another blue bolt, one that singed the scales of the beast she rode. It shrieked and reared up in pain.
“Then die, and when I feed on you, I’ll simply take what’s mine.”