Burning thwomps sprouted all over the ballroom, their charred limbs shooting toward the ceiling and releasing flames of monstrous proportions.
She screamed again as she sent their branches searching, spearing all those in their paths.
“Aflora!” Zephyrus shouted, his green eyes wild with concern. He’d ripped off his pin the moment he’d realized how he’d been used, his annoyance palpable. Now he resembled a disheveled guard, his dark hair wild and his eyes layered with unshed tears.
If anyone should understand Aflora’s reaction, it was him.
Yet he seemed hell-bent on stopping her show of power.
“Let her be,” I said, adoring this passionate display of temper. It was a literal dream to watch her let go, to use all that harnessed energy in vengeful glory.
Hmm, although, those who deserved the brunt of her explosion weren’t here. All the Councilmen and Elders were in another room. Except for Constantine.
It would do for now. He deserved this more than anyone.
However, his eyes were gleaming with approval as he met my gaze, his victorious smile giving me pause. Then, like a switch, that look dissolved into one of horror as he shoved away from the table, yelling, “Abomination!”
It took me two long seconds to realize his ploy, and to curse myself for not seeing it sooner.
“Everyone, run!” he screamed, his power igniting as he took on a defensive stance, the Warrior Bloods aligning with him. “Run!”
Fuck.
He was making an example of Aflora. Using her provoked display of power as a platform to stand on in his war against Quandary Bloods and abominations.
An alarming fact that came to fruition as whispers cascaded around the ballroom, the mounting terror feeding into his performance.
This was the real show.
And Aflora responded to her role in kind as flames engulfed all the exits, her emotions driving her reaction, not logic.
There were too many innocents in this room.
If she exploded now, she would never be fit to lead, even under a new regime. Everyone would fear her, realize Constantine was right to abolish those with too much power, and we would suffer another thousand or more years of this imposed segregation.
Destroying Constantine and the Council was what I’d always desired, and Aflora could absolutely accomplish that in this state.
But it wasn’t the right way.
Now wasn’t the right time.
It wouldn’t be on Constantine Nacht’s terms but on ours. I couldn’t afford for him to use her as a pawn like this, not after everything else he’d done.
He would not win. Not this round. Not ever.
I ripped my watch off and engaged my mental connection to my mate. Aflora. You need to calm down. This is what Constantine wants. He’s going to use this episode as a platform to stand on in his quest to annihilate us all.
She didn’t reply, her concentration on the destruction growing inside her, that beautiful ball of cerulean energy mingling with green and purple and her earth.
Life and death. She was repeating the words in her head with another phrase. Create and destroy.
No, Aflora, I said, crawling over to her on the floor.
She’d fallen off her chair moments after chaos erupted in the source, and I hadn’t stood back up after Constantine had hit me with a spell. I’d been too dazed and confused by the descension of power to attempt to fight. My father had drilled strategy into my mind from a young age, a gift I was astutely thankful for right now.
I grabbed her wrist. Aflora.
Flames sprang up between us as she tried to shove me away with her cerulean WarFire. I inhaled the spell with my mind, dismantling it before she could burn me. Then I encircled us with an impenetrable bubble. Zephyrus fell inside it, my enchantment tied to those with Aflora’s best interests at heart—which apparently included him.