The use of water is unexpected. Ignatius had shared the very short list of Withers’s skills, and they matched what Withershimself had alluded to in his call: Biometric Compass with Mind Manipulation.
It was the latter that had his license revoked.
An administrator in the Bursar’s Office had confessed to giving Withers confidential information and transferring Guild funds into his personal accounts with Withers’s encouragement—an arrangement that turned into coercion for sexual favors under the threat of police involvement.
It had made Grayson furious, but he couldn’t waste time thinking about the unexpected Talent now, only managing to get a protective wall of air up in time as Withers turns the droplets of water into tiny glass-like shards.
They pierce the shield like a pincushion until Grayson adds pressure, forcing them out and back toward Withers, who is grinning like a madman.
“Oh, youaregood. Fire, Air…what else are you hiding behind that pretty face?” He giggles—the epitome of a zombie-like frat boy in his peach polo shirt, jean shorts, and red Vans.
Grayson is preparing for the next onslaught when Rowan-wolf shoots past him with a roar, the intent to take Withers down clear in every muscle.
Withers’s amused mask slips at the interference in what he evidently viewed as foreplay. His face contorts with fury at having his game interrupted.
It’s shocking.
Where just a few weeks ago Withers had been moderately handsome—if sickly looking—the decay Grayson had seen in his Travels has worsened. Tufts of oily blond hair hang lank over sunken eyes, and his skin is mottled with seeping boils in some places, exposed bone in others.
Given the extent of the deterioration, it’s likely he’s escalated beyond Ansel’s soul to the abuse of even more.
Like the dead Weres beside the smoldering altar. Like Winnie’s.
The thought of his new friend makes Grayson hesitate.
It’s just enough time for Withers to use Air to lift the charging Rowan-wolf straight off the ground, trapping him in a transparent, binding hold.
Jay freezes beside him as Withers floats their immobilized mate higher and higher, finally holding steady at twenty feet—high enough to cause serious injury.
“Bad dog. So unfriendly. And…how rude, Handsome. I thought we were friends. We made plans.”
He drops his hand, letting Rowan fall a few feet before hefting him higher. Rowan growls, snapping his teeth, squirming in his invisible bonds as Finn catches his breath behind him.
“Gray…” Jay murmurs, his voice strained.
“I know.” Grayson runs through every way he can take Withers out and save Rowan.
He can’t do it alone.
But he can give Jay the opening he needs.
“You invited me, no? Twice now. Aren’t you happy to see me?” Grayson asks, weaving his own platform of air under Rowan-wolf in hopes it will slow the fall. It’s rudimentary—and nearly as hard as the stones under their feet.
Focused on Rowan, Jay doesn’t let Withers’s next words slow him down.
“Well, well, well. It’s the big bad wolf. I should have known Carnell couldn’t even get that right. What a fuck-up. I’m a tad disappointed Carnell’s heart won’t have been boosted by your death. It’s very rude of you not to cooperate.”
“Sorry, not sorry, dickwad,” Jay mutters, taking a few more steps toward the floating Rowan, intent on catching him in his arms if Withers lets the prison of air go.
“As you should be. Uh-uh-uh. None of that, though. The three of you are going to make it up to me while we wait for Carnell to show up. Big plans, if you recall.”
Three?
Where had Finn gone?
Grayson can smell the elusive scent of black currants behind him, but the wind keeps blowing it away.
“You keep talking about these big plans, but all I see is a failed ritual,” Grayson says with a shrug.
