Gordon curled two fingers, gesturing to Maeve to join Brayden and Diedre. A Healer, a Seer, and a Guardian… a mixed triad. They hadn’t worked together before, and they’d proven themselves largely incompetent. But presumably, they could do this one thing that set them apart as Councilors. Gordon met their eyes. “Shadow strip him.”
“What?” Maeve gasped. “Surely you don’t—”
“Do you want to join him?” he asked quietly, gratified when she stepped back hurriedly, shaking her head. “Then form a triad and do as I’ve asked.”
Slowly, clearly reluctant, they formed a loose triangle around Finn, who was still kneeling in the writhing Shadow chains.
“Please,” Finn whispered. “Please, don’t. I have a family. I don’t deserve this. Please!”
No one spoke. And no one moved. Even Brayden’s face had blanched. They were all perfectly happy to blame Finn for their losses, but none of them wanted to mete out the punishment that was due.
Gordon didn’t bother holding in his sigh this time. Did he have to do every bloody thing himself? He stretched out his hand and reached for the olive-green Shadows that swirled frantically around Finn.
He hadn’t done this before, but he’d read about it. Thought about it. Had the instinctive grasp of the power required and how to wield it.
Gordon twisted his fingers, sending out wave after wave of raven-colored Shadows to twine around Finn’s squirming olive-green aura—slowly at first, and then faster. He closed his eyes and felt his way forward. Allowed himself to sink deeper and deeper into the Shadow energy that buzzed and vibrated around the man, encouraging his own Shadows to tighten, tighten, tighten.
“Maeve,” he demanded, “support me.” There was a second’s hesitation, but before he had to remind her of the consequences of disobeying, her pine-colored Shadows joined his, twining like brambles through and over Finn’s thrashing Shadows.
“God. Please!” Finn’s voice rose, desperation and fear shuddering through his words.
It meant nothing, now. He should have done what he was fucking told. And Gordon could feel the vitality. Could feel the essence of the man in the vibrations running up and down his own Shadows.
“Diedre. Brayden. Join us,” Gordon barked, and within a few seconds, gleaming Shadows in navy and brick red were pouring into the fray.
A writhing serpentine mass of Shadows—directed by Gordon—wound themselves over and around, clasping and clutching at Finn’s Shadows.
The rush of power was exquisite. Gordon could feel them all. Their lust for power, their fear, disgust, flickers of vengeful joy, and beneath it, Finn’s terror. It was all controlled by him.
He used the strength they’d shared to bolster his own sliding Shadows, wrapped them tightly around the deepest part of Finn, searching down through the man, layer after layer, right into the very core of what made him human… andpulled.
Finn screamed. A horrific sound of tortured pain and panic. But Gordon hardly noticed. He was too consumed by the glory of his achievement. This total power over another being. Overallother beings.
He found another even more deeply embedded Shadow, and tore it out at the root.
Diedre grunted beside him, but he didn’t falter. He rode her Shadows, letting them carry his, supporting him, filling him with power. Just as he did with Maeve’s and Brayden’s Shadows, threading them so tightly together, the blues and greens and reds, that they were almost one. Together they made the color of rust, or of old blood. They climbed over Finn’s Shadows like blight—and far more deadly.
Finn howled. He collapsed to the ground and curled into a quivering ball, sobbing and begging, but it couldn’t save him.
Gordon flew higher and higher, tearing and rending, shredding every last filament of Shadow, shattering the very essence that made Finn a Shadow Weaver, a member of the Dru-vid, and a person.
Gordon roared out his final deadly push of destruction. This was what it meant to be a god. The power of life and death, growth, and destruction—and it washis.
Finally, there was nothing left to destroy. Gordon panted as he shook out his hands, letting go of the vice grip he’d held on the Shadows. Letting them all float away.
God. It was better than sex. Better than riches. Better than anything he’d ever experienced.
Finn was silent. Gordon nudged the toe of his Italian, hand-stitched Oxford shoe into the curled-up body. Nothing happened. Finn didn’t move. Well, it was probably to be expected—even norms had Shadows.
But not Finn. Not anymore.
Gordon pulled the silk handkerchief out of his top pocket and dabbed at the sweat on his brow while the impromptu triad shuffled back, clearing space around him with the deference they should have given him all along.
The world shone almost too brightly. Power trickled through him with rippling aftershocks, sizzling along his spine and sparking through his thoughts.
He looked down at Finn, thinking. Emma had destroyed almost all of his blood Shadows and stolen the etched bowl. And then Finn had cost him James. He was due to meet with the Prime Minister in less than two days, and he only had one small vial of blood Shadows left….
But then he realized something. There was one weapon left. A weapon that he kept with him at all times. A weapon he was so familiar with that it hadn’t even occurred to him before.
