A mixture of his and Alimphis’s magic echoed far in the distance, and relief crawled over his skin. “Mika,” he whispered.
Faust swiped at Mika’s magic, dragging his Blessed forward with great urgency and more force than necessary. His magic swept over two others near Mika—an unknown Servant of Power to Vasil and the four-stone user he’d sensed back in Konrad’s base, King Dragomir. Faust swallowed. Mika would come for him. He could do this.
Faust eyed the Volar swarm, spinning his magic around his hands. He snapped his wrists out, flinging purple blades of his magic that struck all Volar in his and Cian’s immediate vicinity.
He shoved magic into his sky stone, causing it to vibrate. He aimed at the Volliare, flicking his hands out wide. The wind twirled at his command, slicing the Volliare in half. The resulting explosion threw other Volar into chaotic flight paths as his stone shattered.
Faust grinned, the power exhilarating. Useless stones would not contain his magic. He could end them all right here—he could make Drokan kneel before him.
High King.
Faust startled, shaking the thoughts from his head, grateful for the voice’s interruption. He turned and spiraled down to Cian, his wings motionless to fall faster. Faust reached for Cian’s outstretched hand, yanking the man to him with a strength he didn’t normally have, knocking the wind out of him when their bodies collided.
Faust spread his wings, catching a wind drift to slow their descent. Cian held on, seemingly unbothered by Faust’s rescue, and still fired at a few stray Volar who came too close. Cian even wrapped another water veil around the pair. Faust wished he had Cian’s focus. It took everything he had to keep himself flying.
“Rath. Land. Quickly,” Cian said.
Faust descended, gritting his teeth. Aris had made this look easy.
Volar crashed into the forest, lighting the night sky, but strange cloth canopies floated with people hanging from them, bringing them to the ground.
Kill, kill, kill. Destroy them High King. Kill.
Faust sucked in a breath, the voice cutting through his concentration. Sharp pain pierced his skull as the voice grew in intensity, the order surging through his veins. No. No. He would not listen. Alimphis would react to anything he said or did, and in his panicked state, he didn’t want to imagine the possible damage.
Faust glided down, his limbs shaking once his feet touched the dirt. He collapsed, and Cian held him upright as he slid to his knees.
Kill.
Faust flexed his wings wide and curled them around himself, shuddering. He would not kill anymore today.
“You must return to being idle,” Cian said, his voice soothing.
Faust blew out a breath. His body shook and he could barely see straight. He felt drunk on magic like he had when Vasil shared his magic. He whimpered, ignoring the instincts that blared at him to make Cian take his magic. Faust needed his consorts—Cian would not do.
Cian reached under Faust’s wings toward the center of his back and rubbed between Faust’s shoulder blades. “Shh, calm breaths. Concentrate on my voice.”
Wrong. Cian’s touch was wrong. Faust snarled and shoved Cian away, magic bursting from his hands, dispersing Cian’s water veil again.
Cian slammed into a tree a small distance away, coughing. “I am not your enemy,” Cian said, raising his hands in surrender.
Faust shuddered, his instincts shifting to the thought of killing Cian—this man who was not his but could be. He shook his head, struggling against what his deity side wanted. It demanded he make a claim and send his magic to a consort, but he couldn’t do that.
“Concentrate on my voice,” Cian said again. “Calm breaths. The bite you feel will fade if you are idle. Then we can find who you need.”
Faust snapped his wings back, making himself appear larger, and glared. Cian knew what he felt—what he needed.
Cian took a deep breath and the man’s magic filtered into the air, flowing out toward Faust, who tilted his head, eyeing Cian’s bright white aura. Faust sensed no malice, not even a sliver.
“I will not stop you if you need to claim me,” Cian said, “but I am not who you want.”
Faust crouched, his wings poised to surge forward and do just that. Cian’s magic was intoxicating with the way it licked at his own, but the rational part of his mind told him Cian was not a Blessed Soul. Faust caught Cian’s gaze, surprised by the resolve—a resolve to die.
Take.
Wind burst around Faust and grasped his magic. Faust inhaled the aroma of the wild—of Aris. The wind carried Aris’s voice to him, whispering, “My king.”
A contented hum rumbled through Faust’s chest at the soft tone rippling through his soul. He knew it wasn’t Aris. Aris’s voice held a different tone. Still, it was enough to bring his magic into a slow balance with the lack of Ignas’s distracting warmth.
Faust concentrated on the wind, leaning on his hands.
The voice faded back into the garble of unintelligible words, giving Faust a chance to breathe. He inhaled and exhaled as his wings folded back and disappeared. Magic still simmered under his skin, but it remained idle, cut off from detection just as Vasil had taught him.
He had so much magic. It was no wonder he couldn’t do anything simple. By Alimphis, he wanted Ignas and Aris to take his magic. Vasil hadn’t mentioned how strong a deity’s instincts pulled at their magic. He closed his eyes tight, willing the rising arousal back, but his body sang with desire.
“Rath,” Cian said, the man’s magic spiking with a tone of urgency.
Faust dragged his attention to Cian’s tense form.
“I need you to remain quiet. We’ve got company.” Cian stood briskly and moved toward Faust.
Faust stood, his legs shaking, the gunshot wound throbbing.
Cian helped him over to a tree and leaned him against it. The water stone at Cian’s hip pulsed and a water veil washed over both of them. Cian readied a gun, pulling out another from a holster. He spun both guns in his hands, and red-orange light sparked from fire stones embedded in the grips.
Faust blinked. Cian’s form overlapped with the last memory he passed through. His movements were the same as Lars Chevaliar’s. Faust cleared his mind with a shake of his head, eyeing Cian. The way Cian used two guns reminded him of Ignas, too, and it ignited more want within him.
Faust curled on himself, focusing on keeping his breathing calm. He would not succumb to lust. Faust unhooked the gem from his bracelet and fiddled with it, letting his mind go blank.
A Drokan Knight stumbled from a bush into the clearing with a weapon drawn and swept the area for enemies.
Cian crowded Faust, but he didn’t block Faust’s view, and kept his guns ready.
A low growl rumbled a short distance from where Faust sat, raising the hair on the back of his neck. He scrambled away from the sound, his hands crunching on a twig.
The Drokan Knight pursued the sound, sword raised.
Cian aimed one gun at the Drokan Knight and aimed the other behind him, firing each. The knight fell with a sizzling bullet to the head, and the lone wolf collapsed feet from Faust.
Faust shoved himself farther away, desperately trying to regain control of his racing heart. If there was one wolf, there were bound to be more.
“I will take care of anything that comes up,” Cian said. “Please don’t worry.”