“All the difference in the world.”
“Then I believe.” She cupped his face, laid her lips on his, poured all she was into that one moment. “You have all my faith.”
“Then I can’t lose.”
He changed quickly, joined the others.
“You’ll be in the firestorm, and in the deluge,” Bran told them. “I’ll do what I can to send it up, away from you, but it’s going to be rough.”
“I like it rough.” Doyle drew his sword, sent Riley a glance. “Sexual innuendo intended.”
“Good one.” She drew her gun, gripped her knife.
“Keep her minions off me when you can.” Sawyer looked up, realized he didn’t need Sasha to tell him they were coming. Overhead, the sky already thrashed. “If she’s with them, and the seer says yeah, I need to get close enough to pull her in. I may need a toss-up,” he said to Bran.
“You’ll have it.”
The sky cracked open, shaking the world. And the bitter, flaming dark poured out.
“All my faith,” Annika told him.
Then they charged.
He dodged fire that speared out of the sky, lanced into the ground to sizzle. Whatever protection Bran had wound around the villa had that fire bouncing off—like striking a force field. And some of those fiery balls and lances ricocheted into the sharp wings of diving birds.
Yeah, a little of your own medicine, he thought, and took out a swarm with bullets.
Hot, spinning sparks spewed up, and he learned they had a nasty bite.
He fired, fired, slapped in fresh clips, fired. The world was fire and smoke, the blast of bullets, the slice of blade, the whoosh of bolts. And the lightning.
Then came the flood.
He’d been warned, Sawyer reminded himself as the force of Bran’s storm whipped over him. Wind and madly driving rain, lightning jagging through the dark.
He saw Annika’s bracelets flash, laid down a stream of shots over her head to destroy what came at her.
Spears of fire drowned in the rain, and the cool, clean wet soothed his burns. He caught the blur, thought Malmon. Fast, but not as fast as he’d been. Still healing, Sawyer thought as he took aim.
But the ground heaved up, knocked him back into a crawling fog that hissed and bit. He flipped up, for the first time really grateful for the dawn training. He nearly lost Malmon in the haze as that blur arrowed toward Sasha.
He gave a shout of warning, spun to shoot. But Bran’s lightning glanced off that blur, sent it spinning away. He caught a glimpse of Riley charging Doyle, and Doyle catching her foot in his hand, heaving up so she flipped high, firing at a circle of birds.
He wondered when the hell they’d worked that one out, then had no time to think.
She broke out of the dark, shocking the air so he felt the charge of it lift the hair on his arms, the back of his neck. Once again she rode the three-headed beast, but now wore some sort of armor, black as the night.
She heaved thunderbolts, flooded the rain with liquid fire that burned a vicious orange as it fought to slide through the storm.
Focused on Bran, he noted, as the rest rushed to circle around him. Take out our magick, then scorch the rest. The Cerberus screamed in triumph, tongues flicking more fire, eyes as crazed as its rider’s. The world quaked as power clashed with power, and Sawyer braced his legs against it, took aim.
His bullets struck each head, had them whipping back in shock as those triumphant screams went to shrieks of pain.
“It’s now,” he shouted. “Right now! Send me up!”
Shooting his weapons home, he gripped the compass.
He flew, grateful now he’d had the experience with Bran once before or he might have fumbled. With Nerezza fighting to control her beast, with her rage focused on the five, Sawyer put everything he had into the moment.