Page 51 of Eternal Light (Fated in the Stars #5)

Strained By Dark and Ruin (Grayson)

They find Finn standing alone at the base of a staircase that runs upward on Grayson’s right. It’s narrow, just wide enough for a man to climb single file.

“He caught a whiff of something and was gone. Still in person form, though. For now,” Finn mutters the last under his breath.

Gusts of wind whip down the stairs, carrying Rowan’s spiced rum scent—and a nauseating stench of rotting flesh.

“What the fuck,” Jay says, his enigma nose more sensitive than Finn’s. Grayson has smelled that before: Withers.

Grayson doesn’t waste any time, taking the stairs two at a time, with his mates on his heels.

Standing at the top of the stairs, Rowan has the door cracked open. “Took you long enough. Look.” Given he’s taller and broader than everyone else gathered on the small landing, Jay has to pull him out of the way to see, too.

The foul scent is even stronger without Rowan blocking the way. Grayson can glimpse Withers standing under the full moon.

“Withers,” Jay growls.

The Plain floods Grayson with its power, as if their nemesis could be conjured by name alone, like a demon summoned from hell.

Sparks snap at Grayson’s fingertips, a matching growl falling from his lips.

Even Rowan’s magic flashes in Grayson’s periphery—a man one instant, The Wolf the next. His clothes in tatters, his nose in the air, he gives a low, menacing rumble that vibrates along Grayson’s nerve endings.

The beautiful Wolf Moon acts as a spotlight, illuminating the corner of the rampart where the wall had been built lower so viewers could watch the sunset over the edge.

Standing over a makeshift altar in the center of a circle of candles, Withers channels The Plain in great, swirling, oily black waves. The ominous aura is made worse as the wind blows the stench of death toward them.

It’s more than just Withers’s decay—Grayson can smell three dead Weres on the patio stone, their bodies illuminated by the flickering light.

The breeze also carries Withers’s smug words easily.

“I know you’re there, Handsome. Don’t be shy,” he drawls. “And bring your friends.”

Jay puts his hand out to stop Rowan from pushing past the door, just in case it’s an ambush.

“Gray?” He’s asking if Grayson detects a trap.

“I can see there’s magic, but it’s not aimed at us yet. Just stay out of the circle of candles,” Grayson says, drawing up as much power as he can without overloading his connection or bringing down the entire castle wall. “Stay behind me.”

Smiling, Jay cups his jaw. “I’m proud of the man you are, Pretty. Kick his ass.”

Grayson grins and nods. “Will do.”

Welcoming a surge of power, he feels it swirl at Jay’s proximity, flowing through Rowan-wolf, where he’s vibrating, pressed up against Grayson’s side.

“Be safe,” Finn whispers, his voice steady despite the turmoil around them.

There’s a light scrape of a claw against his earlobe—sharp, but grounding—and when Grayson turns, the sight before him steals his breath.

Finn, ever composed and gentle, now stands with long fangs descended and flashing blue eyes. In that moment, Grayson sees not just his mate, but a warrior born of quiet strength.

The presence of his brave, unyielding mates surrounds him, their magic feeding his power like a tide.

Witnessing Finn’s courage ignites something within him, and Grayson knows they are stronger because they stand together.

Flinging open the door, he lets twin fireballs coalesce in his palms as he breaks into a run that surprises both Jay and Withers.

Gathering his power, he flings the first fireball a bit wide, shooting past the shocked Withers’s head only to explode over the wall with a loud bang. The second follows immediately after, hitting the altar and setting it ablaze so that the wood groans and cracks from the heat.

The third fireball is met with a deluge of water in mid-air. The hissing steam flung back toward them feels like opening a sauna door.

The use of water is unexpected. Ignatius had shared the very short list of Withers’s skills, and they matched what Withers himself 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, you are good. 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.

“Easily fixed,” he says, waving his other hand over the flaming table so that a vacuum snuffs the fire out, before relighting the candles that had been casualties of their skirmish.

“I’m not going to let a bit of nosy interference delay me. Unfettered access to all the power of creation, as planned by the Moon Goddess. All this has to be under the Wolf Moon, the death of a powerful Wolf, and a place where all the elements meet.”

He waves his hand like a game show host. The wind picks up, carrying the sound of crashing waves toward him, the tiny flames from the candles flickering against the granite stones.

“Perfect, right?”

It was perfect. Horrifically so.

All the elements are in the right place at the right—wrong—time.

“So now what? Do you plan to suck Carnell’s soul under the moon? I’d like to see that. Well-deserved. If a bit romantic, but surely he won’t be eager to agree.”

“Ew. No sucking,” Withers says with a grimace.

It’s ironic because his lips have partially rotted away, leaving his gums and teeth visible through the flesh.

“I plan to take his heart. The heart of a wolf-king, taken during the height of the Wolf Moon, brings immense power. Men follow him, and he decides fates. He rules his domain. Surely you can see it’s inspired.”

He grins at his own cleverness, eager for Grayson’s praise like the narcissist he is.

“And then what?”

It sounds exactly like all the components of a ritual. Dark magic is something Grayson knows almost nothing about.

Magic users—himself included, thanks to his crash course yesterday—are trained to recognize The Plain as pure light; every wavelength, in every configuration, depending on the user and their gifts.

While the word spell can indicate a use of the light, there are no words in the practice itself. Just weaves, formulations, or mixtures of light.

“Spells” like the one Nimue had done for protection with her crystal goblet at their apartment were only meant to act as a focus for her light, a way of calling on other elements a user might not normally have as their Affinity.

But this monstrosity was not like that.

There was no telling where the mixture of words and magic had come from—ancient texts, or the creation of a madman harnessing soul magic.

It didn’t matter to Grayson.

He needed to be stopped.

Out of the corner of his eye, Grayson sees Jay nod, bracing to jump as high as he can to catch their mate—if Grayson can get Withers to just let go.

“Unlimited access to the Goddess’s power. I will rule the world. All will love me and despair.” He giggles at his clever use of virtuous Galadriel’s words, flipping his other hand over his shoulder like he’s tossing his hair. “Have power, don’t care.”

“So what now? There are three of us and only one of you,” Grayson taunts.

In a flash, he realizes his error.

He has a millisecond to process the next thirty seconds as they bloom behind his eyes. Just like in the gym at the Guild, when Rowan had fallen from the rafters in Ignatius’s office.

“Right you are…maybe I should even the odds a bit more?”

With that, Grayson’s vision is in motion.

As he’s predicted, Withers flings the hand he’s using to hold Rowan aloft out toward the wall’s edge. Like a wolf-shaped rag doll, Rowan shoots over the edge toward the deadly drop.

It all happens in slow motion.

As Rowan-wolf falls, Grayson is already flinging a shimmering, ribbon-like tether of fire and air out in front of him. At the same time, he Teleports past Withers and Jay. The magical tether latches onto Rowan’s wrist, his weight enough to pull Grayson over after him.

There’s an almighty roar above and behind them, so Grayson sends a second rope of fire and light upwards, knowing without looking that his alpha has them. He feels both tethers snap taut, yanking Grayson’s arms painfully between them.

When Grayson looks down, he sees that Rowan has shifted back mid-fall and has wound his other hand tightly around the fiery bond. Neither Rowan nor Jay is meant to handle The Plain in this form, but there’s nothing he can do to temper the burning pain from their grip on pure fire.

Looking up, he sees Jay’s face contorted with painful effort, claws dug into the edge of the wall, their alpha bearing their combined weight in one hand.

There’s a peal of maniacal laughter on the wind that transforms into a haunting scream before it’s cut off, and then there’s nothing but the howl of the wind.