The golden-haired warrior was no more. He had been kissed by lightning and thunder, and scorch marks blackened the ground where he knelt. Thrumming with renewed Furies-given power, he stood. His hair, now silver, caught in the wind as he squared his shoulders. His gaze, now as dark as the shadows he’d vanquished, went to the young storm wielder on the parapet. ‘Holy shit…’ Wilder muttered, words Torj himself would usually say. He felt Thea at his side, following his stare from the Bear Slayer to Wren. ‘Incredible,’ she whispered. ‘She let him wield her power.’
