Because John Pritkin wasn’t just a mage. His mother had been mostly human, but his father was Rosier, Prince of the Incubi, and he’d passed on part of his nature to his son. The part that allowed him to feed as the demons did, as the gods did, as Zeus had when he’d swallowed his wife and child…

And as I now did to him.

A punch of power hit my outstretched hand, hard enough to stagger me, but not to make me go down. It felt like it fried every hair on my body, assuming that I had any left, but it didn’t hurt, because I didn’t keep it. I sent it to Mircea, merging it with the huge pool of energy his family possessed, and which acted like a battery pack for the whole clan.

And then I took some more.

A lot more, also sending it to Mircea through our bond, sucking it down. And, this time, Aeslinn noticed. He had just put his foot through a barge that Agnes had been standing on a second before, but at that he looked up.

And just that quickly, she was forgotten.

It looked like she’d done all she could for me anyway. The massive bird cloud was shredded, with tiny bodies floating on the water everywhere. The streams of fire and junk had also petered out to a few random pieces burning brightly against the gloom. And when I spotted her on the opposite bank, where she’d just rematerialized, she looked exhausted. Her body was slumped, and while I couldn’t see her face, I had the impression of despair—and apology.

She was spent, having given the fight everything she had.

Fair enough; channeling the power of a god can be exhausting. So why did I feel fine? Why did I feel amazing?

Because I wasn’t channeling Aeslinn’s energy, like I did with the Pythian power. I was consuming it. I’d been sending most of it to Mircea, in an attempt to drain my opponent’s strength, but some had spilled over.

And it tasted wonderful.

Better than the best meal ever, and suddenly, I was starving. I pulled again, and this time, I didn’t send it on. This time, I kept it. And watched as my skin lit up with a golden glow, as warmth and sparkling energy coursed through my body, as the hair blowing around my face turned from sweaty, dull strands to glistening gold that rivalled sunlight, and as laughter—effervescent, joyous, and slightly mad—spilled from my lips.

Yes! Yes! This was what I’d been craving, this was what I wanted. Ambrosia, I thought, the nectar of the gods—from a god.

And then I pulled again, and this time, I didn’t stop.