Doug was not a Mara; he was not one of the pure-blooded Warriors, the Protectors of the fae.
He had been aware of that since the moment he Changed – if he hadn’t been pretty sure of it long before that.
His father was a Mara who did not have Mara children. His mother was the halfbreed daughter of a Daeva (the Inspirers, the succubi, the pleasure-givers and pleasure-takers); said Daeva did not bear Daeva children any more than Doug’s father could have Mara. The chances of Doug being Mara were about as slim as the chances of him being elected president of the world.
His Change had just cemented that: his wings that would never sustain flight, his body that could not take damage the way that a Mara’s could.
The thunder that rumbled out of him when he was particularly irritated.
The fact that he was, when touching someone, when touching someone with his feet on the ground, stronger than his father or than any other Mara he’d ever gotten to spar with him.
He wasn’t a Mara.
Right now, he was damn glad of that.
His student Hestia – his newest, his youngest, his smallest student, Hestia – had felled the monster. She had done a damn good job of it, especially for someone whose Change was not warrior-related. But then the monster had made one great final heave – and landed on top of Hestia.
Hest weighed maybe 110, most of it muscle – but there was only so much muscle could do for you without any leverage. Her spear was still in her hand, but she’d dropped her blade.
And the monster weighed almost as much as three elephants combined, and was twice as fat.
Doug grabbed the nearest long thing – part of the building they’d been fighting in, a beam or something. The building probably needed it. He needed it more. He set his feet in the dirt, let his toes feel the ground below him, and pulled on the thunder.
He shoved the stick under the monster, aiming carefully, not wanting to hit Hestia, and he pushed.
Three counties away, they were closing their windows. The sky flashed and sparked. The ground flashed and sparked.
The corpse of the monster lifted, an inch, a handspan, a foot, two yards. Doug heaved, the world sparked, and the monster flew a couple feet through the air and landed with a wet thump.
He scooped Hestia up into his arms, muttering healing Workings and curse words at her indiscriminately.