Shadow's End (24 page)

“I am not preventing her from working,” Khalil said. “I am preventing anyone from harming her.”

Grace's sigh sounded clearly from within the cloak, and she looked around the room. After a few moments, she shook her head again. “I don't sense any unusually strong connections, and that's the only way I would know to look for it. Khalil, will you please get off me now?”

Silently the Djinn flowed away from her body and solidified into a man again. He resumed his former position, arms crossed and unrepentant.

Grace told Graydon, “The reason I mentioned it is because we were talking about whether or not Malphas was controlling you. Constantine said your behavior was constricted in
some way, and I can see that you have a connection with a Djinn. Although that in itself isn't unusual. Several of us have connections with Djinn. A couple of us have quite a few. I've accrued quite a few, myself—I'm now considered quite wealthy by Djinn standards, as a lot of them owe me favors.”

Rune angled his face toward Graydon again. “Don't tell me you made a bargain with a pariah Djinn. Did you? Is that restricting you from answering certain questions?”

When Graydon didn't reply, Rune swore under his breath.

From his slouching position by the window, Constantine remarked, “You know, I've been racking my brains, trying to figure this puzzle out. What could it possibly be? You've presented us with several cases where Malphas clearly preys on gambling addicts, yet you can't or won't say how you got the information, or why you're pursuing it.”

Nearby, Bel shifted in her seat. It was another tiny tell that didn't go unnoticed. Graydon swept the room with his gaze. Julian's attention hadn't shifted from Bel for quite some time. Both Claudia and Carling watched her too.

Restlessly, Constantine pushed away from the wall, wagging one finger. “Wait a minute. Two hundred years ago, when we went to London—there was a gaming hell that Weston razed to the ground. I remember since it had been so notorious. The news was all over the city the next morning. It especially caught my attention because we had just been visiting with Weston at the Vauxhall masque. At the time, he had seemed perfectly relaxed. He hadn't given any indication of what he was about to do. Of course, he always did have a hell of a game face.”

Come on, Constantine, Graydon thought. Piece it together.

Aloud, he said, “The case I've presented to you stands on its own merits. Anything else is speculating outside the boundary of this investigation.”

“Did Malphas own that gaming hell?” Rune asked Graydon.

Could he answer that? Ownership of Malfeasance had to be a matter of historical fact, but acknowledging Rune's question with a direct answer might be too leading. It could
trigger the bargain, and he and Bel had already skated such a fine line tonight.

So far, he had essentially said just two things. The first was that he wanted to kill Malphas.

The second thing he had said was: here are the facts of an investigation. It was entirely based on other people. None of it touched on Ferion, or stemmed from what had happened in Wembley.

He glanced over at Bel. This time, she gave no hint of what she was thinking or feeling. She kept her gaze on her hands, folded in her lap. She held so still that to an outside observer, she might look like an exquisite Elven statue.

Graydon had seen her many times throughout the years in movement. Normally, her beautiful face, and every gesture and word, were alive with expression. Now, her very stillness was as loud as a shout, for anyone who knew how to hear it.

Carling studied Bel with a heavy-lidded glance. If there was anyone else present who might have the capacity to hear Bel's silent language, it would be Carling.

Constantine looked from him to Bel, and back to him again.
Malphas. You. Beluviel. London. Weston. Gambling addicts. Gaming hell. It's all connected somehow, isn't it? How is it connected? I've never heard of Beluviel having a gambling problem. If she gambles, that has sure been one hell of a well-kept secret. Calondir's dead, so he doesn't matter anymore. Ferion, though—once upon a time I remember he had a wild streak, before he settled down.

Graydon fought to keep his face stony, unrevealing.

Suddenly Constantine breathed, “God damn. Goddammit. It's Ferion, isn't it? Malphas has a soul lien on the Elven High Lord.”

And that, of course, broke the whole thing wide open.

•   •   •

H
earing one of the other sentinels utter the truth out loud sent a thrill of terror through Bel's muscles. Inwardly panicking, she forced herself to remain immobile, while she ran through everything in her head.

Had they played it carefully enough? She couldn't feel Malphas's presence, but at the moment, she couldn't feel anything beyond her own chaotic emotions.

When Carling squatted in front of her, she startled violently.

She had a long acquaintance with Carling that spanned centuries. Over time, she had watched the other woman rise in political influence and magical Power, but always from a distance. They had been pleasant to each other at public gatherings, but they weren't close.

Now, Carling's dark eyes were warm with concern. She put a slim brown hand over both of Bel's and squeezed lightly.

Carling asked in a gentle voice, “Bel, is your son under Malphas's control?”

Bel dropped her gaze to their hands.

Don't say a word. Don't acknowledge the question. Don't betray anything.

Gods, let it be enough.

Carling said, “She's shaking like a leaf.”

“Leave her.” Graydon's voice sounded unexpectedly harsh, and close.

Carling pulled back as he shouldered in front of Bel.

“I'm all right,” Bel told him. “It's okay. It's . . .” At the last moment, she remembered to switch to telepathy.
After so many years, it sounds incredibly dangerous to hear other people talking about this.

That's because it is dangerous,
he replied. His dark gray eyes held so much understanding, the expression in them highlighted just how alone and isolated she had felt for so many years, despite being surrounded by loved ones.

She gripped his hands as he knelt in front of her.

There was something so poignant about the moment, surrounded as they were by a sharp, rapid conversation. They remained wrapped in silence, existing on the edge of other people's reality yet entirely immersed in the gigantic landscape they had shared together.

That, to a large extent, they had created together, a
landscape filled with too many secrets, too-brief laughter, warmth, sensuality, and a quiet, enormous determination.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the concerned, wary glances that the others gave them. She didn't care what they saw when they looked at her, but she couldn't help wondering what they saw when they looked at Graydon.

Did they only notice the big, kindly, somewhat rough man dressed in plain workman clothes? Did any of them recognize his large heart and true nobility?

She whispered to him, “Please tell me the people in your life value you as much as you deserve.”

A look of vulnerability flashed across his face. Gently, he captured her hand again and pressed her knuckles against his lips.

Behind his shoulder, Constantine came into her focus. He was watching them, looking worried, fascinated and surprisingly wistful.

“Graydon and Beluviel,” Khalil said in such a strong voice, they turned to him. “No one will ask you any more questions you cannot answer. Do not acknowledge what I say next—just listen. We believe that Malphas has control over the Elven High Lord. And we believe that you must remain silent about that, because he has threatened to hurt Ferion in some way, or perhaps he has threatened to harm either or both of you.”

“Graydon wouldn't let the threat to him stop him from taking action, if he thought it was needed,” Rune said.

“Acknowledged,” said the Djinn with an imperious tilt of his head. “Still, a threat in some form is present. Grace has determined you both have a single connection to a Djinn. I believe it stems from a bargain with Malphas. Otherwise, you would not need to be so circumspect in what you say—or don't say. While some of this conjecture may be wrong, enough of it is true to guarantee one thing. Now my father will have no choice but to take the strongest measures possible.”

Graydon blew out a breath.
There it is,
he said softly to her.
There's our war. The genie is out of the bottle now, and there's nothing we can do to stuff it back in.

You were leading to this all along,
she said.
That's why you investigated so carefully, why you built such a comprehensive case, and it's why you wanted to have a group meeting. You hoped the others would put things together and come to the right conclusions.

More or less,
he said. Ducking his head, he gave her a sidelong, wry glance.
Frankly, I didn't have things that well planned. For example, Con really did push his way into this—and he was the one who had all the right pieces. If I hadn't been so focused on keeping this separate from the Wyr demesne, I would have seen that and included him sooner.

How could he be so adorable and dangerous at the same time?

Leaning forward, she put her arms around his neck. He leaned into her embrace and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight.

She hid her face in his neck. He put his face in her hair. For one more magical moment they stayed alone, in their intimate landscape.

Then his arms loosened. When he pulled back, she had no choice but to let him go, although she resented every inch of physical space that grew between them as he sat back on his heels.

He asked, “I think we're ready to call Soren now, don't you?”

She nodded and stood along with him. “We need to move quickly. The longer I'm gone, the more unpredictable everything feels.”

As she turned to the group, she found everyone staring at them in varying degrees of surprise.

They might have separated physically, but Graydon took a protective stance at her shoulder, turned partially to face her. All she had to do was shift her weight to her left foot, and she could lean against his broad chest. Knowing that comforted her immeasurably.

Graydon asked the group, “Who has a connection with Soren?”

Carling, Grace and Khalil all said at the same time, “I do.”

“Please, do allow me,” Khalil said. Despite Bel's concern
over what came next, the Djinn's satisfied expression caught her attention. He was clearly looking forward to holding his father accountable.

In a quiet yet strong voice that reverberated with Power, Khalil said, “Soren.”

Silence fell, as everyone stilled, bracing themselves for the Djinn's arrival. For a few moments, nothing happened.

Carling raised one eyebrow. She murmured, “He must still be miffed at you for getting together with Grace.”

“He can bite me,” Khalil said between his teeth.

The modern slang, combined with the particular viciousness with which he had said it, spoke volumes about his own feelings toward his father.

A surprised sound, something between a snort and a cough, escaped Melly.

Grace had turned tense. “You haven't talked to your father since he tried to imprison you,” she muttered. “Just wait. He'll be curious enough to come.”

The young Oracle was right.

Before Bel could do anything more than wonder at why Soren would have tried to imprison Khalil, a comet of Power arched toward them from an uncounted distance, approaching impossibly fast.

A whirlwind entered the room, spinning faster as it coalesced into the figure of a tall man with craggy features, white hair and the piercing diamond eyes of a Djinn.

Soren, Khalil's estranged father and the head of the Elder tribunal, had arrived.

FIFTEEN

K
halil might be dangerous and Powerful, but his father was a first generation Djinn. Born at the beginning of the world, Soren shone with a fierce white Power.

Bel was also one of the eldest of her kind. While her Power was connected to the earth, she could still look on Soren without flinching, but she saw that those who were much younger—Melly, Claudia, Grace and Luis, and even Julian—had to brace themselves for the onslaught of Soren's presence.

Soren had coalesced on the opposite side of the room from Khalil. Once he arrived, neither Djinn's human form appeared to move, but the air bristled between them.

Stirring, Constantine muttered, “They're like beta fighting fish.”

“What an interesting gathering,” said Soren. “Which of you is going to tell me why my son has summoned me here?”

“I am,” Graydon said. “Although I'll leave the others to tell you the details. You and I, along with anyone else we can get to fight along with us, are going to kill Malphas.”

Soren lifted one white eyebrow so imperiously that,
despite their differences in physical form and temperament, for one moment he looked remarkably like his son.

He drawled icily, “Please explain what brings you to such a remarkable and presumptuous conclusion.”

Bel didn't think Soren was prepared for all the reasons that bombarded him from every direction. The Djinn stood immobile in silence, absorbing every comment.

Wrapping her arms tightly around her middle, Bel looked down at her shoes and refused to react or respond as Constantine, Khalil and Carling launched into why they had concluded that Malphas had placed a lien on the Elven High Lord's soul.

Smoothly, Graydon slipped his big body in front of her, putting his back to everyone else in the room. When he took hold of her upper arms, she raised her gaze to his.

Just like that, they fell into their intimate landscape. Everyone else existed outside the borders. All their noise, all their strenuous argument.

Inside the boundary, Graydon's eyes were warm, calm and clear, lit by a slight smile and free from fear.

She held her hands out to him. In a long, light caress, he slid his fingers down the length of her arms and clasped her fingers. With that gesture alone, he made her feel remarkably precious and incredibly valued.

He was so unlike Calondir's stern, cold personality, she found it hard to believe that the two males had occupied the same universe.

Calondir had been obsessed with the letter of the law, but he'd had no real sense of compassion or the ability to make deep emotional connections to others. She hadn't truly seen that until after they had married. It made many of his decisions harsh and unyielding. She suspected it had also made it easier for him to lash out when he grew angry.

Calondir's son and heir had been his most prized possession. For too many years, she had watched Ferion as a boy try time and again to win his father's love, until eventually he had stopped trying, which was the most heartbreaking
thing of all, while Calondir never comprehended what he had lost.

Whereas Graydon . . . He would make an incredible father, if he were only given the chance.

His warmth, patience and affection appeared to be boundless. He would love his child with all of his big, generous heart, and do everything in his power to ensure the child felt safe, wanted and loved. Graydon would always be faithful and welcoming, always be a steady touchstone for a young, vulnerable mind.

The part of her that had gone cold and distant so very long ago, the part that he had resurrected with a touch, resonated to the realization with an immense internal vibration.

He was everything she could possibly want—everything she had always wanted. Among other things, his very loyalty had made him Dragos's First sentinel. It was also why he would never walk away from his obligations.

She was horribly jealous of that stupid, arrogant dragon.

Stinking, raving jealous.

Tightening her fingers on his, she said softly, “Now that you've forced Soren's hand, you don't have to go to war against Malphas. You can step away from all of this and go back to your life.”

He gave her a smile that was so remarkably sweet, she felt as if she had lived for hundreds of years just so that she could see it one more time. “No, I can't, Bel.”

“Why not?” she whispered.

He tilted his head. “Would you walk away?”

Her response came from her gut. Walk away to leave her son's fate in the hands of others? “Never.”

His thumbs stroked over the backs of her hands. “Why not?”

Involuntarily, the answers ran through her mind.

Love and commitment. She would die before she let go of fighting for her son.

While his father had viewed him as a possession,
she
had been his only touchstone.

Hers
had been the hands that small towheaded toddler had reached for when he had taken his first steps.

Her
lap was where the young boy had buried his head when he had sobbed out his hurts and disappointments.

She
was the one the proud young man had looked to when he had achieved an accomplishment.

She
had been the one to tell him with fierce, passionate pride, “Well done.”

The only thing that could make her turn on Ferion would be to find out that he had become unsalvageable, as corrupt as Malphas, and a danger to others.

Because, the simple fact was, she was not built to do anything else.

You did not walk away from those you loved. You fought for them, always, with everything you had, even if it meant fighting the long fight, and staying on the hardest, quietest, most difficult course.

No matter how long it took, no matter what needed to be done.

Her lips parted on a soundless intake of breath. That couldn't possibly be what Graydon meant by asking.

Could it?

It was a hell of a logical leap for her to make, from what he had
actually
said, which was
let's see where we might take this
to love.

And now wasn't the time to ask what he had meant. Not with ten other people with super sharp hearing and an abundance of curiosity overcrowding the room, not to mention an impending war with a Djinn.

Words fell out of her mouth anyway. She, who was respected for her sense of diplomacy and discretion, had no control over herself. The last twenty-four hours had obliterated any filters she might otherwise have had.

“What are you saying?” she demanded, yanking his hands.

At her vehemence, he looked quietly astonished. Then his expression shifted to something very male, and so intense it rocked her foundation.

He yanked her hands in return, only his grip was so strong, he pulled her forward until she collided with his chest.

She had to tilt her head back to keep staring at him. The front of her torso, everywhere they touched, felt seared by his hard body. Oh gods, she had
never
forgotten how hungry she had been for him, back in England, but this felt entirely new, deeper and more raw than anything she could remember or imagine.

“Intense though your conversation may be,” Soren snapped, “you will have to set it aside for later.”

The Djinn's acid tone splintered the bubble that surrounded Bel. Flinching, she realized Soren had moved across the room and stood right beside them. The Djinn looked furious.

Moving so fast he blurred, Graydon snatched at Bel, clamping her against his side, away from the Djinn. At the same time, he snarled at Soren wordlessly.

Oh, dear gods.

Graydon's normal features, that had become so beautiful and dear to her, had vanished.

In his place stood a huge monster, with a feral, distorted face, fangs and claws. In an instant, he had gone from gentle, even sensual, to barbaric and half animal.

Bel's mouth fell open, and she goggled at him.

“Whoa, okay,” Constantine said sharply. “Back up, Soren. Back up, now. How the hell do you get a Djinn to back the fuck up? Like right now!”

“I told you he was close to flipping his shit,” Luis said.

Rune ordered, “Everybody else, leave the suite! Go out into the hall!”

Carling's calm, telepathic voice flowed into Bel's mind.
Bel, you need to talk to Graydon and get him to calm down. Do it now.

I don't understand,
Bel stammered. Funny, she didn't feel the slightest bit afraid. Simply astonished and confused. She hadn't sensed any threat in the room, yet Graydon was clearly primed for battle.

Soren backed away, looking astonished and thoughtful.

I've seen this behavior before, and I know what it is,
Carling said.
We'll talk about it later. Don't be afraid, honey.

I'm not afraid.
Bel switched to verbal speech. She said as calmly as she could, “Graydon, my love. All is well. There's nothing dangerous here at all. Can you look at me?”

The monster had not stopped glaring at Soren. His long fangs were exposed in warning. The massive muscles in the arm that held her clamped to his side were hard as iron.

Where had her gentle giant gone? This was the same monster who had faced down Malphas in the Djinn's country manor house in Wembley.

Something about Soren's antagonistic attitude had triggered Graydon's fight instinct.

The monster didn't appear to pay any attention to her, but she noticed the sound of his growling subsided.

Hoping he quieted so he could hear the sound of her voice, she continued softly. “I need for you to pay attention, Gray. Are you listening to me? I need for you to pay attention to me
right now
.”

She injected all the urgency she could into her voice.

The monster's gaze snapped to her.

Relief caused her muscles to turn shaky. He could listen to her. He could respond.

She laid a palm against his cheek. “Watch only me,” she whispered. “Never mind anything else that happens. Pay attention only to me.”

As people quietly slipped out of the room, the monster turned his head toward the movement and hissed.

Bel felt her eyebrows shoot up. He seemed to be protecting her? His behavior was beyond irrational. It was . . . it was . . .

When the answer finally came to her, she felt her world undergo an irrevocable shift.

It was Wyr mating behavior.

In an instant, everything she knew and read about Wyr mating flashed through her mind.

When the Wyr began to mate, they turned violent, irrational and possessive. Fascinated by the idea, she had once read everything she could about it.

Not that she had found much definitive information.

Wyr mated for life, but no one fully understood how or why it happened, not even the Wyr themselves. It was a complex occurrence involving sex, personality, emotion, timing and instinct.

She had read first-person accounts where Wyr had described falling in love, and even coping with a broken heart after a love affair had ended, yet they hadn't experienced the mating frenzy.

As one Wyr female had said, she had fully believed she was in love, and thought she understood the full range of what that meant in terms of emotion, but it was only some years later, after she had mated, that she finally understood the depth of fulfillment, completion and even the edge of despair that mating gave to her.

If the mating Wyr weren't handled with understanding and care, they could turn on lifelong friends and family. For even the gentlest among them, a time of mating could be unpredictable and dangerous.

Just as quickly as realization hit, Bel felt overcome by a huge tidal wave of reaction. Everything in her soul cried out in hunger and gladness, and reached greedily for the immense, precious gift that seemed to appear as if by magic in front of her.

If it had been another man, the possibility might have frightened or disturbed her, but this was
Graydon
.

This was everything she had ever wanted for herself, everything she could have hoped for. His warmth, his gentleness and constancy, and yes, this fierce, frightening creature as well. There was nothing cold or distant about him.