Shadow's End

  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

  Khalil 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 unsalva
geable, 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.

  All other considerations fell away. The other people in the group, their lack of privacy, the challenge that lay before them, even the danger to her son.

  This time, she put both hands to the monster’s face and turned him toward her.

  He could have easily resisted her touch. Physically, he was much stronger than she was. But he obeyed the urging of her hands. The snarl that had distorted his lips eased.

  Stroking his hair, she thought, I have never seen anything more beautiful than this.

  “Come here,” she whispered. “Come here.”

  The monster’s eyes narrowed. For a moment he looked uncertain and so filled with yearning, it caused a deep ache to fill her chest.

  Watching her closely, again he obeyed. He bowed his head.

  As he did, she stood on tiptoe and kissed that adorable, dangerous monster on his snarly, fang-filled mouth.

  He froze. She could tell he wasn’t even breathing. Where she leaned against his chest, the powerful engine of his heart hammered too fast against her breasts.

  Then the shape of his body and the contour of his mouth changed. His bruising, iron-hard hold on her gen
tled.

  He gathered her close, slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her with such passionate tenderness, tears spilled out of the corners of her eyes and streaked down her cheeks. She kissed him in return, holding onto him fiercely. For that one moment nothing else existed.

  When he eased away, he looked sober and self-contained. His expression was so unlike what she had expected, she shivered.

  After a quick glance around the empty room, he muttered, “I lost control.”

  “Yes, you did,” she told him gently. “Do you remember what happened?”

  His mouth tightened. He passed a hand over her hair in a fleeting caress, then let her go and stepped away. “I remember enough. Soren was angry and aggressive. He came at us too close, too fast. He’s such a dangerous Djinn, it threw me—back to the manor house.” His dark gray eyes met hers briefly before he turned away. “I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

  Thrown off-balance, she stared at his broad, powerful back. She thought she had understood what was happening, but this wasn’t anything like she imagined. After such ferocity, and a kiss so devastatingly tender she could still feel his lips on hers, he now acted almost as if he was embarrassed.

  Could she have read the situation wrong? Had he really just been thrown back to the confrontation in Wembley?

  She felt as if a whole shining future had been snatched away from her. Just as fierce and overwhelming as the joy that had swept through her only moments ago, disappointment crashed down on her so heavily she felt a crushing weight on her chest.

  She wanted that future. She wanted it desperately. She wanted him, and the kind of love she sensed that he was capable of giving.

  I love him, she thought. Somehow, at some point in time, I fell in love with him.

  I want him, more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.

  If nothing else, admitting the truth to herself was an immense relief.

  She stepped toward him, one hand outstretched, not that he could see it, since he still had his back turned toward her. “It’s all right, Graydon. I don’t want you to apologize. I want . . .”

  I want my monster back. The words sounded so raw and needy, she caught herself before she could say them.