Shadow's End (32 page)

There was pain in that last sentence, enough pain that when he fell silent, nobody spoke again for long moments.

Finally, Dragos stirred. Telepathically, he asked Graydon,
What do you think?

Graydon chose his response with care. He said,
I think if you don't let him try, it'll create a rift between you that might take a while to heal.

The dragon's fierce gold gaze flashed to him.
I'm concerned about that too, but that's not enough of a reason, Gray.

Pausing a moment to think, he came at it from a different angle.
If he tries and fails, he'll have done what he needed to do, and he'll have answered his own question. If he tries and wins, the demesne won't suffer, and he will have earned a place that I think he needs badly. He doesn't know how
he fits in this world, Dragos. Young people don't, and in some ways, his situation is harder than most.

Dragos's dark brows came together as he listened. Graydon couldn't tell what the other male was thinking, but at least he listened.

He added,
And he's right—if you try to create a position for him, it won't feel real. Give him a chance. That's all he's asking for, just a chance.
He took a deep breath.
It'll be a challenge to keep the position open, but we can hire extra staff. If you'll agree to it, we can somehow make it work.

Dragos's gaze left Graydon to travel to Pia. After another long pause, she gave him a small nod.

Only then did Dragos turn back to Liam. The boy had never once looked away from his father. As the silence had grown prolonged, he had whitened, and his heart was in his eyes.

Dragos paused, taking in the boy's desperate entreaty.

He said, “I'll give you one year.”

Passion leaped into that pale young face, along with an expression of such naked gratitude, Graydon had to drop his gaze.

Liam said fiercely,
“Thank you.”

Dragos cleared his throat. The crisp command in his voice turned husky and gentle. “You're welcome, son.”

Graydon told the dragon,
I get that he's not really a child, not in the way that we normally think of children. But still, I don't see how a year can be enough.

It's his chance, and that's all he asked for,
said Dragos.
And we don't really know what he can do. I'll be interested to find out.

•   •   •

T
he Tower recovered from the aftermath of the masque. Clean-up crews worked overtime to put everything to rights. Dragos, Pia and Liam traveled back home again, to upstate New York.

None of them would be nearly so fast in recovering from losing Constantine, but Bel was a wise woman, and she was right.

It would take them a while to heal, but eventually they would.

For Graydon, he had to fight nightmares of the battle, reliving again and again those last terrible moments when Constantine had leaped at him and spun him around, away from the deadly threat.

Each time, in the dreams, he shouted and struggled, but something always prevented him from dragging them both away, and he had to watch that long, wicked spike burst out of Constantine's chest, followed by the gush of so much blood.

Sometimes, he woke himself up shouting. Other times, Bel shook him awake, and he discovered he had been thrashing around in his sleep.

Once, he woke to the sensation of his fist connecting with soft flesh. Comprehension flashed into his mind immediately.

Sickened by the realization that he had struck her, he lunged to turn on the bedside lamp and whipped around to inspect every inch of her body. Despite her protestations that she was okay, he had to see for himself.

He had caught her arm in a glancing blow, and he was beside himself as he watched the welt appear on the delicate skin of her arm.

At first, she was calm, gentle and supportive, but when he began to drown in self-castigation, she quickly turned stern.

“Snap out of it, my love,” she told him, gripping his arm as he sat on the edge of the bed with his head buried in his hands. “It was an accident, nothing more. You couldn't hurt me if you tried. Trust me. The demon of regret that haunts you now will fade.”

He did trust her, with his life, but it was still a struggle to accept what she was saying. His breath shuddered in his throat. He whispered, “I don't know how it can. If I had only done something, anything different—”

She came up behind him and leaned against his back, putting her arms around him. Like him, she chose to sleep
naked, and the soft press of her breasts against his back was at once soothing and erotic.

“Believe me when I say this,” she whispered in his hair. “You can second-guess yourself for the rest of your very long life, and none of it will bring him back. It was battle. Things happen in battle. People we love die in battle. While it's terrible, that's all it is. I may not have been there, but I know this one thing is true—you fought with everything you had. And there was nothing you could have done.”

“How can you know for sure?” He turned his head to one side toward the sound of her voice, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I know it, because I know you,” she said. “Because you couldn't have done any differently.”

With that, he was able to let go of that particular nightmare. He turned toward her and made love to her with the all-consuming ferocity that gripped him every time they were together.

Dr. Shaw cleared him for active duty and flight. He went back to work, and for some nights afterward, Bel joined the gryphon as he took long, luxurious flights. That place at his shoulders, the place that had been empty for so long, would never feel empty again.

After a few days, Bel turned inexplicably tense and preoccupied. She became such a nervous wreck, and it was so unlike her, she frankly terrified the shit out of him.

Simple tasks eluded her. She dropped things. Once, she burned a batch of Elven wayfarer bread he had asked her to bake as a special treat. Pulling the pan out of the oven, she burst into tears.

Beside himself, he leaped from the supper table and grabbed her by the arms. “You're a basket case,” he told her. “Please, tell me what I can do to help!”

Later he had to admit to himself, it was not his finest, most diplomatic moment.

She cried out, “I know I'm a basket case! I'm a complete wreck, and I can't help myself. Oh gods, Graydon, I think I might be pregnant.”

What?

Realizing he had frozen and nothing had actually come out of his mouth, he made a concerted effort to speak.

So he said aloud, stupidly, “What?”

She took him by the ears and enunciated, “I. Think. I'm. Preg. Nant.”

“That's impossible,” he whispered. His heart hammered in his newly healed chest.

“Well, clearly it's not impossible,” she replied. “Just highly—highly—improbable.”

“Oh, dear gods,” he stammered. “Why are you even on your feet? Here, sit down.”

Her pretty mouth fell open. She stared at him as he shoved her into a dining chair, and she sat with a plop.

He told her, “We've got to get you to a healer.
No, wait.
” Even though she hadn't moved from the chair, he threw out both hands. “
You stay put right there.
We'll get a healer to come to you. Have you eaten enough today? Don't you need vitamins?”

Halfway through his disconnected babble, she started to smile. Remarkably, she seemed to calm down. “You're moving a little too fast there, darling.”

“What?” He stared at her wildly, kneeling beside her chair. “What about a birthing class? Do you know how to breathe? I've never been in labor before. I don't know anything about breathing.”

“GRAYDON, SHUT UP,”
she shouted.

His flow of words stopped. He snapped his mouth shut and stared at her.

She stroked his hair. “I'm not even sure I'm p-pregnant. I've never been pregnant before, either, so I'm not sure how it would feel. I can just sense something. Something's changed in my energy, and I've been too scared to say anything, in case it might not be true, and oh gods, I want it so badly.”

She started to shake again. That pulled him together like nothing else had.

Taking her into his arms, he told her gently, “Ssh, it's all
right, Bel. Whatever the answer is, it's going to be okay. We'll get through it together.”

She buried her face in his neck. “Promise?”

Cupping the back of her head, he told her in a calm, steady voice, “I swear it.”

With his free hand, he pulled out his cell phone. Behind her back, he scrolled through his contacts until he reached the number for the healer on call that evening at the Tower. With one thumb, he typed out a text:

EMERGENCY, MY APT NOW.

Not five minutes later, he heard running footsteps in the hall. Someone pounded on his door. He distinctly heard Aryal say, “Kick it in.”

So much for his calm and soothing act.

Don't kick it in!
he shouted telepathically.

He was too late. The door splintered. Aryal, Quentin, and the on-call healer—Peter—rushed in.

At the crash, Bel startled violently. She lifted her face from Graydon's neck to stare at the three intruders. When she spoke, she was back to enunciating again. “What. On. Earth.”

They had upset Bel. He snarled wordlessly at the trio.

Eyes widening, Aryal threw out her hands. “What?! You said it was an emergency!”

“Yes,” he snapped. “I'm sorry.” He turned to Bel. Her mouth hung open again. “I'm sorry,” he told her. Unable to resist her beautiful, astonished face, he kissed her soft mouth quickly. “I'm still calming down. Aryal and Quentin, get out. Peter, come here.”

Quentin and Aryal backed out of the apartment.

“Just you wait,” the harpy said bitterly to her mate as they left. “Like everything else, somehow this is going to end up being my fault.”

Quentin retorted. “Seriously? Somehow, like everything else, this has become all about you?”

“That's what I'm talking about!”

Their arguing voices faded.

Graydon met Bel's brimming gaze. Self-consciously, he told her, “I'll acknowledge I might have overreacted a bit.”

Her face shook. Oh gods, she wasn't going to burst into tears again, was she?

Laughter pealed out of her. Bright and silvery, the sound danced around the room, like bubbles floating in a glass of champagne. Hanging on his neck, she laughed so hard tears came to her eyes.

It was such a happy sound, it took him over completely. Entranced, he soaked up every delicious, intoxicating moment.

The healer, Peter, had relaxed. Laconically, he said, “I'm pretty sure someone who laughs that hard is going to make their medical emergency worse. Maybe burst a spleen.”

Bel hiccuped and stared at Graydon accusingly.

After a moment, he offered her a small, sheepish grin. “There could have been one. You never know.”

She broke into peals of laughter again.

“Looks like my work here is done,” Peter said. “You're welcome.”

When he started to edge toward the broken door, Graydon told him, “Not so fast, bucko. Come over here.”

Sobering, Peter strode over and squatted beside them. “What is it? What's wrong?”

Despite himself, Graydon bristled at the other male's nearness.

Wiping her face, Bel sobered too. Stroking Graydon's arm, she told Peter, “Nothing wrong, exactly. I just think I might be p-pregnant, but I can't tell for sure and we both panicked. Can you help us?”

Like virtually everybody else in the Tower, Peter's expression softened as he looked at her. “Obviously, I'm not an obstetrician. My specialty is acute trauma—all of the Tower's on-call healers are essentially ER doctors. But I might be able to give you a simple yes or no, so you can at least sleep tonight. Then you can follow up with a doctor of your own choice. How does that sound?”

“Okay, yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

Peter looked at Graydon. “If I'm going to scan her, I'm going to have to touch her. Get in control of yourself, or leave the room.”

With an unpleasant shock, he realized he was growling, low in his throat. Bel hooked fingers underneath his chin and turned his face back to her.

“Hey, you've got this,” she said softly. “You can do it. Don't drive the nice healer away, especially after
you
were the one to call him here—stop that, don't look at him. Eyes here, Graydon. Look at me.”

He concentrated on the sound of her voice, the delicate rose color of her cheeks, the expression of love and lingering laughter in her eyes.

“That's it, I'm done,” said Peter. As his head snapped around, the healer stood and backed away rapidly, hands up. “All I did was a quick scan—a peek in and out again.” As they stared at him, the healer grinned. “Congratulations to both of you. You are, in fact, pregnant. I couldn't be happier for you.”

Pregnant. Or, as Bel had said, Preg. Nant.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

He met her incredulous, joyful gaze. She started shaking again, and burst into tears. As he snatched her close, she started to laugh too. She threw her arms around his neck.

“I'll let myself out, shall I?” Peter muttered. “It's not a big deal, especially since there's just an open doorway to walk through. I'll pull the pieces of the door sort of back into place for you.”

Now that the other male was well and truly leaving, Graydon ignored him and concentrated on kissing Bel breathless.

Preg. Nant.

TWENTY-ONE

H
ealing did happen, over time. So did happiness.

Graydon would never stop missing Constantine, but over the next several weeks, the nightmares did eventually fade.

He and Bel began to search for a small house outside the city, with a big private yard, where they could go sometimes for weekends and vacations. When they found a charming little Cape Cod cottage, she moved what furniture and artwork she wanted to keep into it.

At her request, he also took her shopping so she could buy several pairs of jeans. He didn't have room to consider that she did it only to humor him. She was too transparently gleeful when she slipped on her first pair of Levi's. As he watched her simple, grinning pleasure, he began to realize Ferion hadn't been the only one who had lived a life constricted by a narrow role to play.

After they went shopping, he took her out to Ruby's Diner for lunch. To his mild surprise, nobody recognized her. She had wound up her distinctive hair into a bun and tucked it into a Yankees' baseball cap. She ordered apple pancakes
and coffee, and polished off the meal while she laughed at Ruby's ribald sense of humor, and it was easy.

Loving her, letting her light up his life, was so easy.

As March came and winter relinquished its snowy grip on the city, gradually, life in the Tower began to assume something of a new normal.

He called Lake Tahoe several times to keep in touch with Julian's progress. After surgeries and grafts, along with healing spells and copious amounts of blood, the doctors had managed to save Julian's hands.

He would need several months of physical therapy to gain back the strength and flexibility in his grip, but his long-term prognosis was excellent. Julian himself was not very talkative about the subject, so in order to get any real news, Graydon learned to chat with Melly either before or after he talked to Julian. He was intensely glad to hear the relief and hope in Melly's voice. That old Vampyre was a hard son of a bitch to kill.

Bel stayed in close contact with Ferion. Gradually Graydon watched her relax, releasing the anxiety she had carried for so long. Optimism entered her eyes and voice whenever she talked about the Elven demesne, and her son in particular. He was not only adjusting. After having his soul shackled for so long, he reveled in his freedom.

It appeared he had also learned from his mistakes. Word came to them from a variety of sources that the new Elven High Lord was making considered decisions, marked with temperance and restraint. The news coming out of South Carolina gained a positive forward momentum.

Like Graydon, the Elves would never forget, but after such a dark time in their history, he did believe they had begun to thrive again.

While he and the rest of the sentinels hired new staff, delegated work and generally figured out how to give Dragos the year he had promised Liam, Bel started a massive project of her own.

Architectural drawings and plans took over the dining room table. After approaching Dragos via email, and arguing
with him over the course of several days—she swore she would never have followed through with her original inquiry if she'd had to talk to him in person—Dragos allocated a budget for her project that was large enough to make Graydon's eyes widen when she showed him the approval letter.

Stay in budget, the email warned. Or make sure you come in under, because this is all you get.

“We're going to cover the whole rooftop,” she told Graydon, eyes sparkling with excitement. “There's such a limited amount of space, we'll have to plant every shrub and tree carefully, but that's okay. The whole roof is going to turn into an oasis.”

“Even the helipad area?” he asked, eyebrows up.

“Yes. Helicopters can land perfectly fine on grass. Right now, all the avian Wyr do is launch and land up there anyway. Now people will be able to go up to the roof for picnics too, or to sleep out underneath the stars if they need. And every floor is going to get its own indoor garden. We'll maximize every inch of space—there'll be vertical gardens everywhere. We'll plant ivy and cooking herbs that people can use if they want, and some will be flowering vines.” She drew in a deep breath. “This is still a skyscraper. It won't be as wild as a Wood, but it'll be so much more refreshing for everybody.”

He loved her passion. He adored her enthusiasm. He was so much in love with her, his body felt like it encased a city of light.

Resting his chin in his hands, he watched her face for hours and listened as she talked over her plans. He helped her pore over résumés as she hired her gardening staff. Some of them would be temporary, while others would become permanent positions. The indoor and rooftop gardens would require ongoing maintenance.

One night, as they curled up in bed, he asked, “I love how happy this has made you, but what are you going to do when you're finished with the project?”

Her head rested on his chest, and he played with long strands of her hair. The need to keep touching her in some way was compulsive.

She was always welcoming, and responded with such pleasure, often their plans for the day flew out the window as they tumbled back into bed, and he was perpetually fifteen minutes late for work. Nobody minded. When he finally showed up, they greeted him with understanding smiles.

“I'll find another project to work on,” she told him. She pressed her lips to his pectoral, eyes sparkling. “Maybe I'll take over Central Park. I've always wanted to, you know.”

“Now, that would be big enough for a wild Wood.” He laughed. She was going to transform the city.

“Wouldn't it just?” Her voice softened. “Besides, silly man, this project isn't what has made me happy. You have. And Constantine has.”

Earlier that day, they had found out the baby's sex. It felt a little awkward to start calling such a small entity by such a large name with so much emotional history, but with enough practice they would adjust, and he felt sure that Con would approve if he'd known.

And because of Constantine, their son was alive. There was no better way to honor his sacrifice.

Graydon was learning to be gentle with himself. With care and respect, he set aside those thoughts to concentrate on the wonderful miracle lying beside him.

•   •   •

B
el was entranced with lying in bed alongside Graydon and talking with him about the events in their days. The sensation of his long, powerful frame stretched out beside her, radiating heat like a great lazy hunting cat, preoccupied her utterly.

She couldn't wait to go to bed each night. Yes, the sex was mind-blowing and addictive, exhilarating and exhausting. Yes, her body learned very quickly to hunger for the touch of his mouth, the caress of his fingers, the sensation of his powerful body moving over hers.

Yes, she ached to be filled with him. She needed to be with him so badly, being apart from him for more than a few hours at a time was unbearable.

Apparently he felt the same, for sometimes when she returned from errands, she could barely make it through the apartment door before he pinned her against the wall and tore her clothes off, taking her with an all-consuming hunger.

But every bit as important as the passion they shared was the fact that she loved simply being with him, basking in his vitality, rubbing her foot along the long muscled length of his legs as they talked, the crisp hairs tickling her toes.

Often, she woke out of a sound sleep just to roll over and stare in amazement at his shadowed, relaxed features.

She loved that he couldn't stop touching her. Even as they laughed at the most ridiculous things, he stroked the curve of her shoulder, or danced his fingers along her hip. He would play with her hair, twining it around his hand, or caress the curve of her breasts.

In many different ways, he told her how much he cherished her. Gradually he branded the message into the patterns he drew on her skin, until it revolutionized how she viewed her world.

Now, as their conversation died away, he came up on one elbow and looked down at her. A shadow passed over his expression, a touch of grief and a yearning so strong, it ripped her apart inside. She never wanted him to be in pain. If she could, she would take all of it for him, just so that she could see him smile again.

Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against her breast. She cradled his head, pressing her mouth to his temple. He whispered, “I can't be apart from you again.”

She understood what he meant. He had given his great, noble soul to her without reservation. He had mated with her.

“I can't be apart from you, either,” she murmured softly. “You are everything I ever wanted, everything I could ever need. Gray, you're my world.”

He lifted his head. The look in his eyes was vulnerable. “No regrets?”

An unamused laugh broke out of her. “Gods, yes. A ton of them. But they all revolve around reaching Ferion sooner,
before Malphas had trapped him, so that you and I wouldn't have had to be apart for so long.”

And maybe they wouldn't have had to lose Constantine and Soren.

But that path of thought lay in the wrong direction. Asking
what if
s was an insidious pastime, filled with useless pain.

The truth was, eventually, someone would have had to kill Malphas. Somehow, the cost would have been high. Maybe down another road, it would have been Graydon who had been killed.

Firmly, she turned away from that path, to focus on the wealth of what she truly had.

A small smile tugged at his lips. He nuzzled her with his nose. “We would have had that house outside of Charleston.”

She shook her head. “That was a pipe dream,” she told him. “Or, maybe it would have been a bridge until we got ourselves sorted out emotionally and did what had to be done. If we had ever truly experienced even a smallest part of that dream, I could never have returned to the same dwelling where Calondir lived, no matter how big it was or how separate we lived our lives.”

A hint of blade flashed in his eyes. “That's good, because otherwise I would have had to kill him.”

“You say the sweetest things,” she crooned up at him. When he burst out laughing, she grinned.

As quickly as it started, his laughter died, and hunger took its place.

Oh, she recognized that look. She was beginning to have a physical reaction every time she saw it in his face.

Her heart began to pound, the muscles in her thighs trembled, and desire for him melted through her body in a liquid gush. They grew so sated every time they made love, yet somehow it only fueled the fire.

He bent his head and kissed her, his lips playing softly over hers in such a cherishing caress, tears pricked at the back of her eyes. She kissed him with everything she had, pouring all the love she felt for him through the sensitive barrier of her skin.

Her body was a love letter written just for him. As his fingers stroked along the curves of her breast, the peaks of her nipples tightened. She'd had no idea that she could feel so much pleasure.

Arching her back, she rubbed against his body. Low at the back of his throat, he made a soft, sexy sound, like a growl. But the growl didn't fade. It remained a steady vibration.

With astonishment and delight, she realized her adorable, dangerous lover was purring.

She didn't dare say anything, or he would get self-conscious and stop.

And she never wanted him to stop.

He was so observant. Hiding her face against his shoulder, she decided she needed to take quick action, to keep him from wondering about whatever was happening in her expression.

She began to kiss him all over the broad expanse of his muscled chest. As she gently nibbled, licked and suckled at his nipples, he sucked in his breath.

“I was going to do that,” he muttered. “I mean, to you.”

“You give me so much pleasure, all the time,” she whispered. “This time, let me focus on you.”

She ran her mouth down the rippling muscles of his flat stomach. Pulling her hair to one side, she kissed the tip of his large erection. He was beautifully made, his penis thick and full, while underneath, his sac had drawn tight with arousal.