Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(21)

Now that he had said his piece, he waited for her to make her decision.

She gave him a tentative smile. “Yes, thank you. I would be most grateful for your help. I still need to return to the house, so I can change into travel clothes. I want to see if Ferion has left a note. If he did, we might be able to glean information from it. Also, I need to leave further instructions for Alanna and Lianne.”

“I must return to Vauxhall to let Dragos and Constantine know I’ll be leaving London for a short while,” he said. He had another piece of business to attend to, but he would not mention that to her. “I can take you to Grosvenor Square. Then I’ll go to Vauxhall. I’ll need to stop at our rooms at our hotel so I can change, but afterward, I can return for you.”

“That would be marvelous,” she said with such evident relief, he wanted to smile. “In fact, that would be beyond marvelous. Graydon, I don’t know how to convey my deep gratitude.”

“There’s no need, my lady,” he told her. “The fact that I’ve been able to help you is thanks enough.”

He meant it sincerely. He truly did, but the cunning part of him, the conscienceless part, whispered other, less altruistic reasons for what he did.

Getting the chance to spend more time with you, to ease your path, to share a smile or two . . . To touch you in small ways, your hand, your shoulder, perhaps kiss you again, on the forehead or the cheek. Or the mouth.

No, he did not say it. He shouldn’t have even thought it.

But he did.

He did, and he realized that he was not only fine with keeping all manner of things from Calondir. He began to understand that he was willing to keep any number of things from the rest of the world as well.

He had arrived at a dangerous place. Constantine had been right. Beluviel was the very definition of unattainable, for so very many reasons that Graydon didn’t think he could count that high.

Yet in spite of all of that, he was beginning to develop deep feelings for her. Deeper than mere respect or affection.

Fortunately, this adventure of theirs would be brief, and it had a built-in conclusion. Beluviel would go back to her life, and he would return to his. Perhaps that was why he felt the need to grab onto this experience. This might be the only chance he ever got to share any time with her.

After glancing around at the darkened, deserted street to make sure they were unobserved, he shapeshifted and crouched to assist her in mounting onto his back. Once she had settled firmly at his shoulders, he launched. Lifting his head as he sliced through the air, he relished leaving the heavy urban smell of London below. Her soft, delighted laugh made his soul smile.

The flight was another short one. Soon, he spiraled down toward the park at Grosvenor Square. It was one of the most affluent and fashionable areas of the city. Telltale sparks of Power dotted the neighborhood. Several magic users were in the vicinity.

Taking care to keep a good distance from them, he landed near a large old oak tree. She slid from his back. He told her telepathically, I’ll be quick.

Thank you. Her gaze flashed up to his. I will too.

Meet me in this spot when you’re ready, he said.

Yes. She paused and unexpectedly stroked her fingers down the feathers of his neck.

He froze. She couldn’t know how intimate that seemed, or how sensitive he was to her touch even through the sleek covering of eagle feathers. Pleasure at being petted ran down his spine.

He should say something or step away. He did neither. Instead, ever so slightly, he leaned into her touch.

It was wrong of him, but his wrong button seemed to be broken, and he didn’t care.

When she stepped away, for a moment, he felt bereft. He lingered long enough to watch her stride toward one of the houses that contained several sparks of Power.

As she left, it became harder for him to see her. Within a few more steps, she disappeared completely from sight, and he realized she had a serious talent of her own for cloaking.

With no further excuse to linger, he turned away and launched again, heading back to Vauxhall and the masque.

This time, without Beluviel, he didn’t care if he was observed. He landed inside the Gardens, shapeshifted and took a main path that led to the dancing area.

Midnight had come, and everyone had removed their masks. Quickly, he strode past several groups of drunken partygoers as he searched for Weston.

He found the earl in close conversation with a striking redheaded woman dressed as Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom. Walking past the couple, he said telepathically, Weston, forgive me for interrupting. May I have a word?

Of course, replied the other male. Give me one moment.

While Weston made his excuses to his companion, Graydon wandered over to the refreshment area. The cocktail fountains were still flowing with brandy and champagne, and plentiful heaps of food remained on the tables.

Helping himself to a large plate of sausages, he ate with quick economy.

From behind his shoulder, Weston said, “You look like you’re eating to store energy for a flight, not for enjoyment.”

Weston was an avian Wyr. Graydon shouldn’t have been surprised that the other man was so astute.

He chose not to respond to that observation. Turning away from the table, he said, “What do you know about Malfeasance?”

Weston’s mild expression never flickered. He was a tall man, although not as tall as Graydon, with chestnut brown hair, aquiline features, deep-set eyes, and a mouth that was tilted, more often than not, in a slight, ironic smile.