Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(47)

That strategy would also prevent Ferion from keeping watch on her through house attendants. She hated that she had thought of that, or that it was a realistic danger.

Her plan solidified in her mind. She told him, “I’ll stay at a hotel, if I can get a room or a suite at this late date.”

“I’ll make sure you get a suite,” he promised. “New York gets so crowded around the time of the masque, we always keep a few suites in reserve at some of the best hotels, to cover unexpected contingencies. I can send you an email with the reservation.”

That made things significantly easier. “And I’ll contact you once I arrive.”

He took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll expect to hear from you by tomorrow night.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t want to say good-bye,” he muttered. “As stupid as it sounds, I feel superstitious about letting you out of my sight right now.”

“I know what you mean. I feel the same way.” She threw her arms around his neck.

He hugged her tight. Bel, he said telepathically. I want you to know, I would be doing this for Ferion’s sake, regardless of anything else.

For some reason, that brought tears to her eyes. He really was such a good man. Stroking his hair, she told him, I believe you.

A lot has changed over the last two hundred years. When we find our way free of this, all I want is the chance for you and me to figure out what we might mean to each other. His arms tightened. Okay?

I would really love that, Graydon, she told him wistfully.

With obvious reluctance, he released her. Until tomorrow night.

She rested her hand on his chest and promised, See you soon.

Watching her, he backed up a few steps. Then he turned, shapeshifted into the gryphon and leaped into the air. He was only visible for a few moments, then his form rippled and faded from sight as his cloaking spell took hold.

Gods. To see the gryphon again, after all these years. He was glorious. Watching him soar like that, with such power and grace . . . She felt unbelievably heavy, like a lump of clay forever trapped on earth, and she longed to ride in the air with him again.

Holding her breath, she stared up at the night sky for long moments after he had disappeared.

Finally accepting that he was truly gone, she turned and climbed the bluff. As she walked along the path on the journey home, she braced herself for the next steps.

She had to sell this story like it was really true, and that wouldn’t be easy. Ferion’s truthsense was enhanced by the fact that he had known her for a very long time.

? ? ?

Graydon kept his speed strong all the way back to New York. He had a lot to do in a short amount of time. As he traveled north, he entered the winter storm system again.

Snow swirled around him for the last half hour of his flight. By the time he landed, he had flown well over a thousand miles, and a good portion of that had been in inclement weather. He was tired and more than ready for a bucket of hot coffee and a hot, filling meal.

If he showed up at the Tower, he could help himself to the copious amounts of food in the cafeteria, but he would never get a moment’s peace. People would approach him with their problems, and he would spend all his time explaining that he was on personal leave.

Instead of going to the Tower, he stopped at Ruby’s Diner, a local restaurant that had been a favorite of his for the last thirty years. He ordered two steaks, half a dozen eggs, and a double helping of biscuits and gravy, along with coffee. The food was hearty, and the coffee was so strong it could put a dead man back on his feet again.

Outside the diner’s plate-glass windows, large, fluffy flakes of snow swirled. Several of the customers were either Christmas shoppers or masquegoers. The snowstorm seemed to foster a sense of camaraderie. Laughter and cheerful conversation filled the diner.

He was such a long-standing customer, and they knew him so well, they always kept the barstool at one end of the counter available for him.

Other than giving him a permanent seat, they didn’t make any fuss or call him by his title. He enjoyed the sense of anonymity and the chance to eat his meal in peace while he watched the ebb and flow of the other diners.

I’m unbalanced and obsessive. I wouldn’t recommend living this way to anyone, and yet, I still can’t give up the thought of you.

She had said that to him only a few short hours ago, but in the bright, bustling light of a New York morning, the words already began to feel distant and unreal.

He had lied to her, and she hadn’t even noticed.

He had said, all I want is the chance for you and me to figure out what we might mean to each other.

Because that was what a normal, healthy person might say. He had been faking it in the hopes that the rest of him would fall in line, and it hadn’t worked.

He wasn’t normal or healthy. He was every bit as unbalanced and obsessive as she claimed to be. They really were trapped in much the same place as they had been two hundred years ago.

Only, if they managed to break free of Malphas, he thought likely that she would move on to a new, different life, while he would still be in the same place, wanting her yet unable to have her. He didn’t know how to protect himself while still fighting for a chance to be with her.

In the cold light of morning it didn’t seem very realistic to hold out hope.

He was still Wyr. She was still Elven.

He had made promises to Dragos, to the other sentinels—Pia and Liam—and he intended to keep them. Bel had already proven over the centuries how devoted she was to the Elven demesne.