Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(53)

Moved, he said, “Con, there’s no need for you to get invo—”

“On the other hand,” said Constantine, cutting him off with a charming, ruthless smile, “if you don’t cut me in, I’ll tell Dragos and the other sentinels everything that I know, or at least everything I’ve surmised thus far. Then you can try fighting your way out of the pile all of us will make as we sit on you until you spill everything.”

“You wouldn’t,” growled Graydon.

Con rolled his eyes. “Do you even know me?”

Anger, affection and worry caused conflicting impulses that held him frozen for a moment. Finally, he snapped, “Are you working tonight?”

“Nope, I’ve got a date,” Constantine said. His blue eyes were unrepentant. “Actually, I’ve got two dates, back-to-back. I’ll cancel them.”

“Fine. I’ll let you know when and where,” he said. “Now, get out of here so I can take a nap, will you?”

“Sure, no problem. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” When he started to growl, the other gryphon gave him a limpid smile as he stood. “What, was that too much?”

He stood too. Setting aside all his other emotions, he looked into the other man’s eyes. “Thanks, Con.”

A small smile creased Constantine’s features. He slapped Graydon on the back lightly and left the apartment by way of the hall door.

Once alone, Graydon rotated his stiff, sore shoulders and went to crash in his bedroom. He was going to be no good to anybody if he didn’t get some rest.

Plugging his phone in to charge, he stretched out. The hard drive dug into his ribs. He shifted the sweatshirt, stuck his hand in his pocket and fell asleep holding onto the evidence.

When he woke again, his bedroom had gone dark.

Rolling over, he snatched his phone off the bedside table.

He checked the time. It was much later than he had expected, nearly seven o’clock. This close to the winter solstice, sunset had been over two hours ago.

Quickly, he scrolled through his messages. While he had tons of emails and several voicemail and text messages, he ignored most of them.

The latest text he had received had been from Julian, almost ten minutes ago.

We’ve checked in at the Four Seasons. Let me know where we’re meeting.

Landing a room or suite at the Four Seasons at this time of year was no small feat. Apparently Julian still had plenty of clout, even if he was on hiatus as Nightkind King.

He double-checked his messages again. No word from Bel. No response to the email he had sent with a hotel reservation. If anything, he should have heard from her first, not Julian, who had flown in from California.

Equal parts dread and anger coursed through him as he tore off his sweats and dressed. He should never have left her.

He could feel it in his bones.

Something had gone wrong.

? ? ?

After a long, stressful day, tension tied Bel’s body in knots.

Linwe chattered as she pulled clothes out of suitcases and hung them in the closet.

“I’m so glad you decided to do this,” said the younger woman. “Really, I think getting away for a few days will be wonderfully refreshing. I know you want to keep this visit low-key, but maybe we can slip out to your favorite museums, and attend one or two parties along with the masque. Nothing elaborate. You know, just saying hi to some of your old friends.”

When tragedy had struck the Elves in the spring, Linwe had stripped the cheerful blue color off the tips of her short, layered hair.

Then sometime in November, the color had come back. Now the tips of her hair were neon pink. Bel’s gaze followed the pink as it traveled in and out of her closet.

Since she had said good-bye to Graydon and made her way back to the Elven abode, she hadn’t been left alone for a moment.

She had walked into the main hall to get some breakfast, where she almost immediately ran into Ferion with two of his senior advisors, Gerend and Imrathon. They invited her to join them for breakfast. Shortly after, Linwe appeared.

With an instinct born of long experience, Bel took her time, pretended she had an appetite and joined in the general conversation. In a natural lull, she said, “I think I’ve changed my mind about attending the masque this year.”

Naturally, that got everyone’s attention, but everything else fell away as she raised her eyes from her meal to meet Ferion’s. His gray gaze rested on her thoughtfully, while his face remained impenetrably neutral.

As she regarded him, she thought, I have no idea what you’re thinking. I have no idea who you are any longer.

Only this time, instead of the thought causing her mere pain, she had felt a pulse of fear.

The memory from that morning made her swallow hard. Walking over to the phone on the antique desk, she lifted the receiver.

“Yes, my lady?” a pleasant Elven voice said.

She recognized the voice immediately. “Vilael, please send up tea.”

“Right away, my lady,” Vilael promised.

Vilael was one of Ferion’s people, and Linwe—Linwe was affectionate and loyal. She was supposed to be Beluviel’s, but with the way the younger woman was acting, Bel was almost convinced that Ferion had said something to her.

He could have said something innocuous-sounding, like: I’m worried about her. Keep an eye on her. Let me know what she does and where she goes. We all want my mother to be happy and healthy.