Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(55)

Yes, she was prominent in the Elven demesne. Yes, she had social standing outside in the inter-demesne community. None of that came close to holding the power to shape new law and strike inter-demesne agreements, and to carve out policy in the international arena.

How much would it mean to Malphas to maintain control of the Elven High Lord? Would he kill to maintain it?

If both she and Graydon died, their bargain disappeared, and Malphas could do anything he wanted with Ferion. Anything at all.

She shuddered.

You said “almost,” Graydon said softly. You didn’t say nobody would hurt you. You said almost nobody would.

There are some Elves who would do anything their Lord commanded. She added wryly, Normally, that’s a good thing.

I want you out of there, he growled.

Her suite in the New York Elven residence had a balcony that overlooked a half acre garden, surrounded by a high stone wall. She had insisted upon it. Every opportunity to get into the fresh, open air was important to her.

Abandoning her wardrobe, she went to the balcony doors to throw them open. Snow covered the floor of the balcony, and the bitter December wind whipped into the rooms. The icy shock was like a welcome tonic, shaking loose the tired fog that had begun to take over her thinking.

She stepped outside and looked up at the heavy, overcast sky. She wanted to do so much more than merely talk with Graydon. She needed to look into his eyes, touch his face, wrap her arms around him and hold him tight again.

She said, Gray, I think you and I might be in danger. Now that Ferion’s become Lord of the demesne, his value to Malphas has increased exponentially.

A rush of wind blasted her. She fell back a step, staring as Graydon’s cloaking spell fell away, and the boiling air in front of her transformed into his massive human form.

He wore black fatigues, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a black vest. His rough features were set and hard. He looked as he had that terrible morning so long ago, full of icy, unpredictable rage.

“Dear gods,” she breathed. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had just triggered every alarm the Elves had on the property. They had less than a minute before any number of guards burst in on them.

“Come with me now,” he said. His stormy gray eyes were intent, fierce. He held his hand out to her.

Her heart hammered. She couldn’t do something so simple and revolutionary, could she?

Just take his hand.

Leap with him into the night.

It would break every expectation anyone had ever had of her, and a wild, desperate part of her wanted to smash every one of them.

Holding his gaze, she put her fingers into his.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “We shouldn’t.”

“Fuck what we should or shouldn’t do,” he told her.

Even as he said it, he started to smile. She could see that he knew how insane he sounded. She stepped closer to him so she could feel the warmth of his presence again wrapping around her like a hug.

“Thank you for coming to check on me,” she said. “But we need to ride this out. Remember, standing your ground is not passivity. We might discover something useful.” She looked up at him. “We might save lives.”

He heaved an aggrieved-sounding sigh, but his hand tightened on hers. “I broke your rules,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

A smile broke over her face. He stared at her, his expression arrested. “I am so glad you did,” she told him.

The door to her bedroom slammed open. Linwe, two guards and Ferion burst inside. They all carried weapons. Ferion and one of the guards pointed handguns at Graydon as they strode across the room to the open balcony doors.

Unhurriedly, Graydon folded her hand against his chest. His gentle smile widened, his eyes steady. How could she not want to gaze at him forever?

But she didn’t. Instead, she turned as unhurriedly as Graydon to face the quartet of unsettled, angry Elves in the doorway.

“There’s no need for alarm,” she said in a quiet, calm voice. It was one of the hardest things she had ever done, since she felt anything but quiet and calm. “Please put your weapons down. I’m only getting a visit from an old friend.”

Ferion’s and the guard’s guns lowered a little.

But, she noticed, they didn’t lower the guns very much. Linwe stared at Ferion, and the other guard’s eyes widened with consternation.

“What are you doing here?” Ferion asked Graydon. His voice sounded flat and expressionless, almost as if he were an automaton.

“I’m saying hello to Bel,” Graydon replied. Like Bel, he spoke quietly, without undue aggression, although standing so close to him, she could feel his Power bristle with unseen spikes. She knew he was on a hair trigger, holding his own instincts barely in check. “Do you always bring loaded weapons into your mother’s bedroom?”

Ferion bared his teeth in a smile. “I do when there is an intruder. You’re trespassing on Elven territory, Wyr.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bel said. Her fingers tightened on Graydon’s. “There’s no intruder here. Graydon was passing by, and I invited him to stop for a few minutes.”

“You didn’t inform any of the guards this was going to happen.” Ferion gestured, and the guard holstered his gun. He lowered his own Glock but continued to hold it. She might not be able to read him any longer, but his body language was tense.