Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(77)

The world was in motion. Everything happened so fast.

Hard hands clamped onto his shoulders as the other sentinel grabbed him and twisted. Despite the fact that Graydon was the bigger and heavier of the two, Constantine bodily yanked him off his feet, thrusting himself between Graydon and the monster.

Con’s mouth was open, forming words. Graydon saw the other man’s lips shape: “LOOK OU—”

A spike burst out of Constantine’s chest, in a starburst of blood. A massive tentacle drove the spike through the other man’s body so hard, it knocked Constantine into Graydon and pierced through Graydon’s chest wall, biting deep.

Impaled together, the two men’s eyes met, horrified dark gray looking into a blue gaze that turned rather wry. Blood poured out of Constantine’s mouth. He lifted a hand to his lips, as if to stop the flood.

Then the tentacle shook them off, flinging them both to the ground. Knocked end over end, the rocky ground tore at Graydon’s body until he rolled to a stop. His rib cage was shattered to hell. He tried to suck in a breath, fought to get up on his hands and knees.

Shaking uncontrollably, he finally got one knee underneath him and looked down at the ground. All around him, people were shouting. Chaos surged along the beach.

None of it touched the immense, bottomless silence inside him.

He saw white on black rock. As he pressed a hand to the wound in his chest, his blood mingled with the red of his friend’s heart’s blood.

It dripped between his fingers, spreading in the snow like the bloom of roses.

? ? ?

Some things in life are axiomatic.

There really is no good way to rip off a bandage. And there was no unobtrusive way to invade the Elven residence in New York City. Even the stealthiest entrance would set off every alarm in the large, tightly guarded house, so they had to be prepared for confusion and violence until they got the situation under control.

Bel and her group had to wait until the battle had started on Hart Island before they could act. They needed to know that Malphas was trapped before they moved on Ferion.

As they waited for word, they gathered again in the living room of the suite. Bel felt physically ill, and from the white, tense expression on Melly’s face, the other woman felt the same.

Somehow, Julian would get hold of the Djinn, and somehow, the others would attack. Fueled by her runaway imagination, images played through her mind.

Soren held a cell phone in one hand. When it vibrated, she felt her stomach bottom out.

He glanced at the screen, his face grim. He said, “It has started.”

Dread made her muscles tremble. That very moment, Graydon was fighting for his life. So was every one of the others who fought with him.

There were six people in Bel’s group, not counting Soren. The more Powerful of the Djinn could transport up to ten or even fifteen people at a time. The one thing they required was that they touch the people they transported.

At his words, everyone gathered close, putting a hand on Soren’s arm or shoulder. Bel also put an arm around Melly to give her a quick hug. Giving her a grateful look, the younger woman leaned against her slightly.

The tornado of Soren’s Power rose, and swept them away from the hotel.

She closed her eyes, enduring the chaos. Intellectually, she knew what was happening. A friendly Djinn had explained it to her once.

Soren would experience the transport very differently than anyone else. While the others would lose their orientation in time and space, Soren could even slow down as he searched for the right spot before materializing.

He would look for Ferion, wherever Ferion might be. Only when he had found the Elf would he bring the group to the physical location, and even though it was the middle of the night, she realized Ferion could actually be anywhere.

If Ferion had sent the guard tailing Bel and Linwe, the guard might have reported back to him. Even now, he might be hunting for her, because she had been gone for an unusual amount of time.

The world began to reform around her. At first she became aware of the others in her group—Linwe, Sidhiel, Luis, Claudia and Melly. Then the details of their surroundings came into focus. They had landed in the large, richly appointed study in the New York Elven residence.

Bel got a split second—not even enough to draw in a complete breath—to take in the scene.

Ferion slumped in an armchair in front of a fire, a long, lean leg kicked over one arm. His eyes were closed, and he leaned his forehead against a brandy snifter that he held in one hand. He looked so tired and desolate, her heart twisted.

In the next instant, his expression flared and he leaped to his feet. Shouting, he flung his snifter into the flames as he lunged toward the sword that hung on the wall behind his desk.

He was one of the strongest fighters in the Elven demesne, lethally fast, but he was no match for the speed of a first-generation Djinn. Materializing beside Ferion, Soren grabbed him in a headlock.

Two Elven guards were always stationed in the main hall of the residence. They burst into the room, weapons drawn.

As Claudia and Luis strode to the double doors, Claudia punched the first guard. Power glimmered around her. The blow lifted him off the ground and slammed him into the second guard. Both men tumbled several yards, back into the hall.

Luis and Claudia threw themselves at the double doors and slammed them shut. While Claudia flipped the locks, Luis dragged heavy furniture over to block the doors. Shouting sounded in the hall. Heavy pounding boomed on the doors, echoing through the room like a thunderclap.