Once, the dragon would have enjoyed such a slaughter. Ancient memories moved deep in his thoughts like a subterranean tide. He was a more primitive creature without Pia. She had a clean decency that brought out the finer things in him. With her, he almost understood what it meant to be kind, and he had just barely begun to understand tenderness. As he had told her once, she was his best teacher.
In the arena, the harpy moved to make another strike, hands splayed wide with all ten talons extended like knives. They would be sharp enough to slice through metal. They could definitely cut through the pegasus’s bones if she struck him hard enough.
Elysias feinted, and when the harpy fell for the maneuver he surged forward on a burst of speed and power. With an immense leap he twisted and kicked out with his good leg. He threw the full weight of his body behind it, and as his heel connected, the crack of the harpy’s spine was sharply audible over the sound system. She shrieked in rage and pain. They both dropped to the ground.
Silence washed over the audience. When Elysias rolled to his knees and pushed to his feet, his struggle to get upright was evident. He must have torn his wound open even further with his last leap, for he couldn’t put any of his weight on that leg.
The harpy didn’t rise. Her back was broken, and she wouldn’t be able to stand upright for weeks. The fight was over. Elysias had pulled it out at the end and won.
The crowd roared, and medics ran out.
The door to the suite opened. Dragos turned away from the window as Graydon poked his head into the room. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”
“Yes, come in.” He said to Kris, “Take a break.”
“You got it,” said Kris, who shut his laptop, tucked it under his arm and left, no doubt to ignore what Dragos said and work elsewhere. His obsession for work was another reason Dragos paid him so well.
Graydon strolled in. He was the brawniest of the four gryphons, a good thirty pounds heavier than the others. In his human form he stood nearly six foot five, and all of it was hard, packed muscle. He took the ugly road to handsome, with a strong face that most often wore a good-natured expression, and rugged, slightly irregular features, sun-darkened skin and gray eyes. He kept his tawny hair no-nonsense short and his clothes plain, and somehow whenever drama plagued the occupants of Cuelebre Tower, he was nowhere to be found. That was a useful talent to have.
A couple of months ago, curious, Dragos had asked Pia, “Why do you have such a soft spot for Gray?”
She smiled, and the part of him that would always be selfish and acquisitive took jealous note of how her face softened whenever Graydon’s name was mentioned. “Because he’s got this bluff, gruff exterior, but underneath that he’s true, right down to the bottom of his soul.”
True, faithful. Loyal.
Unlike many other predator Wyr, including several of the other sentinels, Graydon often pulled his punches when he struck at someone else. He was well aware of his outsized strength. So far, Dragos had noticed, the gryphon was pulling his punches in the arena as well. With the intimacy of long acquaintance, he knew that Graydon would only hammer down when the occasion called for it.
Dragos frowned and turned toward the window again. Graydon joined him and looked out the window too. “I have every expectation that you will be one of the final seven again,” Dragos said. Graydon nodded without speaking, plain even in this. Dragos told him, “When Friday comes, I want to announce you as my First.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Graydon give him a quick look. After a few moments, Graydon said, “I suppose you know that Rune has been in the audience.”
He nodded.
“So you’ve talked?”
“No,” he said.
Graydon said, “I wish you both would get over this shit.”
That one sentence was the most any of the sentinels had said to him on the subject. He said, “Will you consider the position and let me know?”
The other male sighed. “When do you want me to get back to you?”
“Thursday evening would be fine.” Then, driven by an impulse he chose not to dissect, he said, “You keep in touch with Rune, don’t you? You all do.”
“Yep,” Graydon said. “Some of us are mad at him. Some are mad at you. Some of us are mad at both of you.”
Dragos rubbed his face. “Has he ever talked about what happened?”
“Nope. Far as I know, he hasn’t told anybody about it. Well, maybe he’s talked to his mate, Carling, but he hasn’t talked to any of us.”
There were different ways to manifest loyalty, Dragos thought. Maintaining silence was one of them.
As he considered the events of last summer, he thought he could see the cracks in Rune’s own behavior that had indicated the volatility of a Wyr in the early stages of mating. While Rune was known for his even temper, he had snarled at everyone when he had returned from Adriyel, even Dragos. Dragos remembered his own volatility when he was mating with Pia, and how he had nearly choked Rune to death over something that had been entirely innocuous.
How readily Rune had seen what was happening and forgiven him then. Fuck.