Shadow's End (Elder Races #9)

Even though nothing showed but calm composure on Bel’s beautiful face, in the elevator Graydon had caught a hint of nervousness in her scent.

It highlighted how remarkably good she was at managing the stresses of her own internal reality because as they stepped into the penthouse, her entire attention focused on everyone around her.

It also showed him, up close and personal, that she had a hell of a game face too. He had always known it. He had seen flashes of it in the past, but it was one thing to know and quite another to see that game face in action. He already respected her, but over the next hour, that respect deepened exponentially.

Everyone else was already present. The males had removed suits and ties. Aryal had set aside her formal cut leather jacket. Most of the adults were already drinking, and most of the drinks were the hard stuff. Carling nursed a bottle of bloodwine.

Pia refrained from alcohol. Liam drank Coke, and even though there had been plenty of sumptuous refreshments at the masque, the boy was already eating again. He kept his head down, avoiding other people’s gazes.

Like the adults, he had been subdued ever since Constantine’s death. Graydon noted the subtle way that Pia kept her attention on him. He had no doubt that she would make sure Liam got what he needed emotionally.

At first, there were small signs of stiffness around Bel, the telltale behaviors of people who had known each other for a long time as they accepted a near stranger into their midst. Within a half an hour, those had melted away entirely.

Bel and Pia spent some time together, tucked into a corner of the large living room, Bel’s dark head bent close to Pia’s pale blond one. Graydon’s gaze slipped over to them several times. He saw he wasn’t the only to watch the tête-à-tête. All the sentinels did, Dragos most of all. At the end of their talk, the two women hugged.

There was so much obvious affection between them, it felt good. It felt right, like Bel had somehow managed to slip into a place that filled a hole in their lives, one that Graydon hadn’t even been aware that the group had.

Sometime later, somehow, the dam between them all—the one keeping them from talking about Constantine—broke. Graydon didn’t catch how it happened. He hadn’t felt like drinking hard liquor that night after all, so he had walked into the kitchen for a new six-pack of lager.

When he came back to the large living room, he heard Aryal telling Bel, “He was a total asshole manwhore. He chewed through women the way some people go through Tic Tacs.”

“Oh, my.” Bel coughed. “That’s an image that won’t leave my head in a hurry.”

As she spoke, she met Graydon’s gaze. There was so much compassion in her eyes, he was not surprised that it had touched even Aryal’s tempestuous, spiky heart.

Bayne tossed his whiskey back. He said suddenly, “Do you remember that time one of his dates doused his clothes with lighter fluid, set a match to them and threw them out his balcony window?”

“I got a phone call that day,” Rune said. “Traffic control from downstairs told me, ‘Did you know it’s raining men’s briefs, and they’re on fire?’”

A laugh shook out of Grym. It faded into something close to tears. The gargoyle pinched his nose and expelled a hard sigh. “Nicest asshole you’d ever want to meet. If you weren’t a woman.”

“Best, most loyal friend,” Graydon said. His throat closed, and he couldn’t say anymore. Quietly, Bel made her way across the room to put her arm around him. He kissed her forehead, and she leaned against him.

Rune said, “Hell of a fighter. Hell of an investigator too.” He tossed a whiskey back.

Alexander offered in a quiet voice, “I didn’t get the chance to know him as long or as well as the rest of you, but he had become my brother.”

They shared stories about Constantine into the early hours of the morning. No doubt, it wouldn’t be the last time they needed to reminisce, but it felt good—good in a way that made the pain of loss more bearable.

Thank you, he said in Bel’s head.

She looked up at him. For what, my love?

I didn’t catch how you started it, he told her. But I know you did. We needed to talk about him.

The Wyr demesne has never lost a sentinel before, she said softly. It’s going to take you all a while to heal, but have faith. You will.

If anyone knew how to survive loss, it was Bel. He wrapped his arms around her, soaking in the comfort of her feminine presence.

Dragos remained silent throughout the reminiscing. He sprawled in one oversized armchair, drinking brandy steadily while his gold gaze watched everyone. It was impossible to tell what he felt or thought. He kept his face impassive.

Pia had kicked off her heels and curled against his side. Absently, he rubbed one hand back and forth along the curve of her hip.