Shadow's End (Elder Races #9)

A rare surge of anger flashed through him. He bit out, That’s not what this is about.

A pause. Graydon could almost see the other male’s mental shift.

Okay, said Constantine. His mental voice remained neutral. What is this about?

It was about decency and concern for another being’s welfare. It was about living his life to the fullest, and making the right decisions in defiance of any potential future harm that may or may not come to him.

He told Constantine, I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.

He took his leave of the other two men and strode forward. Whatever this challenge was, and whether or not the vision came to fruition, he would approach this like he did the rest of his life—with everything he had.

If he was strong enough, smart enough, if he fought hard enough and tried long enough, he could win through.

? ? ?

Several minutes later, as he escorted Bel away from the dance floor and along a main path, a sense of rightness settled into his bones. They might be mere acquaintances—he had only ever exchanged pleasantries with her and they had never shared a tête-à-tête—but it felt delightful to have her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, and to shorten his stride so that he matched hers.

His enjoyment of her company, in the face of whatever was causing her hardship, seemed as inappropriate as his earlier disappointment. Deliberately, he turned his attention away from the pleasure and focused on other details of his surroundings.

Nearby, a Daoine Sidhe knight stood in the middle of a group of inebriated partygoers. The knight’s identity was cloaked behind a full mask with two faces, one facing front and the other facing backward. The forward-facing face was dark, while the backward-facing face was light.

Graydon recognized the costume. It was Janus, the Roman two-faced god, with one face looking forward into the future, and the other face looking backward into the past.

The mask mirrored too much of what Graydon was thinking and feeling. Unease tried to ripple through his body, but ruthlessly, he shoved it away. He had lived with the second sight for far too long to read omens into everything.

A light breeze brushed against his face, and he caught a hint of the knight’s scent tangled with several others. It was Ashe, Oberon’s oldest and strongest wizard knight. As he watched, Ashe pulled a delicate, fresh orchid out of a woman’s hand muff and handed it to her with a silent bow. The woman squealed with delight.

“I would like to make one thing clear,” Bel said suddenly.

Instantly, his attention snapped back to the pale, set features of her profile. He said, “By all means, please do.”

Her large, dark eyes flashed at him and then away again. Some force of unknown emotion made them sparkle with reflected firelight. “I don’t actually need your help.”

Had she changed her mind? Bemused by another wave of inappropriate disappointment, he murmured, “I see.”

Of course he didn’t see. That was merely one of the things he said when he felt the need to say something instead of remaining silent. He had always found it to be one of the most useful phrases in his repertoire when speaking to members of the fairer sex, who, truthfully, were some of the most mysterious creatures ever created by the gods.

“You’re a convenience,” she whispered. “That’s all. I can handle my issues by myself.”

Ah. He thought he began to get a glimmer. That sounded like worried pride. Sometimes it could be hard to accept help.

“Bel,” he said gently, giving her hand a squeeze. “I never presumed anything different. You can send me away at any point you like, but if my help will halve your trouble or ease your path in any way, I’m honored to be of assistance. What can I do for you?”

She didn’t appear to mind that he had dropped all formality. Her shoulders straightened as she took a deep breath and again gave him a sidelong look.

Then her telepathic voice sounded. If you don’t mind, I would rather not discuss such a sensitive subject aloud.

Caught by surprise, he fell into enchantment. Carrying something of her physical demeanor, her mental voice sounded bright and silvery.

He felt almost as if he had looked up and caught an unexpected glimpse of sunlight flashing on a starling’s wing as it flew overhead. Her telepathic voice was entirely and uniquely her, and she was inside his head.

She seemed to be waiting for something. With a start, he realized she was waiting for his response.

“Of course,” he said. “Of course” belonged alongside “I see” in his repertoire of generic responses. Shaking his head, he amended that to something more meaningful as he switched to telepathy. I mean, of course, telepathy is the best way to keep something private.