Shadow's End (Elder Races #9)

Smoke hung in the air, both tobacco and hashish. Music played somewhere, competing with shouts, loud conversation and coarse laughter.

The place was packed with both humans and those of the Elder Races. While some women were scattered throughout, the majority of the clientele was male.

Most stayed focused on the game they played, but several glanced at them curiously. In direct contrast to what had happened in the street, the males’ attention lingered on her cloaked, hooded figure.

Graydon moved so close, she could feel the brush of his muscular body at her side. His energy had grown darker and bristled with aggression.

The only way to get through this was, well, to get through it. Squaring her shoulders, she strode through the first room.

Soon, she was sweltering. The loud sights and sounds assaulted her senses, and the confinement of the heavy cloak became intensely uncomfortable.

She couldn’t seem to draw in a deep breath, and the thick, overly scented air caught at the back of her throat. Her heart pounded in hard, heavy slugs, and she longed to shove the hood away from her face.

Ferion wasn’t in the first room they searched. Nor was he in the second, or the third.

She picked up her pace, shouldering between people as her gaze darted everywhere. From time to time, Graydon’s muscled arm shot out to block someone from approaching her.

He’s not here. Distress flooded her. He’s not here.

Take a deep breath, Bel. Graydon put a hand on her shoulder in a solid, reassuring grip. He drew her to the nearest wall, shielding her from curious stares with his body.

With the fingers of one hand, she lifted the edge of her hood so that she could peer up at him. His rough face was grim, his eyes hard. He looked entirely different from the gentle, easygoing man she had seen earlier at the masque.

Ferion might not be here now, but he was recently, he told her. I can catch hints of his scent, even through the stink in this place. We need to check upstairs, and in the back rooms. He paused. Will you allow me to do that for you?

There was something about how he phrased the question, along with the expression in his eyes, that sent her back to their earlier conversation.

They had walked through all the public gaming rooms, but Malfeasance pandered to more than just the gambling vice. There were drugs here, and somewhere, there would be rooms for sex.

Graydon was trying to spare her, in case Ferion might still be here after all.

Within the span of a moment, her imagination ran riot. Images of Ferion drugged or naked crowded her mind.

Abruptly, she shoved them away and decided to let Graydon help her. If Ferion really was still here, she didn’t need to see her son in such a state.

She nodded. I would appreciate it if you would.

He hesitated, looking down at her. I don’t like to leave you here alone.

She touched his hand as it rested on her shoulder. Remember, I can take care of myself.

I’m quite sure you can, but I still don’t have to like it. His fingers tightened. The sooner I go, the sooner I can return. I’ll be as quick as I can.

Thank you.

She watched him leave. For such a massively built man, he was remarkably quick and light on his feet. His powerful frame was thick with muscle, yet his movements were as lithe and sinuous as the cat in his Wyr form.

As he disappeared, the atmosphere in the crowded room underwent an almost unidentifiable change. The room felt colder without his presence.

Repressing a shudder, she turned on her heel to scan the area. She took note of the number of males who began to watch her, some slyly, while others perused her with open assessment, even avid curiosity.

Opening herself partially to the psychic currents, she caught snatches of thought and intention. Some wondered why she kept her identity hidden. One or two took note of the unremarkable quality of her cloak and dismissed her as a potential mark. Others fantasized about the body her cloak hid.

A few contemplated rape.

She regarded them all coldly. If you wandered into my Wood, she thought, not a single one of you would escape alive.

One of the men approached her with an unsteady gait.

“Ooh, you looks like you might be a tasty bird underneaf all that,” he said. A strong scent of brandy washed over her. “’Ow much d’you charge for the night?”

She scanned him, but he wasn’t one of the would-be rapists. Dismissing him as innocuous, she pulled a gentle swath of Power between them.

An expression of confusion crossed his face, and his eyebrows drew together. He turned away, muttering to himself. After wandering along the edge of the room, he shouldered his way into a game of dice.

She sent a second glance over the room. Her small spell of misdirection had shaken off the attention of several of the others, but she hadn’t rid herself of all of them.

That was the problem with such spells. They worked on some people, but not everybody. Someone with a strong enough, determined mind could break through them.