Shadow's End (Elder Races #9)

With one forefinger, Weston nudged his meringue a minuscule distance on the plate. He said, I was not aware of this. You have been to Malfeasance? You’ve seen this for yourself?

Yes. I’ve just come from there. I was pursuing a private matter. Because of that, I refrained from doing . . . a lot of things. I paid for the children for the night. They’re being fed supper. Rage flared up again, and he clamped down on it. With dogged determination, he finished the last of the food on his plate then set it aside carefully. I’m fully prepared to go back, but your government may have a serious problem with the Wyr of New York if I take the kind of action I feel needs to be taken.

Weston set his plate aside as well and met his gaze. Thank you for coming to me instead. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to leave. You have my word, I will have the children in my custody within the hour and make sure they will be returned to their families or acquire good homes. I will also ensure the women receive the care they need, including respectable employment, if necessary.

And Malfeasance? Graydon growled.

The falcon’s eyes flashed. The difference between his feral gaze and impassive expression was jolting. Rest assured, in a very short while, Malfeasance will no longer be in existence.

He blew out a breath. Thank you.

If you’ll excuse me. Weston gave him a slight bow. The evening has grown late, and I have just discovered I have much work to do.

Watching Weston stride away, he recognized the liquid shift in the earl’s body. Civilization had receded, and the man’s predator had come to the fore.

The tightness in Graydon’s muscles eased somewhat. The earl was a man of his word. Graydon had no doubt that Weston would do what needed to be done.

Glancing over the crowd, he located Dragos easily enough. The dragon was surrounded by people, and he stood head and shoulders over almost everyone in his vicinity.

Graydon shouldered his way through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with those who greeted him. When he had approached close enough to come to Dragos’s attention, the dragon gave him a nod.

He said to Dragos, A matter of some personal urgency has arisen.

One of Dragos’s inky eyebrows rose. You have a personal urgent matter? Here, in London?

I’m afraid I can’t say anything more, Graydon said. But I need to leave for a day or two.

I don’t like secrets, unless they’re mine, Dragos said, giving him a piercing look.

I understand, Graydon replied. Unfortunately this one is not mine to tell.

Over the crowd, Dragos’s gold eyes narrowed on him. This has nothing to do with me, or the Wyr demesne?

Absolutely nothing, he said.

After several moments, the dragon said, If I don’t hear from you in two days’ time, I’ll come looking for you.

Graydon gave him a lopsided smile. You’ll hear from me.

Dragos nodded. Without any further word on the matter, he turned his attention back to the people conversing around him, releasing Graydon from his sentinel duties.

Pivoting, Graydon left the crowd behind in swift, long strides. The further he got away from the party, the faster he walked, until the wild, untamed creature living inside pressed him into a run.

As he ran, he shapeshifted and left the earth behind.

After a brief stop at his hotel, where he changed out of his evening attire and donned sturdy traveling clothes and weapons, he winged toward Grosvenor Square.

He loved being a sentinel. He loved the responsibility and the challenge, the sense of justice and satisfaction he got from a job well done. The predator in him gained huge satisfaction from hunting down criminals, and the possessive side of him loved claiming the Wyr demesne in New York as his own.

He shared that fierce pride with the other sentinels. They were more than family; they were a nation. He had a place that he had fought for, that he bled for, and that he worked hard to keep.

He shouldn’t be feeling this riotous upsurge of emotion. He shouldn’t be so eager to get back to the woman who defined unobtainable.

The concepts of family, justice and nation ran deep in him, but the gryphon lived in a place deeper still.

It reached for the sky with the same passion as it flew toward Grosvenor Square, toward the impossible, the unobtainable, and it did so because the need to return to her was like the need to fly, like an arrow in the heart.

It did so, because it couldn’t do otherwise.

He plummeted down to earth in the park where he and Bel had parted. As he landed beside the large oak tree, he thought he was alone with nothing but the deep green of the rich grass for company.

Then the shadow underneath the oak moved. Whipping around, he held his impulse to violence in check because part of him was still convinced the moving shadow was the tree. They carried the same signature energy, the same scent.

The shadow became a tall female Elven warrior. A thrill ran over his muscles as he recognized Bel.