Shadow's End (Elder Races #9)

“I didn’t realize he was so young,” Graydon said. His gaze never strayed from her face.

She didn’t mind his scrutiny. It was as warm as a physical caress. “He was only a few days old. Calondir put him in my arms and said, ‘My son needs a mother. If you want him, you may have him to raise as your own. But if you do, you must return to me. I will not let any son of mine live away from me.’”

He let out a long sigh.

It sounded so heartfelt, she gave him a sidelong, wry smile. “Well, you can imagine how I felt. I had wanted a child for so long, and you know how rare that blessing is for us. As soon as I held that sweet baby boy, I couldn’t let him go. He became my whole world, and I adored him completely.”

She had twisted her fingers together in her lap. One large hand came down over both of hers. Graydon said softly, “That happened a long time ago, Bel.”

“Yes, it did.” She turned her hands over to cup his. He had thick, long fingers and a broad callused palm. His skin was warm. “A very long time ago. Meanwhile other things happened, and tensions grew in various factions among us. None of it is relevant today, except that creating the Elven demesne outside of Charleston was actually my idea.”

“I didn’t know that, either,” he murmured.

She shrugged. “The thing was, I had been gone from that particular group—the kernel of what became our demesne—long enough that people looked to Calondir for leadership, not to me. So, we created a charter and set sail, and established our demesne outside of Charleston. It was all very forward thinking and exciting, in its own way.”

His mouth took on a sour slant. “Calondir became Lord, and you became consort.”

She nodded. “Ferion grew up, and I planted the seeds for my Wood and nourished it into growing, and it’s been my home ever since. Usually, Calondir and I don’t get in each other’s way, except when it comes to Ferion. Often I go weeks without seeing him, as either one of us might be either in the Wood or in residence in the Charleston home.”

His fingers tightened. “It’s a business arrangement.”

“Yes. Except for Ferion, it is.” She sighed. Calondir was actually not that bad as Elven High Lord. He just made a rotten husband and father.

“That doesn’t bother you?” he asked. “Have you never wished for anything else—for something more?”

She lifted her eyes to meet Graydon’s dark, steady gaze and whispered, “For the most part, our personal arrangement has never really mattered, before now.”

He turned toward her, leaning forward. She shifted as well, her face turned up to his.

Her gaze dropped to his rough-cut, sensitive mouth, and her body pulsed as she remembered the warm caress of his lips on her forehead.

What would it be like to have those lips cover hers? While everything she had told him was true, no Elven male would dream of trying to touch or kiss the consort.

For the most part, that arrangement had never really mattered before now either. She could hardly remember what it was like to kiss a man, let alone imagine what it might be like to kiss someone with Graydon’s combination of gentleness and virility.

The sense of connection she felt to him was becoming almost unbearable, as deep and wild as the wood that sheltered them.

Of course, she had to go and do something to destroy the moment.

Before she fully realized what was coming out of her mouth, she said, “Now, it’s my turn to ask you a question. How can you stand to work for Dragos?”





SEVEN


The loathing in Bel’s voice was so evident, Graydon shifted position, subtly pulling back.

He needed to put some physical distance between them. Somehow, he needed to calm the riot of feelings her question roused.

He couldn’t blame her for how she felt about Dragos. She was, after all, only one of many who felt that way.

Once, very long ago when the world was new, all of the ancient Wyr had been feral. Dragos had been the most feral of them all, a gigantic predator that did not distinguish between the natures of the creatures he hunted.

Graydon kept his voice measured as he told her, “Once, we were all more beast than human, but that, too, was a very long time ago. Dragos is not what he used to be. None of us are. He is the one who originally had the vision for the Wyr demesne. He approached each of the sentinels to get our support. He created the laws, and he and the sentinels work together to uphold them.”

She shook her head. “It’s hard to fathom we’re talking about the same creature.”