Shadow's End (Elder Races #9)

Graydon blew out a slow breath, as he thought about it. Hart Island was at the western end of the Long Island Sound. He could reach the island quickly and easily by air, so it was close enough to allay any suspicion.

Roughly a mile long, and a quarter of a mile across, Hart Island was also inaccessible to the public. Over a decidedly dark history, it had been a quarantine, an insane asylum, a workhouse for boys, a missile base, a Civil War prison camp, and a potter’s field—and now the island was the largest tax-funded cemetery in the world.

Aside from prison burial crews and a ferry that landed at a memorial gazebo once a month, the island lay abandoned, haunted by a dark past and the dead.

It was also warded by prison guards detailing burial crews by day, and with copious restricted area and no trespassing signs. There were crumbling buildings, along with an uneven landscape along the shore, which would offer plenty of places for Peacekeeper troops to hide as they lay in wait.

Tactically, the island was perfect.

“Yes,” he said. Constantine nodded.

“One last thing, which is no longer my call to make,” said Rune. He watched the two sentinels’ faces closely. “Do we tell Dragos?”

Graydon met Constantine’s blue eyes. “You know my feeling about it, but I’m also aware that I’m too close to this issue to be objective.”

“I agree with your earlier decision,” Con said to him. “Some of us have had more than enough challenges to face over the last eighteen months. If we tell Dragos, he’ll be tempted to get involved, and this doesn’t have to be his fight. We have a strong enough force as it is. We move ahead on our own.”

Rune said, “Your call, guys.”

Constantine lifted one broad shoulder. “Hey, it’s why he’s got sentinels in the first place. Otherwise, we’d be, I dunno, secretaries, or some dumb shit like that.”

For the first time in what felt like a long time, Graydon burst out laughing. “Indeed, my man,” he said. “We’d be some dumb shit like that.”

Rune clapped Graydon on the shoulder. “I’m going to check in with Carling and see what the other group has decided.”

When he left them, Constantine moved closer to Graydon. The two men watched as Rune maneuvered around furniture and people to reach Carling’s side. He touched her shoulder, and Carling’s face softened as she looked up at him. Rune leaned over to kiss her temple.

Telepathically, Constantine asked, Do you think he regrets it at all? I mean, leaving his position as First.

Maybe, sure, Graydon said. Sometimes. In certain moods. Regret’s kinda the underbelly of all those “what if” questions we ask ourselves late at night. He didn’t stop caring about any of us just because he mated with Carling. Yet, I don’t think he ever regretted mating with her. They both enjoy the work they do through their agency. It’s challenging and rewarding, and I believe he’s happy. Really happy.

I wonder what it feels like, said Con. To have someone become your whole world, and to have them rely on you. Must be a hell of a thing.

It felt painful. Necessary.

Hovering on the edge of mating as he was, he couldn’t think of any other words to describe it.

Constantine’s gaze cut sideways to him. Would you ever think about leaving your position for a woman?

The other man’s question wasn’t an idle one, he knew. Not after what everybody had witnessed happen earlier. He looked at Bel again. She was hugging Grace. As she let go, Khalil swept Grace away in a swirl of Power, no doubt taking her back home to her niece and nephew in Florida.

I made a promise, Graydon said. Not when we became sentinels. I mean recently. And I intend to do everything in my power to keep it.

Somehow, he would. Never mind that at the moment conflicting needs threatened to tear him into pieces. He would hold the course. All he had to do was figure out how.

She’s your chance, man. Con gave him a sidelong smile. You’ve got to take it.

Determination hardened his resolve. We’ll see what we have together—after.

He had calmed enough from the frenzy that had touched him earlier to remember the many tensions and challenges that lay between him and Bel. It was impossible to grapple with any of them properly, to move forward or settle emotionally, until Malphas was dead.

The Djinn may not have killed him yet, but he still had brought Graydon’s life to a stop.

One way or another, that ended tonight.

Pivoting, he took stock of everybody, assessing the mood in the room.

Tension pulled the air tight, vibrating like the string on a bow before an arrow is unleashed. People talked faster, fueled by adrenaline, their voices crisp as they laid their plans.