Shadow's End (Elder Races #9)

“Never.”


He would never give up, never let her go, never stop wanting or needing her. He would always be faithful, always welcoming. The emotional reality of that began to sink in.

Finally, after all the issues that had darkened her life, this devotion, this adamant dedication, was what lay at shadow’s end.

The last of the cold, sharp pain that had haunted her for so long shattered. Tears spilled down her face. She couldn’t climax again. She was spent. But still the pressure built, as he kept up such a patient, steady and oh my gods relentless pace.

Then her gentle, adorable, dangerous lover came down over her back and bit her at the back of her neck, and it was such a possessive, animalistic thing to do, it shocked her right out of her exhaustion and hurtled her into a third climax.

Sounds came out of her. Sounds that she had never heard herself make. She was no longer in control of her body. He was.

He twisted behind her. With a muffled groan, he began to shudder all over as he climaxed again too. He had barely begun to slow, when he gasped, “Again—I’ve got to.”

She was beyond physical words. She breathed, Whatever you need. Take me however much you need. I’m yours.

Totally and completely, devoted to him.

Driven by need, he took her again, and again, until the sun set and the room lay in total darkness. At some point, she felt transformed, existing almost outside of her body, as if she had gone through a crucible to emerge on the other side, a new burnished stranger.

When at last he stopped, he lay on top of her. The weight of his big body anchored her in place, and the heavy beat of his heart slammed into her chest. She could barely muster enough strength to wrap her arms around his neck, but somehow she managed it.

They drifted together, in silence. Unmoored, her mind spun into a lazy journey of disconnected thoughts and images.

Sometimes, when Wyr mated, it enhanced the likelihood of a pregnancy. She managed a slight, exhausted smile. She wouldn’t look for such a rare miracle—very, very long ago, she had learned how to be happy with her own life. All the Elder Races, each in their own way, had to come to terms with the same.

But if it did happen, after all these millennia, wouldn’t that be something?

Pressing a kiss to Graydon’s damp temple, she whispered, “If, by any chance, we are ever lucky enough to have a boy of our own, can we name him Constantine?”

His body went rigid. She had just enough time to think, Oh gods, I’ve said the wrong thing.

Then, in a strangled, broken whisper, he told her, “I would really love that.”

The rigidity in his body fractured in a harsh sob. Shoulders heaving, he buried his face in her neck.

Finally, his grief broke out at last.

Somehow, then, she found all kinds of strength and energy, as she wrapped around him, crooning a wordless comfort, crying with him until neither one of them had any tears left, and together, they took the first steps toward healing.

? ? ?

The next evening was the Masque of the Gods, the huge annual gala event that Dragos held in the banquet hall of the Tower.

Bel had wondered if Dragos would cancel the masque, but he had apparently decided to move forward. Possibly, it would have been too unwieldy to cancel. Dignitaries and tourists had already flooded the city.

More than likely, though, she thought it was a statement of defiance to the rest of the world.

Here we are, the statement said.

We may have been dealt a terrible blow, but we are unbroken.

She didn’t see Graydon at all that day. He had returned to light duty, and he wouldn’t be able to attend her at the masque. When he apologized, she put her hand over his mouth, stopping him in midsentence.

“I know who you are, and I know what you have to do,” she told him. “What’s more, I’ve known it for a very long time. It’s part of what I love about you. Don’t ever apologize to me for doing your job.”

Almost imperceptibly, his expression lightened. He asked, “You’re okay with me being a glorified cop?”

He was so much more than that. She had already seen how other people came to him with their problems and questions, and each time, he did his best to help fix them. Over time, maybe she could help him with that. Maybe people would start coming to her, too, once they grew to know and love each other, and they got used to the fact that she was truly part of their world.

She was even beginning to look forward to doing that again, helping people, listening to them and fixing their problems. When the day came, she would be ready for it.

Reaching up on tiptoe, she kissed him, and said against his mouth, “I’m more than okay. I’m proud of you, and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

She was far too old and experienced to be under any illusions. There would be hard times, and hard waiting. She knew sometimes she would be scared, and that nothing would make it right again until he walked through the door and came home to her.