Shadow's End (27 page)

Rune shouted, “Watch out!”

Constantine curled and twisted at the same time, narrowly escaping the tentacle that drove toward him. He slammed his booted foot repeatedly at the tentacle, until it appeared to snap.

It reformed, flowing back into the monster's body.

They had pissed Malphas off, but they weren't killing him. Graydon wasn't even sure they were hurting him. Djinn were creatures of Power and spirit, not flesh.

“When you tear off pieces of his body, throw them toward me,” Carling shouted. “Otherwise, he'll just keep re-forming!”

Throw pieces of the Djinn at the witch. Got it.

With a roar, he tore into Malphas's new monster body, ripped away a tentacle and tossed it at Carling. She flung
out one hand, fingers splayed. Power shot out from her palm like a fireball and obliterated the tentacle before it could melt and flow back into the Djinn's body.

That
hurt him.

Malphas's howling raised in tone, until it sounded like the whistle of a gigantic teakettle. The sound split the air, driving like a spike into Graydon's good ear.

As the sound increased, the monster's body began to heat, until a light poured out that was so bright, Graydon had to squint to endure it. The heat increased until the Djinn felt like a burning flame.

All the while, his immense body boiled and convulsed. The three gryphons tore pieces off the monster, flinging them at Carling. Most of the time, she struck them with a ball of Power, but sometimes she missed, and they flowed back into the Djinn.

Tentacles flailed, driving spikes toward each of the men. One tentacle snaked around Graydon's waist before he could deflect it, lifting him bodily to slam him repeatedly into the rocks. He felt ribs snap and coughed in breathless anguish.

The heat turned unbearable. He felt his skin sear where he came in contact with the Djinn.

Someone shouted. Not the teakettle. One of them.

Julian was bellowing in agony.

How long could the Vampyre bear to hold on?

If he lost his hold, they lost Malphas. He couldn't get away. He couldn't.

The battle hadn't lasted for very long, but it felt like it had been going on forever. With renewed frenzy, Graydon tore at the monster, gouging huge chunks out of his flesh.

The monster heaved, flipping over completely, knocking them all to shit. At the same time it speared Rune high in one thigh. As Rune roared, it flung him with such vicious force so that Rune slammed into a waist-high boulder half submerged in water. His head snapped back, and he slid into the icy water.

Screaming, Carling lunged after him.

Graydon had just torn a tentacle from the monster's body.
The physical shape flowed away from his grasp, back into Malphas's body.

At the same moment, Peacekeeper war mages raced onto the scene while medics jumped into the water to help Carling pull an unconscious Rune to shore.

“Over here!” one of the Peacekeepers shouted, his hands up and beckoning.

Graydon twisted at the waist. His broken ribs ground together: more agony. This nightmarish bastard had to die. Growling, he tore off another tentacle with his teeth and flung it over his shoulder at the Peacekeeper.

Constantine shouted. Even though the other sentinel strained against the monster, so close the two men could have touched, he fought on the side of Graydon's deafened ear. His shout sounded like it came from a great distance.

The world was in motion. Everything happened so fast.

Hard hands clamped onto his shoulders as the other sentinel grabbed him and twisted. Despite the fact that Graydon was the bigger and heavier of the two, Constantine bodily yanked him off his feet, thrusting himself between Graydon and the monster.

Con's mouth was open, forming words. Graydon saw the other man's lips shape:
“LOOK OU—”

A spike burst out of Constantine's chest, in a starburst of blood. A massive tentacle drove the spike through the other man's body so hard, it knocked Constantine into Graydon and pierced through Graydon's chest wall, biting deep.

Impaled together, the two men's eyes met, horrified dark gray looking into a blue gaze that turned rather wry. Blood poured out of Constantine's mouth. He lifted a hand to his lips, as if to stop the flood.

Then the tentacle shook them off, flinging them both to the ground. Knocked end over end, the rocky ground tore at Graydon's body until he rolled to a stop. His rib cage was shattered to hell. He tried to suck in a breath, fought to get up on his hands and knees.

Shaking uncontrollably, he finally got one knee underneath
him and looked down at the ground. All around him, people were shouting. Chaos surged along the beach.

None of it touched the immense, bottomless silence inside him.

He saw white on black rock. As he pressed a hand to the wound in his chest, his blood mingled with the red of his friend's heart's blood.

It dripped between his fingers, spreading in the snow like the bloom of roses.

•   •   •

S
ome things in life are axiomatic.

There really is no good way to rip off a bandage. And there was no unobtrusive way to invade the Elven residence in New York City. Even the stealthiest entrance would set off every alarm in the large, tightly guarded house, so they had to be prepared for confusion and violence until they got the situation under control.

Bel and her group had to wait until the battle had started on Hart Island before they could act. They needed to know that Malphas was trapped before they moved on Ferion.

As they waited for word, they gathered again in the living room of the suite. Bel felt physically ill, and from the white, tense expression on Melly's face, the other woman felt the same.

Somehow, Julian would get hold of the Djinn, and somehow, the others would attack. Fueled by her runaway imagination, images played through her mind.

Soren held a cell phone in one hand. When it vibrated, she felt her stomach bottom out.

He glanced at the screen, his face grim. He said, “It has started.”

Dread made her muscles tremble. That very moment, Graydon was fighting for his life. So was every one of the others who fought with him.

There were six people in Bel's group, not counting Soren. The more Powerful of the Djinn could transport up to ten or even fifteen people at a time. The one thing they required was that they touch the people they transported.

At his words, everyone gathered close, putting a hand on Soren's arm or shoulder. Bel also put an arm around Melly to give her a quick hug. Giving her a grateful look, the younger woman leaned against her slightly.

The tornado of Soren's Power rose, and swept them away from the hotel.

She closed her eyes, enduring the chaos. Intellectually, she knew what was happening. A friendly Djinn had explained it to her once.

Soren would experience the transport very differently than anyone else. While the others would lose their orientation in time and space, Soren could even slow down as he searched for the right spot before materializing.

He would look for Ferion, wherever Ferion might be. Only when he had found the Elf would he bring the group to the physical location, and even though it was the middle of the night, she realized Ferion could actually be anywhere.

If Ferion had sent the guard tailing Bel and Linwe, the guard might have reported back to him. Even now, he might be hunting for her, because she had been gone for an unusual amount of time.

The world began to reform around her. At first she became aware of the others in her group—Linwe, Sidhiel, Luis, Claudia and Melly. Then the details of their surroundings came into focus. They had landed in the large, richly appointed study in the New York Elven residence.

Bel got a split second—not even enough to draw in a complete breath—to take in the scene.

Ferion slumped in an armchair in front of a fire, a long, lean leg kicked over one arm. His eyes were closed, and he leaned his forehead against a brandy snifter that he held in one hand. He looked so tired and desolate, her heart twisted.

In the next instant, his expression flared and he leaped to his feet. Shouting, he flung his snifter into the flames as he lunged toward the sword that hung on the wall behind his desk.

He was one of the strongest fighters in the Elven demesne, lethally fast, but he was no match for the speed of a
first-generation Djinn. Materializing beside Ferion, Soren grabbed him in a headlock.

Two Elven guards were always stationed in the main hall of the residence. They burst into the room, weapons drawn.

As Claudia and Luis strode to the double doors, Claudia punched the first guard. Power glimmered around her. The blow lifted him off the ground and slammed him into the second guard. Both men tumbled several yards, back into the hall.

Luis and Claudia threw themselves at the double doors and slammed them shut. While Claudia flipped the locks, Luis dragged heavy furniture over to block the doors. Shouting sounded in the hall. Heavy pounding boomed on the doors, echoing through the room like a thunderclap.

“What about the windows?” Luis asked.

“They're barred, and the curtains are drawn,” Bel called out. “All the windows on the first floor are bullet and magic resistant.”

While Claudia and Luis had acted so fast and decisively, Linwe, Sidhiel, Melly and Bel still stood frozen in the center of the room.

Sidhiel strode to the door. “Let me out of here,” she ordered. “I'll talk to them.”

“Not on your life,” said Luis. “As wound up as they are, they'll kill you soon as look at you.”

“Do you know who I am?” the Councillor demanded.

“Doesn't matter who you are,” Claudia said breathlessly. “To them, right now anybody in this room is a traitor.”

“They're right, Sidhiel.” The authority in Bel's voice made the other Elven woman pause.

“A little help would be nice,” Soren informed them.

Bel spun to look at the Djinn and her son. Ferion fought the hold Soren had on him with a mindless ferocity. It was clear Soren tried to hold onto the male without hurting him, but Ferion acted like a rabid animal.

His torso arched. He went into convulsions, foam flecking his lips.

Soren gritted, “The soul lien was booby-trapped.”

Oh, shit, shit.

Bel leaped at them, as did the others. She shouted, “Get him down on the ground! Turn him on his side!”

Soren flipped Ferion in midair and laid him on the ground. Bel gripped Ferion's head. Linwe laid the weight of her torso over Ferion's legs, while Melly wrestled to get his flailing arms pinned. Luis ran at the heaving group, fell to his knees and slid across the floor to help Melly.

Strangled sounds came out of Ferion's twisted lips. Bel shouted, “He's choking on his tongue. Somebody get me a pen or something flat like a stick!”

Sidhiel dove at her, offering a dagger in a leather sheath. Bel ran a frantic gaze down the length of it. She recognized the workmanship. Ferion couldn't bite through the leather to the blade underneath. It would do.

She forced it between his lips. Extreme terror gripped her by the throat. When Ferion stopped breathing, so did she. She whispered on a strangled gasp, “Soren.”

“Almost there,” the Djinn said. He knelt beside her, both hands flat on Ferion's chest.

A blow hit the double doors so hard, the wood cracked from top to bottom. Claudia had been bracing against the furniture. She skipped back, calling out, “Another blow, maybe two, and they're going to be in.”

Soren's Power flared hot and bright.

Bel could sense deep inside Ferion's body that hateful, darkened smear. With a
snap
, it disappeared.

The convulsions stopped. Ferion sucked in a huge, audible breath. His watering gaze flew to hers. She saw sanity in his gaze. The terror eased its grip on her throat. She wiped his face and pulled the dagger from between his teeth.

Another blow at the doors knocked a large hole in the splintered wood. “I don't want to shoot at these people,” Claudia called out in warning.

“I have to go to Hart Island,” Soren told Bel.

“Wait!”
she cried out, as the Djinn began to dematerialize.

He paused. Conflicting urges tore at her. She swept the room with a glance. It had all happened so quickly. Claudia
had fallen back to the group surrounding Ferion's prone body. In a moment or two, guards would pour into the room.

On the one hand, there was still so much to do here. If she were a betting fool, she would lay money on Malphas having spies in the household.

On the other hand, her heart and soul was on Hart Island, fighting to the death.

There was no real choice. Grabbing her son by his collar, she hauled him up to her face and demanded, “Are you good to go now?”

Still coughing and sucking in air, his eyes widened at the harsh command in her tone. He nodded.

“Then don't just lay there. You're the Elven High Lord.” Wild-eyed, she flung out a hand and pointed at the door.
“Get on your feet and clean up this mess, mister!”

“Yes, ma'am,” he wheezed. He reached out, and Sidhiel, Linwe and Luis helped him to his feet.

Bel whirled to Soren. “Take me with you!”

Launching from a crouch, Melly flung herself at them, her pretty face desperate. “Take me too!”

Soren didn't waste time on any more words. He swept the two women together, and whirled them away.

EIGHTEEN

T
hey left one chaotic scene behind, only to plunge into another.

For the first in many long years of travel, Bel experienced a rough landing from a Djinn transport. Soren all but flung the women at a narrow strip of rocky, icy beach. Melly grabbed for Bel, and both women staggered and fell. Landing with both hands splayed, Bel sliced one of her palms on jagged ice.

Too many details—too many sensations—pummeled her. Gasping, she pushed her hair off her face and struggled to make sense of what she saw. Beside her, Melly did the same.

Brutal cold and wind bit at her exposed skin. Peacekeeper troops poured over a hill, onto the beach. Something that looked like a giant, bizarre monster but felt like Malphas's Power, whirled and struck at nearby troops that flung spells at it.

She sought Graydon but didn't see him.

The monster's physical form dissipated into pure, incorporeal Power. Malphas had dematerialized, which meant Julian had fallen. Instead of arcing away with the normal
speed of a Djinn, like a shooting star, Malphas lifted into the air with a ragged lurch.

Soren had solidified enough to drop Melly and Bel onto the ground. As Malphas began to retreat, Soren melted into pure Power and launched after him.

The two Djinn collided overhead. A concussion of Power burst out like a bomb blast, exploding nearby trees and knocking everybody to the ground. With a huge, yawning noise, a nearby chimney stack collapsed, throwing billows of snow and dust into the air.

A screaming whirlwind rose as the two Djinn fought. Hurricane force winds lifted a column of water out of the Long Island Sound.

Carling and other Peacekeepers struggled to haul a lax body out of the heaving, foaming water. Once again, Bel's stomach bottomed out. She caught sight of Rune trying to lift his head. He was alive.

Melly grabbed Bel's arm so hard, she left bruises. Her expression agonized, the younger woman shouted something, but Bel couldn't hear the words over the shriek of the noise.

Melly raced away, slipping and sliding over the treacherous ground. Bel followed the trajectory of her sprint. As her perspective shifted, she realized there was a figure prone on the ground. The figure wore Elven armor, which made it blend into its surroundings. Shaking convulsively, it held up blackened hands. Julian.

But where was Graydon? Bel stood on tiptoe, straining to find him.

A Peacekeeper raced past, yelling at her, “Get down! Get down!”

Ignoring him, she stumbled forward, driven by the need to find Graydon. Debris whistled through the air, shards of bricks and trees turning into deadly missiles as the Djinn's battle raged overhead.

Inside, hope had twisted into a despairing cry. If she didn't find Graydon alive, she would lie down right then and there, and die.

Then, as the swirl of running figures parted, she saw two men, sprawled together, covered in blood.

So much blood.

Two tawny heads, so different, and yet so alike. Pain exploded in her chest. Blind to everything else, indifferent to the gargantuan fight tearing apart the night sky, she lunged toward the men.

As she drew close, details struck at her.

Constantine lay on his back. His body was soaked with blood from neck to groin. Graydon crouched over him, cradling the other sentinel's head in his arms and shielding him from the deadly debris.

Bel fell to her knees beside them. In one horrified glance, she took in Constantine's handsome, still face, the rictus of agony that twisted Graydon's. Suddenly there weren't enough tears in the world.

“Oh, my darling,” she said brokenly.

She gathered Graydon into her arms. He was too big. She couldn't hold all of him, but, with all the love in the world, she tried.

As soon as she put her hands on him, she sensed his struggle to breathe. It snapped her into knifelike focus. Running a sharp gaze over his hunched figure, she realized that not all of the blood was Constantine's.

She screamed,
“WE NEED A MEDIC HERE!”

Overhead, another colossal concussion blew out with such force, it split the earth. Peacekeepers fell screaming into huge cracks.

She threw herself over Graydon and Constantine to shelter them both. As the concussion dissipated, she realized—one of the Djinn was gone. Staring skyward, she strained to find Malphas, but she couldn't sense him anywhere.

The overwhelming noise from the howling wind died. She could hear people shouting to each other.

Low, over the water, the ragged presence of a single Djinn drifted, like a ship foundering at sea. It carried a dull, faint thread of Soren's Power.

Across the beach, where medics were working on Rune, Carling stood. Her voice filled with such Power, the words rocketed down the beach.
“Khalil, bring Grace! Your father needs you!”

Bel's heart pounded. Once. Twice.

It couldn't have been longer than a moment.

But so very much could be lived, and lost, in a single moment.

Even as the signature whirlwind of an approaching Djinn blew onto the beach, Soren's thin, ragged presence dissipated into the night with a final sigh.

•   •   •

A
thick layer, like cotton wool, surrounded Graydon, disconnecting him from everything else, except Bel.

Shock. Or lack of air.

The broken bones in his chest shifted as he tried to draw in a breath. He thought maybe one of his lungs had collapsed.

She cupped his face, her beautiful eyes fierce and determined. Her lips formed the words, “Hold on, love. You're going to be okay.”

I am, he thought. I'm holding on.

He clenched one hand on her wrist, held onto Constantine with the other.

His vision narrowed as pain tried to turn the world black, but he fought it off. As he snapped back to consciousness, she was lowering him flat on the ground.

Peacekeepers ran up. Someone tried to pry Constantine from his grip. He bared his teeth in a silent snarl, resisting, until Bel bent over him, her face filling his vision.

She told him gently, “They'll take good care of him. The very best care. Please, let them help.”

His arms loosened, and they lifted Constantine away. Someone pulled an oxygen mask over his face, while another person cast a spell that took away the grinding pain.

He began to drift again.

“My lady, you need to move away and let us work on him,” said one of the Peacekeepers.

That got his attention. Rousing, he growled. Talons sprang out on his hands, and his teeth lengthened. The medics' eyes bulged and they pulled back.

“I'm not leaving him,” Bel said. “You're going to have to work around me.” She bent over him again. “Graydon, do you understand? I'm not leaving you.”

He relaxed, marginally, and nodded. He said in her head,
Never leave.

Never again,
she told him, stroking the hair back from his face.
I swear it. I'll stay right here with you every step of the way. Trust me.

He did. He trusted her completely. His death grip on her wrist eased enough so that she could twist around and thread her fingers through his.

Blurry, disconnected images blew by, like snowflakes driven on a winter storm.

The dragon arrived, along with the other sentinels. They dropped raging out of the sky. After a quick shocked assessment, they threw themselves into helping, their faces stricken. A Djinn's presence raged along the beach, causing Graydon's fight instinct to rouse again until he realized it was Khalil, who also helped, his energy furious and chaotic.

Then somebody said, “One, two . . .”

Why were they counting?

The world shifted, as people lifted him onto a stretcher. He locked his fingers on Bel's. They would have to cut his hand off to separate them. Huddling that thought close, he drifted again.

Then several people wheeled him down a corridor. Dammit, he was in the hospital. Bel strode beside the stretcher, still holding his hand. When he realized she was still with him, he let his eyes close again.

Drifting.

Consciousness returned. Dr. Shaw came into his field of vision. The Wyr falcon's large, golden brown gaze met his steadily. “You're going into surgery,” she told him. “Stay calm, Gray. You're going to be all right. Do you understand?”

His gaze cut over to Bel. She was still with him, just as
she had promised, the grip of her slender hand strong on his. She said reassuringly, “I'm going into surgery with you.”

He nodded, squeezed her hand, and fell into true darkness.

After a long, formless time, he went into what seemed to be a waking dream. His eyes were closed, or very nearly so. At some point they had put him in another hospital room. Gods, he hated hospitals.

Again, he checked to make sure that Bel was with him, and she was. Still holding his hand, she sat by his hospital bed.

Dragos and Pia were also in the room. Pia's complexion was pale and blotchy, as if she'd been crying. Dragos's hard expression looked jagged enough to cut steel.

“You could take a quick break,” Pia said gently. “Just to take a shower while he's still out. The staff would let you borrow a set of hospital scrubs. You could even use the shower here in this room.”

“I'm not letting go.” Bel sounded calm and decisive. “I made him a promise.”

Comfort stole into the cold dark pit of his heart.

Dragos and Pia looked at each other. Pia said to him, “I know Kathryn said he would heal on his own, but I can't bear not helping. What he's been through was hard enough. And anyway, Bel already knows what I am.”

Dragos remained silent, his mouth hard and tight. After a moment, he gave her a slight nod.

Pia came on the other side of his bed. Carefully, she lifted away the sheet that covered his bare, bandaged chest. She removed the gauze covering an incision, and then she did something else, he couldn't tell what, but she must have cut or pricked a finger somehow, because the tiny scent of new blood joined the stink of antiseptic.

Then a miracle filled his numb, exhausted body. It flowed, gentle and warm like sunshine, healing and soothing the torn and broken places in him. It felt loving and clean, new like a benediction, and transformative like forgiveness.

Because I never want you to feel a moment's pain,
Pia
murmured in his head, as she tenderly tucked the edge of the sheet back across his chest.

Aw, cupcake.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, he took a deep, easy breath and sighed with relief.

After Pia had finished, she kissed his forehead.

“I know you didn't do it for me,” Bel whispered. “You did it for him. But still, thank you so much.”

Pia nodded and wiped her face. She said, “You're right, I didn't do it for you, but both you and he are welcome. And if I can't get you to take a break, at least you need to eat something. I'll get you a hot meal from the cafeteria, okay?”

“Thank you,” Bel said softly.

“Do you have any preferences?”

“Soup, or really, anything will be fine.”

“Okay, I'll be right back.” Pia's quick signature footsteps tapped away.

Silence filled the room, as Pia took away her comfortable ease of manner. Dragos and Bel confronted each other over Graydon's prone figure.

Bel's fingers trembled. He wanted to move, to sit up to break the tension leaping between the other two, but he was so damn tired. The thick barrier of cotton wool wouldn't let him move.

The dragon growled, “You can't have him.”

After a long moment, Bel said, “I already have him, and I'm not letting him go.” A quiet thread of steel ran through her words. “He's mine now. But I will tell you this much, Beast. I love him too much to make him choose between the people he loves, and the commitments he feels the need to keep. You're going to have to live with the fact that I hold that power . . . and I will not wield it, because what I love most about him is his big, wonderful heart, and I'll do everything I can to protect it.”