Shadow's End

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.”

“In a very real sense, I don’t think we are.” He paused. “Yes, he can be a challenge, but I believe in everything he has accomplished. Just as you feel with the Elven demesne, I believe in our demesne and what it stands for. So much so, I’ve dedicated my life to protecting it and upholding its laws.”

The delicate skin around her eyes tightened. She said, “With my head, I can understand what you’re saying. But my heart remembers the terror of watching the Great Beast fly overhead, and the anguish of loss I felt at the people he slaughtered. I’ll always remember that he is a killer.”

Her words felt like a slap. He turned his face away. As the evening had progressed, his feelings for her had grown richer and more complicated. They shared such a deep love for the woods, and he understood how passionate she felt for her son, but now he felt chilled with the realization of what real distance lay between them.

He said, “Bel, I am a killer.”

After a moment, she touched his averted face, her warm, slender fingers cupping his chin and urging him to turn back to her. With reluctance, he complied.

“I see what you are, gryphon,” she told him. “You’re proud, and incredibly strong, and courageous, and you’re very dangerous, precisely because you are also so good and kind that people might forget the reality of everything about your nature. Even considering all that, you could never be like him, not in a million years.”

As he looked into her eyes, her large gaze was so full of warmth it banished the chill almost completely.

Almost, except for the knowledge of the distance lying between them.

The wild part of him that fought against any kind of restraint rebelled against the awareness. Just as it had driven him through the air to her, it drove him forward now.

Moving with gentle care, he took hold of her hands, holding her so lightly, she could pull away from him with a single easy gesture. Like the rest of her, her hands were beautifully formed, the bones slender and graceful.

She didn’t pull away.

Bowing his head, he pressed his mouth to her fingers.

They were on a runaway coach, hurtling nowhere.

She would never be able to live in New York, so close to the dragon.

He would never be able to live in the Elven demesne, so close to Calondir. Even if Graydon would consider leaving his duties, the Elves would never accept a former Wyr sentinel in their midst.

As Constantine had said, she was the very definition of unobtainable.

Yet he still reached for her.

“Look at us,” he said against her fingers. “You with your commitments, and me with mine. We live a world apart from each other.”

A tremor ran through her. “Graydon,” she murmured. “What are we doing?”

He lifted his head. He could drown in eyes such as hers, so wide and dark, yet so full of light. “Bel, tell me not to kiss you, before I do something we might both regret.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I want it too much.”

Her unsteady confession struck away the last of his resistance. Holding his breath, he lowered his head to the pure, plump arc of her lips.

Then he was touching her mouth with his.

He was kissing Beluviel, the unique woman who personified that first, unique breath of spring, while the warmth and giving softness of her lips shaped to his, and oh my gods, she was kissing him back.

That single caress was so damn shocking, he nearly came in his pants, and that shocked him with a raw pulse of adrenaline that ran like fiery liquor over his skin.

Slowly, not believing his remarkable fortune, he let go of her hands and slid his arms around her long, supple torso. She nestled closer, and the way her muscles relaxed and curved into him was downright miraculous.

She was so far above him, so far beyond his reach, he wasn’t entirely sure any of it was real, except his body knew differently. His muscles grew tight and his heart pounded as if he were racing, while his starving lungs forced him to suck in air, and the desperate ache in his hardened cock felt like a mortal wound.

He had crossed so many boundaries in himself, he had no idea what this new, foreign place held for him.

Stroking his fingers down her long, silken braid, he eased away to look down at her. A dark rose color flushed her cheeks, and her eyes shimmered. At the sight, a thread of alarm streaked through him. She wasn’t teary, was she?

She made a soft, urgent sound at the back of her throat, took his head in both hands, and reached up to kiss him a second time.

This time, she slanted her mouth over his and touched his lower lip with her tongue. The caress was so intimate, so needy, shock washed over him again.

It was all the invitation he needed. Crushing her against his chest, he ravaged her mouth, plunging into her with his tongue over and over.

Her fingers worked against the back of his skull, threading through his short hair, while she matched his kiss eagerly. Only half aware of his actions, he took hold of her long braid and wound it around one hand until he made a fist at the nape of her neck.

He was burning, burning. He felt too big for his clothes, on fire for her. Every goddamn breath he took was filled with her luscious, feminine, unique scent. Suddenly starving for every new sensation, he pulled away from her mouth and ran his lips along the petal soft skin of her cheek.

Either he was shaking, or she was, or perhaps they both were. He held her tighter.

“Bel,” he whispered, drunk on the delight of saying her beautiful name. “Beluviel.”

She shuddered and sobbed out something in his ear. What she said, he didn’t know, but the sound of her trembling voice snapped him back into himself.

He could have pretended it hadn’t. Clearly she wasn’t rejecting him, so he could have pressed on. He didn’t want to stop, but he lifted his head anyway.

The golden firelight gilded her rosy skin. Her lips were slightly swollen from his kisses, and the long, graceful arch of her throat as she bent her head back in willing acquiescence of his grip in her hair was utterly perfect.

With a quick glance, he committed the sight to memory, and then he focused on the expression in her gaze. She gazed at him with a combination of such pleasure and pain, conflicting impulses threatened to tear him apart.

He whispered, “I shouldn’t want you so desperately, but I do.”

“I shouldn’t delight so much in hearing you admit it,” she whispered in reply. “But I do, and I want you too.”

He tightened his fist in her hair. “Tell me we shouldn’t be together, just once.”

He watched as her trembling mouth shaped a stunning reply. She whispered, “I can’t think of a single reason why we shouldn’t be together, just once.”

“We can steal this hour for ourselves,” he said slowly, watching every telltale, tiny shift in her expression for any sign of refusal. He couldn’t bear the thought she might think of him with regret. If she showed a single hint of remorse or reluctance, he would stop.

There was none.

Stroking her fingers through his hair, she murmured, “There’s no reason why we can’t. No harm will be done.”

There was something wrong in what they said to each other, but his fevered brain couldn’t quite puzzle it out. His growing hunger for her was louder than any other instinct or doubt.

“No harm,” he agreed hoarsely. “We can take this time together. Just until dawn, just you and me.”

“And we don’t tell anybody about this,” she whispered, searching his gaze. “Afterward, we go on living our lives, just like before? You’ll go back to your demesne, and I’ll return to mine?”

“Yes.”

Loosening his grip on her hair, he pulled her braid apart. The long, dark strands cascaded over his fingers. Against his callused skin, it felt incredibly soft, like water or silk. Obeying an impulse, he buried his face in a handful of her hair.

That was when he began to realize where they had gone wrong. There was no way he could make love to this incredible woman and go back to his life as if nothing had ever happened. The very fact of her threatened to change him at a fundamental level.

He was beginning to think she might be everything he could ever want or need. She certainly embodied far more than he had ever thought he might find in a woman.

And she was nothing he could ever have for himself.

Not truly, not past dawn.

Just as he couldn’t turn away from her earlier at the masque, he couldn’t turn away from her now. It would be a terrible thing to close the door on spring and never venture forth to experience all the wonder that living his life to the fullest could bring, even if he could only have an hour with her.

Easing out of his arms, she undid the fastenings of her leather vest, pulled it off and set it aside. The jacket was heavy, he noted, and stitched with a thick lining, a good solid understated piece of armor. Underneath, she wore a white silk shirt, embroidered along the neckline and wrists with a curling green vine.

Touching the vine with one forefinger, he murmured, “Pretty.”

She gave him a luminous smile. “I stitched it last month. I like to remind myself that winter is temporary, and spring always comes.”

“You’re not too cold?” he asked her again, stroking her cheek. She shook her head, leaning into his touch. “We can spread my coat on the ground.”

“And we can use my cloak as a blanket,” she murmured.

“You deserve a much finer bed than this.” Unable to resist, he leaned forward to caress her lips with his.

She said against his mouth, “This is the best bed I could hope for.”

He shrugged out of his coat and laid it out on the ground. The fire was beginning to die down, so he took a moment to add the last of the wood to the blaze. As it flared up, he turned back in time to see her pull off her leather boots and pants.

Her long, bare legs were flawless. Muscles flexed over narrow, graceful bones as she bent to scoop up her pants and drape them over the log. Her hair fell longer than her shirt, the feathery ends brushing against her thighs. As she bent her head, the tip of one pointed, elegant ear peeked out of the dark, shining strands.

Transfixed, he stared at her.

Sex, for him, had always been rowdy and affectionate, and an altogether temporary condition. It was damn fine physical exercise, and an excellent way to release tension and get a comfy cuddle or two.

The next morning, he would feel fit as a fiddle. With a whistle and a spring in his step, he was ready to get on with his day. He honestly didn’t mind paying someone generously for a good time, as long as she wanted to do it, was happy to be paid and enjoyed her work.

In contrast, he was stricken by the depth of emotion he felt when he looked at Beluviel.

With a silent roar, hunger banished his soul to live inside his skin. It became the raw, feral force that drove the beat of his heart, the pulse of his blood. In all the countless ages in which the gryphon had taken flight, this was the first time he left himself behind.

Tearing off his shirt, he rolled it into a bundle, so she would have a pillow on which to rest her head. As she took note of what he did, she gave him a smile that softened and lit her beautiful features.

Rising swiftly to his feet, he pulled her against his bare chest and took her mouth again. Kissing her drove the hunger to a fever pitch. He felt more than a little mad from it, as he dug his fingers into her hair and plundered the soft, secret recesses of her mouth.

A shudder rippled through her body. Protectively, he nestled her closer and murmured against her lips, “You are cold.”

She shook her head. “Not when I’m near you. You throw off heat like a furnace.” She ran her hands over the bare expanse of his chest. He had a deep suntan, and his pectorals were liberally sprinkled with hair that was a darker shade than the hair on his head. It narrowed to a sleek arrow that shot down his abdomen.

Pleasure washed over him at her caress, along with a hint of self-consciousness. He muttered, “I’m a lot hairier than most Elves.”

“I love it,” she breathed, looking down his length. She leaned forward to rub her face against his chest, a gesture not only affectionate but so sensual and animal-like, it touched a deep, atavistic part of him.

His hunger sharpened to an uncontrollable spike of need. Bending, he scooped her into his arms and laid her on the ground. As she settled back onto his coat, she flung out a hand, snagged a corner of her cloak and dragged it close.

He wasn’t cold either. The heat from the fire and the chill night air felt invigorating to him, but still he allowed her to shake out the cloak and drape it over his back. She was taking care of him, and he loved that.

He needed to see all of her. With shaking fingers, he unbuttoned the front of her shirt, until the edges fell to either side, and she lay exposed to his scrutiny.

Absolutely, without a doubt, the most important and lovely part of her was her spirit. Feminine and quietly strong at the same time, she drew him in like a lodestone. Even knowing and believing that, the physical sight of her overwhelmed him.

She was exquisitely shaped everywhere, with the same narrow, long bone structure. Her flat stomach was punctuated by the graceful arch of hipbones, and her pelvis, which was sprinkled with a small tuft of dark, silken hair. In contrast to her slim rib cage, her breasts swelled in generous curves, tipped by jutting, pale pink nipples. As he watched, they crinkled and stiffened in the night air.

At the sight, a guttural croon broke out of him. Bending down, he took one nipple in his mouth ravenously and sucked.

Arching, she cried out, the silvery sound spearing through the quiet predawn. Astonishment overcame him at the intense pleasure he found at flicking the delicate, plump morsel of flesh with his tongue.

While he suckled, he ran a greedy hand all over her body. His hunger for her had become a driving need, and he was fast losing any sense of finesse he might otherwise have had.

While he stroked and petted her, he was vaguely aware of her hands working at the fastening of his pants at his waist. She yanked his clothes open, and, once freed, his erection spilled into her hands. Her fingers closed somewhat clumsily over his cock, and he felt as massive and hard as an oak tree in her grip.

He was losing control, losing it. Arching his back, he pushed his cock into her hands, while he suckled at her breast and thrust one hand between her legs.

As he discovered the satiny, soft petals of her private flesh, he found her deliciously wet. Caressing her deeply, stroking into the entrance of her passage, he drew more of her moisture out, until her arousal coated his fingers.

She groaned, or he did. They might be eternally separate but they moved as one. His lungs worked like a bellows, the breath sawing in his throat as he switched from suckling on one nipple to the other, drawing on her deeply while he rubbed and explored her, until he encountered a tiny, precious nubbin of stiffened flesh.

Sharing this kind of raw, carnal intimacy with her was incredible. He would be more awed if he wasn’t so immersed in her.

As his fingers connected with her clitoris, she cried out and lifted her head off the ground. Enchanted, he rubbed her rhythmically, while her hands roamed his body with a frantic urgency. With one hand, she cupped his balls and stroked his erection, while with the other, she stroked and caressed his chest, plucking at his nipples.

Then she stiffened, her lips parting on a gasp, and her wide, dark gaze flew to his. He looked deeply into her eyes as he stroked her, transfixed by the way she shivered and groaned as she climaxed.

Events cascaded, and suddenly, they were moving too fast. The urge to be inside her was too strong. Growling, he moved between her legs, covering her body with his, and she guided the broad, thick head of his cock into place.

Gazing into her eyes, he entered her, and she was so hot, so wet.

Her inner muscles tightened on him as she wrapped both legs around his waist, and he couldn’t help but move. He couldn’t stop. He pinned her down, hips flexing, and she cradled his entire body as she tilted up for every thrust.

Making love vanished into animal rut. He needed to get deeper, to dominate. Fire overtook his body. Gripping her by the hip, he increased his tempo until he was pistoning into her. She cried out, winding an arm around his neck.

His own climax slammed up the base of his spine, and it was all too fast. It came on too strong, sank invisible teeth into him, and it wouldn’t let go. Groaning, he spurted into her. He was so blinded by the extreme pleasure, he was only vaguely aware of how she rocked with him, encouraging every last ripple.

It wasn’t enough. It couldn’t ever be nearly enough.

He needed to continue, to go deeper, spill more of himself into her, until there was nothing left of him to give. Until there was no turning back.

A shock of realization slapped him.

What he needed to do—it was absolutely the one thing he shouldn’t.

Gasping, he withdrew. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. His cock was still so stiff and aching, he couldn’t bear to touch himself, while he buried his face in the extravagant dark pool of her hair.

I can’t fall in love with you, he thought.

But it was too late for that. He was already in love with her.

It had been too late from that moment at the masque when he took her hand and tucked it gently into the crook of his arm.

He had always been a little in love with her. How could he not be? Falling the rest of the way had felt so effortless, so right. All it had taken was spending a little time with her, talking to her, holding her in his arms.

I can’t mate with you and leave you. And I can’t stay with you either. There’s too much distance lying between us, too many impossible barriers.

She cupped his cheek and tried to meet his eyes.

“It’s not you,” he said. He sounded too harsh, and concern darkened her expression. “It’s not this. It’s me.”

“What can I do?” she whispered.

“Nothing. I just want this too much.” He yanked her cloak off his back and shoved it into her hands. Everything he did was too rough, but he couldn’t control himself. He realized he had been so on fire to get inside her, he hadn’t even gotten fully undressed.

Tearing off his clothes, he stood when he was entirely nude. His cock ached fiercely. So did his soul.

He realized he could see more of the clearing than he could earlier, and he looked up at the eastern sky. The pale gray of predawn crowned the neighboring trees. It was almost dawn. They had run out of time.

Striding away, he headed for the river. When he reached the bank, he dove in. Icy water closed over his head.

It was the only way he could think to quench the fire that ran in his veins.

I can’t mate with you and hope to live.