Shadow's End

by Thea Harrison

  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

  They 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.”

  Even though they sounded like they were fighting, a different kind of warmth and healing stole into him. Squeezing her fingers, he fell deeply asleep.

  • • •

  The spike burst out of Bel’s chest. Her dark gaze turned wry, before the light in them faded.

  And there was red, dripping into the white snow. Blooming like roses.

  With a muffled shout, he woke in a clench.

  He was still in the hospital room. The remains of a dinner tray sat on a nearby table. Bel had climbed into the bed with him, curling against his side, with her head on his chest. She was sound asleep.

  As he grabbed her, she woke with a start and rose up on one elbow. Her cheek was lined with creases. “What is it?”

  “I dreamed you died,” he said from the back of his throat.

  Quick compassion flashed across her face. She kissed his neck, the line of his jaw, his mouth. “I’m right here, just as I promised I would be.”

  He said against her lips, “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “No, never. I swear it.”

  He drank in her breath that carried the words of that promise, kissing her deeply. She stroked his hair, kissing him back.

  When he could bear to say it, he whispered, “Consta
ntine.”

  Her eyes filled with sadness. Wordlessly, she shook her head.

  He had already known, but still, he had hoped against hope. He buried his face in her hair, feeling gut shot. She held him with her whole body.

  After a moment, he asked, “Rune? Julian?”

  “They’re both going to make it. Rune—he took a bad wound to the thigh. It nicked the femoral artery, but when he fell into the icy water, it slowed the bleeding enough. Carling and the medics got to him right away.” She ran her fingers along the line of his bare shoulder. “Julian’s hands were badly burned. I don’t know what his long-term prognosis is. But I know he’s alive.”

  “What about Ferion?” He ran his hands down the long graceful curve of her back, pressing her closer to wipe away the ugly memory of the dream.

  “He’s okay. He— For a few minutes, I was afraid he wasn’t going to make it. I don’t know much, yet, about what happened back at the Elven residence after I left except that I heard Ferion tracked down and killed a few of Malphas’s spies. Malphas had fixed the soul lien so that it would kill him if anybody tried to remove the spell, but Soren was able to break it before Ferion choked to death. Soren’s—” Through the palms of his hands, he felt her swallow hard. “He’s gone too. Malphas was trying to run when Soren stopped him.”

  Two eternal souls, gone forever.

  “I remember,” he said in a low voice. He thought of the crashing Power overhead, and the destruction on Hart Island. “Gods, what a high cost. Did anybody else die?”

  “No,” she told him quickly, kissing him again. “Everybody else is okay.”

  He nodded, turned his face away and covered his eyes with one hand. Pain tore at him, along with sickened grief.

  Silence fell in the room. Bel nuzzled his chin and stroked his hair, offering comfort. After several minutes, he whispered, “I feel like this is all my fault.”

  Her head had begun to drift down to his chest again. At those words, she straightened back up. “How can you say that? Why would you think this was all your fault?!”