Shadow's End (7 page)

Take a deep breath, Bel.
Graydon put a hand on her shoulder in a solid, reassuring grip. He drew her to the nearest wall, shielding her from curious stares with his body.

With the fingers of one hand, she lifted the edge of her hood so that she could peer up at him. His rough face was grim, his eyes hard. He looked entirely different from the gentle, easygoing man she had seen earlier at the masque.

Ferion might not be here now, but he was recently,
he told her.
I can catch hints of his scent, even through the stink in this place. We need to check upstairs, and in the back rooms.
He paused.
Will you allow me to do that for you?

There was something about how he phrased the question, along with the expression in his eyes, that sent her back to their earlier conversation.

They had walked through all the public gaming rooms,
but Malfeasance pandered to more than just the gambling vice. There were drugs here, and somewhere, there would be rooms for sex.

Graydon was trying to spare her, in case Ferion might still be here after all.

Within the span of a moment, her imagination ran riot. Images of Ferion drugged or naked crowded her mind.

Abruptly, she shoved them away and decided to let Graydon help her. If Ferion really was still here, she didn't need to see her son in such a state.

She nodded.
I would appreciate it if you would.

He hesitated, looking down at her.
I don't like to leave you here alone.

She touched his hand as it rested on her shoulder.
Remember, I can take care of myself.

I'm quite sure you can, but I still don't have to like it.
His fingers tightened.
The sooner I go, the sooner I can return. I'll be as quick as I can.

Thank you.

She watched him leave. For such a massively built man, he was remarkably quick and light on his feet. His powerful frame was thick with muscle, yet his movements were as lithe and sinuous as the cat in his Wyr form.

As he disappeared, the atmosphere in the crowded room underwent an almost unidentifiable change. The room felt colder without his presence.

Repressing a shudder, she turned on her heel to scan the area. She took note of the number of males who began to watch her, some slyly, while others perused her with open assessment, even avid curiosity.

Opening herself partially to the psychic currents, she caught snatches of thought and intention. Some wondered why she kept her identity hidden. One or two took note of the unremarkable quality of her cloak and dismissed her as a potential mark. Others fantasized about the body her cloak hid.

A few contemplated rape.

She regarded them all coldly. If you wandered into my Wood, she thought, not a single one of you would escape alive.

One of the men approached her with an unsteady gait.

“Ooh, you looks like you might be a tasty bird underneaf all that,” he said. A strong scent of brandy washed over her. “'Ow much d'you charge for the night?”

She scanned him, but he wasn't one of the would-be rapists. Dismissing him as innocuous, she pulled a gentle swath of Power between them.

An expression of confusion crossed his face, and his eyebrows drew together. He turned away, muttering to himself. After wandering along the edge of the room, he shouldered his way into a game of dice.

She sent a second glance over the room. Her small spell of misdirection had shaken off the attention of several of the others, but she hadn't rid herself of all of them.

That was the problem with such spells. They worked on some people, but not everybody. Someone with a strong enough, determined mind could break through them.

She couldn't stand and do nothing while she waited for Graydon to return. Focusing her attention on the games, she tried to imagine what Ferion might do.

Or at least what she thought Ferion might do. It was painful to admit that she was no longer quite sure.

She did know he favored games of both dice and cards. As she considered the various tables, she noticed the presence of several more armed Orcs standing at attention at regular intervals along the walls.

While she studied the Orcs, a well-dressed Vampyre male gave her a long assessing glance before he turned back to watching the tables.

He was so clearly not like any of the other males who were watching her, she opened her mind again to sense his intentions and got the impression of a cold, businesslike mind. The Vampyre wasn't at Malfeasance to gamble. He was working.

Coming to a decision, she strode toward him. While he did not appear to notice her approach, he swiveled to face her as she grew near.

The Vampyre bowed. He was not a young one. He had
some strength of presence and an aura of accomplished Power.

“My lady.” His smooth smile contained a hint of sharp tooth. “We are honored that you would grace us with your presence. Are you interested in joining a game? Perhaps a discreet one, in a private room.”

So much for trying to keep her identity a secret. Still, one person recognizing her was not the same level of disaster as it would be if the whole room had.

She told him telepathically,
I am not here to play any of your games, but I would appreciate a few answers to some questions.

He cocked his head and switched to telepathy.
Please, do tell me more. It would be my pleasure to service you in any way you desire.

His oily manner ran along the surface of her skin. Repressing a shudder, she snapped,
Ferion Thalinil. He was here at some point in the recent past. Do you know where he is?

Ferion is your son, is he not?
The Vampyre prowled close, eyes flickering with a predatory gleam.
How heartwarming to see such familial concern. It speaks well of you, my lady.

Disliking his overly familiar attitude and how close he came, she held herself stiffly. She refused to let this creature see how he affected her.
Have you seen him today?
she persisted.
Do you know where he might have gone?

The Vampyre inclined his head and assumed a mournful expression.
My deepest regrets, but we at Malfeasance consider the privacy of our patrons to be one of our highest priorities. Whether or not the Elven heir mentioned where he might go upon taking his leave here is not for me to s—

The insincerity in his voice was as abrasive as his oily manner. Bel did not often feel the urge to violence, but as she considered him, she imagined taking his head in both hands and twisting it off his shoulders.

She interrupted.
I'll make it worth your while.

His dark gaze flickered, and the corners of his mouth
indented as he repressed a satisfied smile.
How might you do that?

Lifting the edge of the hood again with one hand, she met his gaze and said softly,
I'll let you live.

The Vampyre froze, and all hint of a smile vanished.
Ma'am,
he said, his attitude stripped of pretension.
I'm not supposed to divulge that information. Please understand, this isn't personal. My employer is—he's not a man to be crossed.

After the traits he had exhibited, she had no pity for him.

It will be much worse for you to make an enemy of me,
she said softly.
I know your face. I will find out your name, and where you live. Whereas, if you tell me what I want to know, your employer need never know that the information came from you, or that I was even here. You have an opportunity right now to make an intelligent choice.

Breathing heavily, a sure telltale sign of stress in a Vampyre, he glanced sideways with just his eyes at the nearest Orc standing against the wall.
Your son was invited to attend an exclusive game at my employer's country estate. He left shortly after arriving here.

She felt another pang that Ferion would have chosen to leave without letting her know. What kind of grip did this need to gamble have on him?

Perhaps he had left a note at the house. Even as she thought it, she knew she was grasping at straws.

While the Vampyre did not mention his employer by name, she knew he meant Malfeasance's owner, the pariah Djinn Malphas. A Djinn had no need of a physical residence, unless he chose to entertain creatures of other Races.

She asked,
Where is this place?

I—I've never been to his country estate, personally.
The Vampyre loosened his cravat with pale fingers.
From listening to other patrons talk when they'd been issued an invitation, I do know that it's a day's ride out toward Wembley.

Wembley,
she repeated, searching her memory of the geography of the outlying areas.
That's west.

Yes, my lady.

What else can you tell me of this estate's location?

The patrons complained about one of the inns on the highway, close to the estate. They said the food was terrible and it took forever to get service for their horses.
A touch of desperation entered his mental voice.
Truly, that's everything I know.

All he had offered were minuscule bits of information, but she could hear the sincerity in his voice. In a clench of despair, she turned away, just as a volcano of fury entered the room.

For a moment, she almost didn't recognize the towering figure. While she stared, she heard everyone in the room take a collective breath as they moved away.

Only then did she realize it was Graydon who stalked toward her, his face pale and set while his Power boiled in a chaotic, hot corona around his clenched body.

She felt the blood leave her face and forgot to telepathize. “What is it?”

His white, taut lips barely moved. He said in a low voice, “He's not here. We need to leave before I start murdering people.”

In the background, to his right, a couple of men slipped out a doorway. They were inconsequential. As soon as she saw them, she put them out of her mind. She took one of Graydon's hands. It was bunched into a rigid fist. Even his skin was hot to the touch.

She could not imagine what had happened to fill him with such rage. As soon as she touched him, his hand loosened, and he curled his fingers around hers.

“Come on,” she whispered.

Together they strode for the front door. She noticed that the Orcs standing against the wall wouldn't look at them any longer.

Once outside, she gratefully took deep breaths of the chill night air. Not even the whiff of stench from the street rubbish could dampen her relief at leaving the stifling smells inside Malfeasance.

Graydon strode down the street so fast, she had to trot to keep up. His anger was still palpable, and his expression so dark, she bit her lip and kept silent for several blocks, until
they had left all the activity behind them and reached a quiet, dark section of street.

With immense relief, she shoved back the confining hood. A slight, cold breeze, still damp from the recent rain, brushed against her overheated cheeks.

“I'm going to burn that place to the ground.” His whisper was so forceful, it came out as a hiss. “I didn't do it because you were there. I know how much you need to find your son, but I'm going back to level that building.”

“Dear gods,” she said. She stopped walking, which meant he had to let go of her hand, drag her along behind him, or stop walking too.

He stopped. As she gently tugged, he spun around to face her. He had clenched her fingers so tightly, they had gone numb, but she didn't protest. Overhead, the cloud cover had broken, and a pale spray of stars arced across the clear night, silhouetting his tawny head.

Even though his rough features were in shadow, she still tried to search his expression as she asked, “What happened?”

He blew out a forceful breath and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. Then he rubbed his face as well. Through her palm, she could sense when the furious rigidity in his body eased.

“No,” he said. “I won't saddle you with that information. I'm handling it.”

She rejected that, categorically. “How on earth could you be handling whatever is back there, when we just walked out? I should know what the cost of rescuing my son is.
He
should know what his actions cost.”

“That's not fair or accurate.” He stepped closer. The heat from his body warmed her. “Ferion has nothing to do with this. I caught no hint of his scent throughout the rest of the place. It's likely he has no idea what happens beyond the gaming rooms.”

Again, her imagination ran riot. She had seen the gambling for herself. What was left?

Drugs and sex. She thought of how several of the men had considered her figure. Even when there was virtually
nothing for them to see, other than the fact that she was feminine, they had assessed the possibilities in what lay hidden underneath the cloak. How a few had contemplated rape.

A sudden wash of emotion brought tears to her eyes. She pointed back in the direction of Malfeasance. “Whatever is back there—you would stop it right now if it wasn't for him, wouldn't you?”

No, she thought. If it wasn't for me.

This has nothing to do with Ferion. Graydon checked his behavior for me.

Slowly, his grip on her fingers loosened. He raised both hands to cup her jaw. His hands were so big, she felt completely nestled within the warmth of his hold.

“Beluviel, listen to me,” he said. His voice had gentled. “Normally I do a much better job with my temper. I shouldn't have lost control like that, or said anything that I did.”

She gripped his thick, strong wrists. “Don't apologize. Just explain.”

“You've done me a great honor by trusting me tonight.” He touched her lips with his callused thumbs, as if he would read her expression in the darkness by touch. “I want you to trust me a little further. Let me handle what I found at Malfeasance. Trust that I
am
handling it. And trust me when I also say this doesn't need to concern you.”