Graydon shouldered his way through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with those who greeted him. When he had approached close enough to come to Dragos’s attention, the dragon gave him a nod.

He said to Dragos, A matter of some personal urgency has arisen.

One of Dragos’s inky eyebrows rose. You have a personal urgent matter? Here, in London?

I’m afraid I can’t say anything more, Graydon said. But I need to leave for a day or two.

I don’t like secrets, unless they’re mine, Dragos said, giving him a piercing look.

I understand, Graydon replied. Unfortunately this one is not mine to tell.

Over the crowd, Dragos’s gold eyes narrowed on him. This has nothing to do with me, or the Wyr demesne?

Absolutely nothing, he said.

After several moments, the dragon said, If I don’t hear from you in two days’ time, I’ll come looking for you.

Graydon gave him a lopsided smile. You’ll hear from me.

Dragos nodded. Without any further word on the matter, he turned his attention back to the people conversing around him, releasing Graydon from his sentinel duties.

Pivoting, Graydon left the crowd behind in swift, long strides. The further he got away from the party, the faster he walked, until the wild, untamed creature living inside pressed him into a run.

As he ran, he shapeshifted and left the earth behind.

After a brief stop at his hotel, where he changed out of his evening attire and donned sturdy traveling clothes and weapons, he winged toward Grosvenor Square.

He loved being a sentinel. He loved the responsibility and the challenge, the sense of justice and satisfaction he got from a job well done. The predator in him gained huge satisfaction from hunting down criminals, and the possessive side of him loved claiming the Wyr demesne in New York as his own.

He shared that fierce pride with the other sentinels. They were more than family; they were a nation. He had a place that he had fought for, that he bled for, and that he worked hard to keep.

He shouldn’t be feeling this riotous upsurge of emotion. He shouldn’t be so eager to get back to the woman who defined unobtainable.

The concepts of family, justice and nation ran deep in him, but the gryphon lived in a place deeper still.

It reached for the sky with the same passion as it flew toward Grosvenor Square, toward the impossible, the unobtainable, and it did so because the need to return to her was like the need to fly, like an arrow in the heart.

It did so, because it couldn’t do otherwise.

He plummeted down to earth in the park where he and Bel had parted. As he landed beside the large oak tree, he thought he was alone with nothing but the deep green of the rich grass for company.

Then the shadow underneath the oak moved. Whipping around, he held his impulse to violence in check because part of him was still convinced the moving shadow was the tree. They carried the same signature energy, the same scent.

The shadow became a tall female Elven warrior. A thrill ran over his muscles as he recognized Bel.

The pure, inviolate maiden from the masque had vanished, along with her simple, feminine gown. The starlight overhead was dimmer than the light that shone in her large, dark eyes.

She had braided her long hair and dressed in leather, sturdy and more suitable for quick travel than Elven armor, and she had strapped a sword to her back. Over it all, she wore a cloak. Instead of the plain black cloak from earlier, this one was more subtle as it took on the colors of the night around her.

This was the Lady of the Wood. She knew the wild spaces of the world. She had given birth to many of the oldest of them. People of the Elder Races from all over the world revered her, and not least among them were the Wyr.

Most times, it was easy to set aside ancient memories and knowledge, to make way for the prosaic living of the day to day. Looking at her now, the gryphon knew fully who she was. He remembered, and, proud though he could sometimes be, he felt an almost overwhelming urge to kneel.

He didn’t, but he did bow his head deeply. My lady.

She touched the long, pure line of his beak. Beautiful gryphon. Thank you for carrying me on this journey.

I will carry you anywhere you need to go, the gryphon told her. He crouched. She leaped onto his back, and the place at his shoulders that had begun to feel empty in her absence felt complete again.

He launched into the night air and climbed until they had left civilization behind.

Only then did he wheel in a great arc and fly west.

SIX

E

ven though Bel had experienced the gryphon’s flight once already, they hurtled through the air much faster than she had believed possible. Her heart soared as, within minutes, they left London behind.

They would find Ferion. She knew it. They would find him before he could do too much financial damage. If Graydon would consent to carrying both of them back to Grosvenor Square, they might even be able to return before daybreak, or at the very least by noon.

With any luck, Calondir might not have even returned from the masque. Or perhaps he might linger over an assignation and not return until later that day. Either way, for the first time that evening, she was filled with hope.

Briefly, Graydon slowed his speed. Even as she began to question it, he surged forward again with an adjustment in direction¸ until she realized that he had started to follow the path of a shadowed road below.

Soon they came to a cluster of buildings. As the gryphon decreased his altitude and wheeled, Bel studied the area.

While most of the buildings were dark, the biggest one was clearly a posting house and inn. Even though the hour was late, lamplight still shone in the windows.

Would you like to stop and inquire, or do you want to travel onward? Graydon asked.

After a moment, she replied, I think we should travel onward. This place is too close to London. I don’t believe Ferion would have stopped so soon.