Last of all came Azrael, god of Death.

Stillness filled the hall as Death walked past. All the Wyr, including every sentinel, bowed to the elegant figure in black.

Every Wyr, except Dragos. He didn’t bow. Bel didn’t think he had it in him to bow to anyone. But he did stand rigidly at attention.

The crowd followed the Wyr’s lead, bowing to Death and paying homage to the sentinel and the Djinn who had fallen. Bel’s gaze filled with moisture, and she bit her lips. As Death came abreast, she bowed as well. The silence remained, deep and profound, until the last of the gods exited the banquet hall at the other end.

The musicians lifted their instruments, music filled the hall once again, and the moment of remembrance was over.

Long after midnight, after everyone had unmasked and the crowd thinned, Graydon came to find her. He looked as tired as she felt. At some point, he had loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first few shirt buttons at his neck.

All of the sentinels, along with Dragos, Pia and Liam, had worn black that evening. While she knew, like Linwe dying the pink out of her hair, that none of them had worn black as a fashion statement, still, the simple formality of Graydon’s suit looked good on him.

The black emphasized the long length of his body, along with the power in the breadth of those wide, muscled shoulders. It also highlighted his colors – the healthy burnish of his deep tan, his tawny hair, and the rich depth in his dark gray eyes.

Even though, she did admit to herself, the cut of the suit managed to achieve adequate.

A rush of love for him washed over her. When he came up to her, she opened her arms, and he walked into them, wrapping her in a big hug, while his presence surrounded her with that nourishing, friendly blaze.

She could never get enough of it, never get tired of his companionship. The fact that she was also overcome with desire and deeply, desperately in love with him sealed her fate, and she was content to never leave it.

Nestling against his chest, she lifted her face for his kiss.

He stroked her shoulders. “We’re gathering up at the penthouse. It’s kinda tradition after the masque, and we’d like for you – I’d like for you to come, if you would.”

Instantly, she put her own tiredness aside. This was her first invitation to an inner circle gathering. She was frankly surprised that it had come so soon. It was too important for her not to go.

And even if none of that had been true, Graydon wanted her there, and that was all the impetus she needed.

“Of course,” she said. As he laced his fingers through hers, and they walked in the direction of the elevators, she asked, “Who will be there?”

“It’s just going to be the sentinels. Rune and Carling, and Pia, Liam and Dragos.” He paused, giving her a sidelong look. “Fair warning. More than a couple of us might get falling down drunk, including me.”

So it would be a very small, select group.

She squeezed his fingers. “Do you need me to stay sober, so that I can get us back to the apartment?”

He shook his head. “I never get so drunk I can’t get home.”

She told him, “Then I may very well join you, because it’s been a hell of a week.”

A spark of surprised approval entered his gaze. He said, “It sure has.”

Not only was this her first invitation to an inner circle gathering, but it would also be the first occasion she spent any time with the sentinels, or the Cuelebres as a family.

Back in January, before the crisis in the Elven demesne had erupted, she had shared a brief visit and a connection with Pia, but she hadn’t spent any time with the other woman since then.

Bel may have been invited, but not necessarily accepted. Not yet. While she had faced countless social challenges before in her long life, this one mattered in a critical way that most of the others had not.

She couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t afraid. She wanted this to go well so badly, not just for herself, but for Graydon too.

While she couldn’t do anything about the fear, what she could do was face the challenge head-on. As she turned to face the elevator doors, she straightened her spine.

When the doors opened with a quiet swoosh, she stepped into the penthouse, Graydon at her side.

TWENTY

E

ven though nothing showed but calm composure on Bel’s beautiful face, in the elevator Graydon had caught a hint of nervousness in her scent.

It highlighted how remarkably good she was at managing the stresses of her own internal reality because as they stepped into the penthouse, her entire attention focused on everyone around her.

It also showed him, up close and personal, that she had a hell of a game face too. He had always known it. He had seen flashes of it in the past, but it was one thing to know and quite another to see that game face in action. He already respected her, but over the next hour, that respect deepened exponentially.

Everyone else was already present. The males had removed suits and ties. Aryal had set aside her formal cut leather jacket. Most of the adults were already drinking, and most of the drinks were the hard stuff. Carling nursed a bottle of bloodwine.

Pia refrained from alcohol. Liam drank Coke, and even though there had been plenty of sumptuous refreshments at the masque, the boy was already eating again. He kept his head down, avoiding other people’s gazes.

Like the adults, he had been subdued ever since Constantine’s death. Graydon noted the subtle way that Pia kept her attention on him. He had no doubt that she would make sure Liam got what he needed emotionally.

At first, there were small signs of stiffness around Bel, the telltale behaviors of people who had known each other for a long time as they accepted a near stranger into their midst. Within a half an hour, those had melted away entirely.

Bel and Pia spent some time together, tucked into a corner of the large living room, Bel’s dark head bent close to Pia’s pale blond one. Graydon’s gaze slipped over to them several times. He saw he wasn’t the only to watch the tête-à-tête. All the sentinels did, Dragos most of all. At the end of their talk, the two women hugged.