There was so much obvious affection between them, it felt good. It felt right, like Bel had somehow managed to slip into a place that filled a hole in their lives, one that Graydon hadn’t even been aware that the group had.

Sometime later, somehow, the dam between them all – the one keeping them from talking about Constantine – broke. Graydon didn’t catch how it happened. He hadn’t felt like drinking hard liquor that night after all, so he had walked into the kitchen for a new six-pack of lager.

When he came back to the large living room, he heard Aryal telling Bel, “He was a total asshole manwhore. He chewed through women the way some people go through Tic Tacs.”

“Oh, my.” Bel coughed. “That’s an image that won’t leave my head in a hurry.”

As she spoke, she met Graydon’s gaze. There was so much compassion in her eyes, he was not surprised that it had touched even Aryal’s tempestuous, spiky heart.

Bayne tossed his whiskey back. He said suddenly, “Do you remember that time one of his dates doused his clothes with lighter fluid, set a match to them and threw them out his balcony window?”

“I got a phone call that day,” Rune said. “Traffic control from downstairs told me, ‘Did you know it’s raining men’s briefs, and they’re on fire?’”

A laugh shook out of Grym. It faded into something close to tears. The gargoyle pinched his nose and expelled a hard sigh. “Nicest asshole you’d ever want to meet. If you weren’t a woman.”

“Best, most loyal friend,” Graydon said. His throat closed, and he couldn’t say anymore. Quietly, Bel made her way across the room to put her arm around him. He kissed her forehead, and she leaned against him.

Rune said, “Hell of a fighter. Hell of an investigator too.” He tossed a whiskey back.

Alexander offered in a quiet voice, “I didn’t get the chance to know him as long or as well as the rest of you, but he had become my brother.”

They shared stories about Constantine into the early hours of the morning. No doubt, it wouldn’t be the last time they needed to reminisce, but it felt good – good in a way that made the pain of loss more bearable.

Thank you, he said in Bel’s head.

She looked up at him. For what, my love?

I didn’t catch how you started it, he told her. But I know you did. We needed to talk about him.

The Wyr demesne has never lost a sentinel before, she said softly. It’s going to take you all a while to heal, but have faith. You will.

If anyone knew how to survive loss, it was Bel. He wrapped his arms around her, soaking in the comfort of her feminine presence.

Dragos remained silent throughout the reminiscing. He sprawled in one oversized armchair, drinking brandy steadily while his gold gaze watched everyone. It was impossible to tell what he felt or thought. He kept his face impassive.

Pia had kicked off her heels and curled against his side. Absently, he rubbed one hand back and forth along the curve of her hip.

Nearby, Liam sprawled on the floor, playing a game on a mini tablet. Even though it was almost five in the morning, nobody had suggested that he go to bed. He needed to process the grief as much, if not more, than any of the rest of them.

Eventually, Rune and Carling said good night. They left in a flurry of hugs and good-byes. Rune touched Dragos on the shoulder, and the two men had a brief telepathic exchange. Dragos gave the other man a nod, and the couple left.

Graydon watched, glad that the two men had reconciled enough so that Dragos could accept Rune and Carling as being part of their extended family.

After they had gone, perhaps inevitably, the subject of how to fill Constantine’s sentinel position came up. Quentin said to Dragos, “I suppose you’ve been too busy to give much thought to picking another sentinel.”

Hesitantly, Bel said in Graydon’s head, This might be an ignorant question, but do you think he would consider inviting Rune back?

He shook his head. Not a chance, he told her. They’re recovering their friendship, but Dragos would never allow Carling to get that close to the seat of power in the Wyr demesne. In some ways, Dragos and Carling are too much alike. They’re both schemers.

I guess I should be glad he’s been so accepting of me, relatively speaking, Bel said slowly, her expression pensive. I’ve been so preoccupied by working to accept him that I hadn’t considered that before.

He hugged her tight. Yes, you’re Elven, and yes, you were a major force in the Elven demesne. But trust me, you are an entirely different reality from Carling.

As they shared their private exchange, the others watched Dragos consider Quentin’s question. He said, “Yes, I’ve thought about it.”

Graydon met Aryal’s frustrated gaze. When Dragos wanted to be inscrutable, sometimes getting any information out of him was like trying to pull giant, dragon-sized teeth.

Aryal said, “You’re not going to hold another round of Sentinel Games, are you? Not only was it a hellish expense, but that week was exhausting.”

“No,” Dragos replied. “Doing it once was a show of our strength. Holding public games again, especially so soon after the first time and in the wake of Constantine’s death, sends another message entirely. I’m thinking of a private event, with a short list of handpicked contestants.”

From his position on the floor, Liam said, “It’s my spot.”

Since it was the first time the boy had spoken that night, it took a few moments for everyone to absorb exactly what he had said.

The sentinels looked at each other. Over by the bar, Aryal pivoted abruptly to put her back to the group. Graydon caught a glimpse of her wide-eyed profile as she mouthed oh my fucking god to the wall.

Pia straightened from her position reclining against Dragos’s side. Her expression turned guarded, her sharp gaze intent on her son.