“Holy shit,” he whispered.

He met her incredulous, joyful gaze. She started shaking again, and burst into tears. As he snatched her close, she started to laugh too. She threw her arms around his neck.

“I’ll let myself out, shall I?” Peter muttered. “It’s not a big deal, especially since there’s just an open doorway to walk through. I’ll pull the pieces of the door sort of back into place for you.”

Now that the other male was well and truly leaving, Graydon ignored him and concentrated on kissing Bel breathless.

Preg. Nant.

TWENTY-ONE

H

ealing did happen, over time. So did happiness.

Graydon would never stop missing Constantine, but over the next several weeks, the nightmares did eventually fade.

He and Bel began to search for a small house outside the city, with a big private yard, where they could go sometimes for weekends and vacations. When they found a charming little Cape Cod cottage, she moved what furniture and artwork she wanted to keep into it.

At her request, he also took her shopping so she could buy several pairs of jeans. He didn’t have room to consider that she did it only to humor him. She was too transparently gleeful when she slipped on her first pair of Levi’s. As he watched her simple, grinning pleasure, he began to realize Ferion hadn’t been the only one who had lived a life constricted by a narrow role to play.

After they went shopping, he took her out to Ruby’s Diner for lunch. To his mild surprise, nobody recognized her. She had wound up her distinctive hair into a bun and tucked it into a Yankees’ baseball cap. She ordered apple pancakes and coffee, and polished off the meal while she laughed at Ruby’s ribald sense of humor, and it was easy.

Loving her, letting her light up his life, was so easy.

As March came and winter relinquished its snowy grip on the city, gradually, life in the Tower began to assume something of a new normal.

He called Lake Tahoe several times to keep in touch with Julian’s progress. After surgeries and grafts, along with healing spells and copious amounts of blood, the doctors had managed to save Julian’s hands.

He would need several months of physical therapy to gain back the strength and flexibility in his grip, but his long-term prognosis was excellent. Julian himself was not very talkative about the subject, so in order to get any real news, Graydon learned to chat with Melly either before or after he talked to Julian. He was intensely glad to hear the relief and hope in Melly’s voice. That old Vampyre was a hard son of a bitch to kill.

Bel stayed in close contact with Ferion. Gradually Graydon watched her relax, releasing the anxiety she had carried for so long. Optimism entered her eyes and voice whenever she talked about the Elven demesne, and her son in particular. He was not only adjusting. After having his soul shackled for so long, he reveled in his freedom.

It appeared he had also learned from his mistakes. Word came to them from a variety of sources that the new Elven High Lord was making considered decisions, marked with temperance and restraint. The news coming out of South Carolina gained a positive forward momentum.

Like Graydon, the Elves would never forget, but after such a dark time in their history, he did believe they had begun to thrive again.

While he and the rest of the sentinels hired new staff, delegated work and generally figured out how to give Dragos the year he had promised Liam, Bel started a massive project of her own.

Architectural drawings and plans took over the dining room table. After approaching Dragos via email, and arguing with him over the course of several days – she swore she would never have followed through with her original inquiry if she’d had to talk to him in person – Dragos allocated a budget for her project that was large enough to make Graydon’s eyes widen when she showed him the approval letter.

Stay in budget, the email warned. Or make sure you come in under, because this is all you get.

“We’re going to cover the whole rooftop,” she told Graydon, eyes sparkling with excitement. “There’s such a limited amount of space, we’ll have to plant every shrub and tree carefully, but that’s okay. The whole roof is going to turn into an oasis.”

“Even the helipad area?” he asked, eyebrows up.

“Yes. Helicopters can land perfectly fine on grass. Right now, all the avian Wyr do is launch and land up there anyway. Now people will be able to go up to the roof for picnics too, or to sleep out underneath the stars if they need. And every floor is going to get its own indoor garden. We’ll maximize every inch of space – there’ll be vertical gardens everywhere. We’ll plant ivy and cooking herbs that people can use if they want, and some will be flowering vines.” She drew in a deep breath. “This is still a skyscraper. It won’t be as wild as a Wood, but it’ll be so much more refreshing for everybody.”

He loved her passion. He adored her enthusiasm. He was so much in love with her, his body felt like it encased a city of light.

Resting his chin in his hands, he watched her face for hours and listened as she talked over her plans. He helped her pore over résumés as she hired her gardening staff. Some of them would be temporary, while others would become permanent positions. The indoor and rooftop gardens would require ongoing maintenance.

One night, as they curled up in bed, he asked, “I love how happy this has made you, but what are you going to do when you’re finished with the project?”

Her head rested on his chest, and he played with long strands of her hair. The need to keep touching her in some way was compulsive.

She was always welcoming, and responded with such pleasure, often their plans for the day flew out the window as they tumbled back into bed, and he was perpetually fifteen minutes late for work. Nobody minded. When he finally showed up, they greeted him with understanding smiles.

“I’ll find another project to work on,” she told him. She pressed her lips to his pectoral, eyes sparkling. “Maybe I’ll take over Central Park. I’ve always wanted to, you know.”