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
Even 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.
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.