Shadow's End Read Online Free PDF Page B

they swirled with the other dancers. Weston and Constantine had busied themselves at the refreshments table. Virtually no one paid attention to Graydon and her.
    Underneath the cloth of his coat, the massive arm muscle underneath her fingers bunched. He began to stroll away from the main crowd on the dance floor.
    Due to the strong grip he maintained on her hand, she either had to fall in step beside him or cause a stir.
    And since calling attention to herself was the very last thing she wanted, she went with him.
    At least that was why she told herself she went with him.
    â€œI know you’re distressed, and something is wrong,” he said quietly. “It’s clear that Calondir either has no knowledge of it, or the issue doesn’t concern him.”
    Possible responses flitted through her mind.
    I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.
But the companionship of his presence was too warm and alluring, and the memory of that one shared glance between them still stabbed at her. And she couldn’t bring herself to utter such an untruth.
    You are too forward, sir.
But while she would not have hesitated to say such a thing to Oberon, the power of Graydon’s simple kindness was such she could not find it in her heart to rebuke him.
    The tension in her throat muscles made it difficult to swallow. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to deny it.”
    He had dropped all pretense of lightheartedness, and the glance he gave her was both piercing and troubled at once. Gently, he brought them to a halt and turned so that he faced her.
    â€œI’m well aware that I’m crossing boundaries, and my overtures might be unwelcome,” he said quietly. “You’re the Lady of the Elven demesne. I’m just a Wyr sentinel in the demesne that borders yours, and the Wyr and the Elves aren’t always on the friendliest of terms.”
    â€œThat’s never personal, Graydon,” she said quickly.
    He nodded. He had stopped gripping her fingers, yetsomehow her hand still remained in the crook of his arm. She regarded her offending limb with some annoyance. While she felt she should do something to rectify the situation, she couldn’t seem to make herself withdraw.
    â€œI know it’s not personal.” Graydon patted her hand. “But historically, the Elves and Dragos have been enemies before, so you can deny that anything’s wrong, and you can send me away with a word—and if you do, I will respect your wishes and never speak of this again. I just couldn’t stand back and say nothing, not when you’re under such distress. Is there anything I can do for you?”
    She averted her gaze as she tried to decide how to respond. As she looked around, she saw that he had chosen the spot with care.
    They now stood some distance away from the dancers and the densest part of the crowd, but they were still well visible, just not in the thick of things. It was a good choice for a sensitive conversation, offering both privacy and respectability at once.
    She glanced back up at him. “What gave me away?”
    He lifted one massive shoulder in a shrug. “I thought there seemed to be some tension as you talked with your ladies, but I only really knew for sure when I walked up and could sense the stress in your scent.”
    The Wyr and their sensitive senses. She paused while the part of her that relished the companionable warmth of the fire actually considered taking him up on his offer.
    She shouldn’t. There were so many reasons why she shouldn’t. Not least among them was the one he had brought up—they were from different demesnes, and they had different responsibilities and commitments. They had different governments, with different, often conflicting, agendas.
    Without realizing it, her fingers had tightened on his coat sleeve. When he shifted subtly to draw closer to her, his large body taking a protective stance, she realized what