He turned toward her, leaning forward. She shifted as well, her face turned up to his.

Her gaze dropped to his rough-cut, sensitive mouth, and her body pulsed as she remembered the warm caress of his lips on her forehead.

What would it be like to have those lips cover hers? While everything she had told him was true, no Elven male would dream of trying to touch or kiss the consort.

For the most part, that arrangement had never really mattered before now either. She could hardly remember what it was like to kiss a man, let alone imagine what it might be like to kiss someone with Graydon’s combination of gentleness and virility.

The sense of connection she felt to him was becoming almost unbearable, as deep and wild as the wood that sheltered them.

Of course, she had to go and do something to destroy the moment.

Before she fully realized what was coming out of her mouth, she said, “Now, it’s my turn to ask you a question. How can you stand to work for Dragos?”

SEVEN

T

he loathing in Bel’s voice was so evident, Graydon shifted position, subtly pulling back.

He needed to put some physical distance between them. Somehow, he needed to calm the riot of feelings her question roused.

He couldn’t blame her for how she felt about Dragos. She was, after all, only one of many who felt that way.

Once, very long ago when the world was new, all of the ancient Wyr had been feral. Dragos had been the most feral of them all, a gigantic predator that did not distinguish between the natures of the creatures he hunted.

Graydon kept his voice measured as he told her, “Once, we were all more beast than human, but that, too, was a very long time ago. Dragos is not what he used to be. None of us are. He is the one who originally had the vision for the Wyr demesne. He approached each of the sentinels to get our support. He created the laws, and he and the sentinels work together to uphold them.”

She shook her head. “It’s hard to fathom we’re talking about the same creature.”

“In a very real sense, I don’t think we are.” He paused. “Yes, he can be a challenge, but I believe in everything he has accomplished. Just as you feel with the Elven demesne, I believe in our demesne and what it stands for. So much so, I’ve dedicated my life to protecting it and upholding its laws.”

The delicate skin around her eyes tightened. She said, “With my head, I can understand what you’re saying. But my heart remembers the terror of watching the Great Beast fly overhead, and the anguish of loss I felt at the people he slaughtered. I’ll always remember that he is a killer.”

Her words felt like a slap. He turned his face away. As the evening had progressed, his feelings for her had grown richer and more complicated. They shared such a deep love for the woods, and he understood how passionate she felt for her son, but now he felt chilled with the realization of what real distance lay between them.

He said, “Bel, I am a killer.”

After a moment, she touched his averted face, her warm, slender fingers cupping his chin and urging him to turn back to her. With reluctance, he complied.

“I see what you are, gryphon,” she told him. “You’re proud, and incredibly strong, and courageous, and you’re very dangerous, precisely because you are also so good and kind that people might forget the reality of everything about your nature. Even considering all that, you could never be like him, not in a million years.”

As he looked into her eyes, her large gaze was so full of warmth it banished the chill almost completely.

Almost, except for the knowledge of the distance lying between them.

The wild part of him that fought against any kind of restraint rebelled against the awareness. Just as it had driven him through the air to her, it drove him forward now.

Moving with gentle care, he took hold of her hands, holding her so lightly, she could pull away from him with a single easy gesture. Like the rest of her, her hands were beautifully formed, the bones slender and graceful.

She didn’t pull away.

Bowing his head, he pressed his mouth to her fingers.

They were on a runaway coach, hurtling nowhere.

She would never be able to live in New York, so close to the dragon.

He would never be able to live in the Elven demesne, so close to Calondir. Even if Graydon would consider leaving his duties, the Elves would never accept a former Wyr sentinel in their midst.

As Constantine had said, she was the very definition of unobtainable.

Yet he still reached for her.

“Look at us,” he said against her fingers. “You with your commitments, and me with mine. We live a world apart from each other.”

A tremor ran through her. “Graydon,” she murmured. “What are we doing?”

He lifted his head. He could drown in eyes such as hers, so wide and dark, yet so full of light. “Bel, tell me not to kiss you, before I do something we might both regret.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I want it too much.”

Her unsteady confession struck away the last of his resistance. Holding his breath, he lowered his head to the pure, plump arc of her lips.

Then he was touching her mouth with his.

He was kissing Beluviel, the unique woman who personified that first, unique breath of spring, while the warmth and giving softness of her lips shaped to his, and oh my gods, she was kissing him back.

That single caress was so damn shocking, he nearly came in his pants, and that shocked him with a raw pulse of adrenaline that ran like fiery liquor over his skin.

Slowly, not believing his remarkable fortune, he let go of her hands and slid his arms around her long, supple torso. She nestled closer, and the way her muscles relaxed and curved into him was downright miraculous.

She was so far above him, so far beyond his reach, he wasn’t entirely sure any of it was real, except his body knew differently. His muscles grew tight and his heart pounded as if he were racing, while his starving lungs forced him to suck in air, and the desperate ache in his hardened cock felt like a mortal wound.