Lord's Fall (Elder Races #5)(6)

“Guess we better get you to Charleston,” Eva said. “You got a job to do.”

“I guess we’d better,” said Pia.

“I just want to know one more thing,” said Eva.

Pia turned to unlock the restroom door. “What’s that?”

Eva put her hand on the door and held it shut while she met Pia’s gaze pointedly. “Tell me we can change radio stations now.”

Pia bit back a chuckle. “Yes, please. Let’s get off the elevator.”

Eva took hold of the handle and pulled the door open. The other five in their group were hanging in the hallway, looking thoughtful, their arms piled high with food bags and drink carriers. Johnny was already eating a sandwich.

Reaching a détente with Eva was one hurdle down. Now all Pia wanted to do was reach their rented estate and settle in for the evening. She wouldn’t be meeting with any Elves until the next day.

She couldn’t wait for nightfall. She only hoped she wasn’t so excited that she couldn’t fall asleep, because that would seriously screw up everything.

TWO

After seeing off Pia’s mini-cavalcade, Dragos flew back to the city.

He missed her ferociously already, the ache so bad it hurt his chest. Each wing stroke that took him further away from her felt wrong as hell. They had not separated since they had come together and mated last May.

Wyr could survive separations from their mates, sometimes for years if necessary, but it always felt like privation. He almost called her back to him a half-dozen times. Only the thought of their shared mission kept him silent, although his massive jaws ached from how hard he clenched them.

When he reached Manhattan, he spiraled down through the frigid air to land in a large, cordoned-off area in a parking lot by Four Pennsylvania Plaza. After he shimmered into a shapeshift, he let go of the cloaking spell and strode toward the main entrance of the massive, round Madison Square Garden building.

He glanced up as he approached. The banner had gone up weeks before. It was several stories tall and very simple. It read SENTINEL GAMES, with the dates for this week down below, along with the simple graphic of a gigantic, crimson dragon rampant.

That’d do.

The twenty-thousand by ten-thousand-foot arena seated 19,500 and it had all the latest multimedia technology, with giant television screens to show spectators in close-up the details of what occurred down below. The arena had undergone extensive renovations over the last several months, heavily subsidized by Cuelebre Enterprises, down to and including the Cuelebre Enterprises Executive Suite, which perched above the rest of the arena like an aerie.

All the tickets for the week of the Games were long gone. The tickets were for four-hour slots and had been free on a first-come/first-serve basis to any Wyr or resident of New York State who applied. The first ones to go were on the last day, when the final round of contests would take place and he would name his next seven sentinels. A limited amount of seating and suites had also been made available, for an exorbitant price, to any of the other races who were willing to pay.

And they were all willing to pay. Dignitaries from all the other Elder Races, along with many human nationalities, would be attending.

People would watch the Games for a variety of reasons. Some would be evaluating the strength of the Wyr demesne and making notes of the personalities involved. The week would showcase a lot of talent, so no doubt some, including Cuelebre Enterprises, would be headhunting for a selection of opportunities that lay outside the sentinel positions.

Also, many Wyr would gain a sense of security from knowing their demesne remained strong and capable of handling any threat. Still others would watch for the blood sport, which was barbaric, of course, but Dragos had never made any bones about the fact that the Games themselves were barbaric. They were supposed to be. PETA members were completely outraged and utterly confused.

The weeklong event would also be televised on pay-per-view cable worldwide, which would help to defray some of the massive cost, but the bottom line was the Games still remained the single most expensive project he had personally sponsored in generations.

In this case, profit was not the point. This was governance, a calculated, lavish display of wealth and an exercise of raw, brutal strength.

Just as humans had many different countries splattered across the globe, all the other Elder Races had different demesnes—in the continental United States, in Europe, Asia, Africa and other places.

All except for the Wyr. The Wyr had different communities, such as the gargoyles in northern Scotland, the wolves of the Great Steppe in southwestern Russia, the gazelles of the African plains and the mysterious, ancient kraken of the North Atlantic who rarely interacted with others or came to land.

But there was only one Wyr demesne, one Wyr ruler.

Cuelebre, the Great Beast.

And there had been only one event like this in the last thousand years. That had been the first Sentinel Games, when his original seven had fought their way to their current positions. Then, he had recruited the most Powerful of the Wyr throughout the world. They had come together to establish who was the strongest amongst them, and they had fought for the chance to rule by his side.

He had been working toward this point since Tiago and Rune had left their positions last summer. This time the worldwide recruiting and screening effort had been conducted electronically. Notices had gone out, job application forms had been posted, and an entire team of recruiters and HR personnel had spent the last several months screening and checking references for all the applicants.