Dragon Bound

THIRTEEN

She threw her arms around him, hugging him hard. Then she pulled away and paced in a circle, her mind racing. She flung herself at him and hugged him again. He laughed and gripped her by the hips to hold her in one place.

“Did you hear me when I said I can’t make any promises?” he demanded.

“Yes, of course I did,” she said, distracted. She focused on him, her face grave. If it worked, she would be hunted for the rest of her life. But the way her life was spiraling out of control, she was going to be hunted anyway.

“All right, then.” He paused. “Think about it. Let me know what you decide.”

She nodded. He kissed her, stroking her cheek. Then he strode over to the door and opened it. Clusters of talking people in the hall sprang to attention.

“Who needs to be here?” he asked. Most scattered like buckshot. A few of his sentinels, including Rune and Graydon, remained. Pia wiped her face on her sleeves in a vain effort to make herself more presentable.

Cuelebre Enterprises’ PR faerie slipped around Dragos and into the conference room while he talked to the others. Beaming, she bounced over to Pia. “Hi! Oh wow, am I pleased to meet you.”

Taken aback, Pia took the little hand the faerie stuck under her nose. “Hi, thank you. You’re Thistle Periwinkle, right?”

“Oh please,” the faerie groaned. “That’s my stupid TV name. Don’t call me that. Call me Tricks; everybody else does.”

“Okay . . . Tricks. I’m Pia.” She smiled. Much as she had never cared for the faerie in television appearances, it was hard not to smile at this compact package of ebullience.

“Listen, I know we don’t have much time.” Tricks waved her hands. “I’m busy, you’re busy, everybody’s busy. I’ve got a lot I want to say to you, though.”

“All right,” Pia told her. “Hit me with it.”

“First, I’m so sorry about what my uncle Urien did to you guys. I hate him, he killed my family, and we’re going to cut off his head, and then I have to be Queen, but before that happens let’s do lunch, okay?”

Pia felt like the faerie had just jumped on her head and started tap-dancing on it. She said, “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Tricks told her. “And I wanted to say you did an awesome job with Mr. and Mrs. I-Keep-My-Dignity-Stuck-Up-My-Ass. Really awesome job.”

Pia burst out laughing. “You’re talking about the Elves.”

Tricks blinked and wrinkled her freckled nose. “Of course. You want a job?”

“What?”

“I need to hire someone to take over my PR job, with the upcoming assassination and taking the throne and all, and I think you’d be great. Oh, never mind; we don’t have time to talk about that right now. We’ll talk about that over lunch.” The faerie looked over her shoulder. She made a V with the first and second fingers of both hands and waved them like President Nixon. “Two more things real quick. One, just so you know, not everybody’s happy about you being here. A lot of folks are great, I mean, you know, in a Wyr kind of way, but there are also some people that I think are nasty-dangerous characters. Not that I’m talking about anything specific, just . . . There are a lot of predators that work here. That means there are some pretty hot heads and sometimes things blow up without much warning, so you just want to watch out for yourself.”

“Predators, hot heads,” Pia said, watching the faerie in fascination. “Right. I think I do want to have lunch with you.”

“Of course you do!” Tricks said. She lowered her voice in a whisper. “And last but not least. Dragos? Oh my God, he’s so gone on you!” She giggled. “I’ve lived at the Wyr Court for two hundred years and I’ve never seen him this way. Everybody’s freaked because nobody’s seen him this way, not even folks who are way older than me. So, you know, he’s a man and a dragon and all that, and I know that means he’s got communication issues, but hoo, honey, he’s so hot he smokes without ever having to light up, if you know what I mean, so . . . way to be, my mama!” The faerie giggled again and held her hand out for a fist bump. “Okay, that’s what I wanted to say.” She beamed at Pia. “Lunch today, one o’clock, got it?”

“Got it,” Pia said in a dazed voice as she fist-bumped the little hand held out to her. Dragos, gone on her? Really gone on her? Not just having a sexual fling? Not just having a possessive fit?

Oh God, I hope so. Don’t I? Do I? She chewed her lip.

“Gotta go.” Tricks winked at her and bounced out just as Dragos, Rune and Graydon stepped back in. The faerie tapped Rune on the arm. “Be sure to have Pia at my office at one o’clock, hear?”

“Do I look like a social secretary?” Rune said.

Tricks’s eyes narrowed and the happy good humor she had shown Pia vanished as if it had never existed. She pointed at her own face. “Do I look like I care right now? I have a million and one things to do before I go, so don’t give me any grief.”

Rune laughed and gave her a one-armed hug. “I’m sorry, pipsqueak. I know you’re having a challenging week.”

Tricks readjusted her finger aim and pointed at Rune. “Yeah, well, don’t make me come find you either.” She charged away, tiny heels clicking down the hall.

“Looking rather shell-shocked there, lover,” Dragos said to Pia with a lazy smile. He strolled across the room to kiss her. “Tricks tends to have that effect on people.”

“I guess.” Pia’s smile was uncertain.

“When she’s in her manic phase, she’s a little like trying crack for the first time,” Rune said. He blinked at them, his face bland. “Not that I would know what that feels like.”

“Right,” Dragos said in a brisk voice. “I have things to do, Tiago to talk to, a beheading to plan.” He looked at her. “You good?”

She smiled at him again with more surety. “Yes.”

“Good.” He paused. “Thank you for what you did in the teleconference.”

“You’re welcome.”

He looked at Rune and Graydon. “She gets to do what she wants. Got it?”

Graydon looked at his feet with a long-suffering expression and rubbed the back of his neck. Rune pursed his lips and said, “Dragos, that might call for . . . a lot of tactical consideration. Don’t you think it would be wiser to restrict her movements?”

“Why are they talking about her in the third person while she’s standing right here in the room?” she said in a resentful mutter. Hot gold eyes met hers. Was it her imagination or did his lips tighten with some kind of suppressed emotion? Then he turned to give Rune a machete smile.

“Fuck you,” Dragos told him. “I’m not the boss of her.”

He strode out. The conference room seemed to darken and expand at the absence of his nuclear presence. Then Pia stood, looking up at her two huge, stony-faced guards. Oh boy.

“Ms. Giovanni,” Rune said in a smooth voice, as he stared at a point beyond her left shoulder. “For your convenience and pleasure Dragos has sent for a personal shopper to attend to you today. The shopper should be arriving any minute now.”

Pia stared at the gryphon. She turned away, pulled out the chair at the end of the conference table and sank into it. She flattened her hands across the polished surface. Clothing rustled as someone shifted behind her.

Okay. She nodded. Okay.

“Would you both please have a seat?” she asked.

After a moment, Rune took the seat at her right and sprawled long limbs out. Graydon took the seat at her left. The two men exchanged a look. She bet they were wondering what she was going to do next. She was kind of wondering that herself.

Her fingernails had gotten ragged. She rubbed at the uneven edge of her right index finger. Never enough time in a day.

“So,” she said in a quiet voice as she looked at her hands, “is this passive-aggressive smarmy attitude working for you, slick? Because I’ve got to tell you, it’s not working for me. In the last week and a half or so, I’ve been blackmailed, chased, threatened, in a car wreck that would have turned me into hamburger if it hadn’t been for your boss, kidnapped, beaten up and chased again. I was in a showdown with a Goblin army and the Fae King and forty or fifty of his favorite guys, and what life I had has been destroyed.”

She heard Rune suck in a breath. She said, “I’m not finished yet. I’m also stuffed to the eyeballs with autocratic macho behavior since Dragos is all over that one. Just so you understand when I say I’m running low on patience right now. I get you guys don’t want to be babysitting me. You’ve made it loud and clear. I don’t want it either, but it is what it is. So can we do this easy, or do we have to do it hard? I’m trying to be nice, but I don’t have any problem at all with doing it hard if that’s really what you want.”

She looked up at the two men. Graydon had put his elbows on the table. He was watching her. For the first time she noticed he had nice slate gray eyes. She didn’t see acceptance in his craggy face but at least it was no longer outright rejection.

Rune had folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his gaze on her.

“Slick,” Graydon said. “She got you with that one, my man.”

“Fuck you,” Rune said.

“Believe it or not,” Graydon told her, “he’s the diplomatic one of the bunch. Dragos sends him out to do all sorts of smarmy passive-aggressive shit.”

Rune leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table. “Shut up, asshole.”

She bit her lip and refused to smile.

Rune looked at her. “Okay, Ms. Giovanni, let’s try a do-over. See how it goes.”

“Call me Pia.”

He nodded. “Just so you know, though, you do anything to betray Dragos and I’ll disembowel you myself.”

She rounded her eyes. “Wow, slick, that makes us practically BFFs, huh?”

Graydon exploded. After a moment, Rune grinned too. “All right, Pia,” he said. “What would you like to do today?”

She considered him. “We already know I’m meeting Tricks for lunch. What do you think I should do?”

That must have been the right thing to say, because both men relaxed.

“Well, now that you ask,” he said, “safest thing would be for you to hang out in the penthouse.” She sighed. He went on, “But I can see how that wouldn’t appeal. Next best thing, stay in the Tower. We’ll follow orders and take you out if you really want to go, but I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, and to be blunt, I don’t think Dragos does either.”

She turned thoughtful. Dragos’s brief struggle with something had not just been her imagination. He had reined in his own impulses and opinions to allow her at least some freedom of choice.

Rune continued, “Also, sometime today I’d like to go to the gym and run through some safety pointers with you.”

She refocused on him and nodded. “Okay. I’ve taken classes that should help with that.”

“I know about them classes. Cardio Kickboxing,” said Graydon. “Turbo Dance. I watch the infomercials.”

“You’re not helping, Gilligan,” Rune said.

She smiled. “How about this? If you don’t mind, I would like a tour of the Tower.” They both nodded. “I would also kill for a Starbucks soy vanilla latte if that isn’t too much trouble. There’s got to be a coffee shop close by. And I have to have new tennis shoes. Mine got trashed. I’ve got about twelve hundred dollars in my savings account if I can just get at it. Then, maybe after Tricks and I have lunch, we can hit the gym.”

Rune dug in his pocket and pulled out a card. He put it on the table and pushed it to her without a word.

She stared. And stared.

An American Express Black Centurion card. With her name on it.

A half-dozen emotions shuttled through her at high speed, starting with offense. Was he trying to pay for her, like she was some kind of whore? Was this to keep her widdle self entertained while he was busy, until he got tired of her and decided to get rid of her? She gripped shaking hands together and took deep, measured breaths until she found some self-control.

As she calmed she remembered what Tricks had said. Dragos was a man and a dragon, which meant he had communication issues.

Amusement was the last emotion to shuttle in to the station. It braked hard and stayed. Dragos wasn’t treating her like a whore. He was trying to give her a treat.

The gryphons were watching her with their game faces on.

“That card is so wrong I don’t even want to talk about it. It’s kind of fun to look at, but it’s wrong.” Moving as though the card might explode on her, she put one finger on a corner and pushed it back to Rune. “Look, all I want is a couple hundred dollars of my own money, a latte and new shoes. Okay?”

Rune smiled a real smile this time as both he and Graydon relaxed further. “How about I loan you some money until we can get you access to your bank account? There’s a Starbucks on the ground floor, along with some other shops, a CVS and a decent restaurant.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Just then a slender dark-haired man burst chattering into the conference room. He was the personal shopper, a Wyr-mink named Stanford. “Hi, girlfriend, it’s nice to meetcha. Look at what I got for yoo-hoo. A black Dolce & Gabbana satin robe, ooh, it’s going to look so stunning with your hair and coloring.” He put a Saks Fifth Avenue box in front of her, opened it and, with a dramatic flick of his wrist, shook out the robe. “Go ahead and feel it, honey. It’s divine.”

Pia listened to the Wyr’s incessant chatter. She looked at the robe. From Saks. She pressed fingers to the skin over her right eyebrow, where a headache was beginning to throb. She asked, “Hi there, nice to meet you too. Stanford, how much did that cost?”

The shopper stared at her as if she had sprouted horns. “Cost?”

“And why did you get it for me? I have a fine robe already.”

Graydon cleared his throat. He tapped her arm. She leaned over and he whispered, “I think the boss wants you to have something that’s more than a tiny scrap of pink that barely covers your ass. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a lovely ass.”

She jerked back and stared at the gryphon. “Excuse me?”

The huge man’s cheeks darkened. He raised a finger. “Not that I meant to say that or to notice or anything. Fuck. I mean, I get it about the card, but if I were you, I’d think about letting the boss give you a robe. You know, ’cause sometimes things happen and us guys are around without a whole lot of warning. And I don’t think he’s okay with us seeing you wrapped up in that cute little pink handkerchief.”

She ground her teeth. After a moment she said to Stanford, “Thank you for getting me the robe. It’s beautiful.”

The Wyr-mink beamed. “Atta girl, now we’re talking. Let’s get down to some serious shopping. You and me, honey. I’ll help you look like a queen!”

“Stanford,” she said, regarding the little man. “Do you get paid on commission or on an hourly basis?”

His nostrils pinched and he shook his head. “Oh, I don’t do commission, honey. Unh-unh.”

She turned to Rune. “Got any cash I can borrow right now?” He dug out his wallet and handed her a hundred-dollar bill. “Can I have the card back too?” He raised a tawny eyebrow and handed her the Centurion card.

She turned to Stanford and gave him the cash and the card. “I want two things, please. First, I want you to take the cash and buy me a pair of size seven New Balance running shoes, and bring them back here with the change. After you do that, I want you to take the card and stock up every food bank in New York.”

The little man paled. “Every food bank? In the city or in the state?”

Her mouth dropped open. “I didn’t think of that. Let’s do every one in the state. How soon can you be back with the shoes?”

“I’ll have them to you this afternoon,” Stanford said. His face had turned glum.

“Thank you.” She looked at Rune, tongue between her teeth. “He did say I get anything I want.”

The gryphon grinned. “He sure did, didn’t he?”

They stood as Stanford slunk away, and the two gryphons took her on a tour of the Tower as promised. They had relaxed enough to chat, which made everything more endurable. She got a feel for the general layout quickly enough.

The penthouse floor housed Dragos’s private quarters. The painting that had snagged her attention the night before was indeed a Chagall, and it sat across the hall from a Kandinsky. Aside from the bedroom suite they occupied last night, there were two other bedroom suites, one of which was draped in heavy construction plastic, undergoing repairs that were being done under the close supervision of security guards. The penthouse kitchen looked like something out of a professional cooking magazine. It was next to a dining room that could seat twelve large Wyr in comfort. There was an extensive library with two skylights, battered, comfortable leather furniture and over twenty thousand volumes on a wide variety of subjects. The library also had a glass case that housed the older, more fragile books.

The living room area was like their bedroom suite, with one wall comprising floor-to-ceiling windows interspersed with French doors. It had two fifty-inch plasma televisions at either end of the room, several sitting areas with sofas and chairs and a bar that was comparable in size to the one at Elfie’s. Only sentinels and selected kitchen, security and domestic staff had access to the penthouse floor.

The next floor down held the large communal areas for key personnel, like the executive dining room, the teleconference room, the gym and training area, Dragos’s personal offices and a large meeting hall. Below that were quarters for the sentinels and certain executives and Court officials and guests from other Elder demesnes.

Then the rest of the Tower was taken up by business offices—international corporate affairs, domestic, Wyrkind and Elder Races. Two floors were devoted to law offices. An entire law firm worked for Cuelebre Enterprises on anything from international corporate law to Elder-human relations, and matters that arose between the Elder communities such as the imposed Elven trade sanctions on the Wyrkind demesne. The law firm litigated matters in front of an Elder tribunal, which was composed of representatives from the seven demesnes, rather like the human United Nations, that heard and settled legal disputes.

The richness, the extravagance of the Tower, with goldveined Turkish marble flooring, gleaming frosted glass lights and polished brass fixtures, was a massive architectural proclamation of Cuelebre’s money and power. She thought of the Forbidden City, Versailles, temples to Egyptian gods. Not quite as tall as the 102-story Empire State Building, this building was no less a palace in a city that worshipped the god of commerce.

In the center of the Tower’s ground-floor lobby stood a third-century sculpture that rose over the heads of the pedestrians. An intact sister to the damaged Winged Victory of Samothrace housed at the Louvre, the sculpture depicted a beautiful, powerful goddess with a stern face. She was draped in flowing robes, with her great wings swept high into the air behind her. She held a sword in one hand, while the other cupped her mouth as she called a battle cry to unseen troops. The statue was from ancient Greece, but the inscription in the modern pedestal was Latin, and very simple.

REGNARE.

To reign.

She had reached overload by the time they reached the ground floor and was extra grateful to get her soy latte and that kick of caffeine. Graydon got a grande mocha, and Rune had a black iced coffee. The men ordered a dozen pastries and several sandwiches. Then they picked a corner table. While their manner was relaxed and casual, Rune and Graydon angled their chairs so that they could keep an eye on the rest of the Starbucks. They also could watch the general ground-floor traffic through the windows.

Pia kicked a foot as she drank her latte. She tried not to stare too much at how fast the mountain of food disappeared between the two men. She said, “People use words like ‘empire’ but it’s impossible to understand unless you get a chance to see all this in person.”

“Dragos is the one that did it,” said Rune as he demolished a piece of carrot cake. “About fifteen hundred years ago, he realized the Wyr had to come together and form our own society. It was the only way we could protect our own identity and interests as human societies and other Elder Races developed.”

“Yeah, that dragon’s one nasty motherfucker,” Graydon chuckled. “I don’t think anybody else could have done it. He united the immortals with the mortals, shoved his laws down our throats and kicked predator ass hard and long enough until we all started to behave. We had to or die. Those were some bloody years in the beginning.”

“It seems awfully feudal,” she said. She rubbed her finger around the rim of her coffee lid.

“It doesn’t just seem feudal,” Rune said. “It is feudal. I don’t think there’s any other way to run things. A lot of Wyr are peaceful creatures, like Stanford, who have no problem blending in with human society. A lot more need to know they’ll get the living shit kicked out of them if they don’t follow the rules. The world’s gotten too small for anything else.”

“That’s what you guys do, isn’t it? I mean, when you’re not babysitting.”

“Each of the four gryphons command Wyr forces that patrol a quadrant of the Wyr demesne,” said Graydon. “We’re sort of like police chiefs. But we’ve been pulled in occasionally for babysitting detail before.” He bumped her with his shoulder. “You’re not that special, toots.”

She sat back with a grin. “Thanks, I feel so much better now.”

Just then Rune’s wristwatch beeped. He pushed a button to silence it. “It’s your turn for lunch. Time to head up to Tricks’s office now,” he said as he stood up.

As they rode the elevator, the men chatted to each other with the ease of long friendship. Pia fell silent as she considered her upcoming lunch meeting with Tricks. She turned to face the mirrored back wall of the elevator car. Like her pink robe, her jeans were from Target and she had trimmed her own hair.

Tricks’s silk pantsuit had the classic lines of a famous designer, like Ralph Lauren or Dior, and her chic gladiator-style sandals probably cost as much as a good used car. And how crazy was it to go talk to the faerie about such a relentlessly famous public job? Even if the position were offered to her, she couldn’t take it. Funny, how she hadn’t noticed things like that before when she had been talking to Tricks. Self-conscious, she tugged at the waist of her jeans and smoothed back her hair as she tried to think of graceful ways to back out of the upcoming conversation.

She turned to face the front again along with the two gryphons as they neared the seventy-ninth floor. The doors slid open to reveal Tricks sprinting toward them, her small fists clenched and sweet pixie face transformed with fury. The faerie leaped around a corner and pressed back against the wall, her attention clearly focused on the hall behind her.

Pia slid an uncertain glance from Rune to Graydon. The two gryphons exchanged a look. In a casual-seeming movement Rune took hold of her arm, silently urging her into a corner while he pressed the door-open button to hold the elevator. Graydon laid a hand on his sidearm.

Hard on the faerie’s heels stormed the gigantic American Indian male Pia had noticed in the group of sentinels greeting Dragos’s return to New York. At six foot four and 250 pounds, with barbed-wire tattoos circling thick, muscled biceps and swirls shaven into short black hair, the Wyr male was no less a frightening sight in broad daylight than he had been at night. His face looked like it had been hewn with a hatchet.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Graydon’s eyebrows rose. Either not noticing or not caring about their presence, the male charged around the corner. Tricks stepped out behind him and smacked him flat-handed in the back of his head.

The American Indian spun on one heel with blinding speed. He grabbed Tricks by the shoulders and hauled her up so she was nose to nose with him.

Pia made an involuntary noise. Instinct took over and she tried to move forward, to do something to help the delicate faerie. Rune’s hand tightened on her arm, anchoring her in place. He whispered, “Not when there’s thunder in the air.”

What the hell did that mean?

Tricks shouted point-blank into the Wyr male’s angry face, “I’ve had it up to here with your mulish bad-tempered crap, Tiago! I’ll thank you to remember my name is not ‘Tricks goddammit’ or ‘God damn you, Tricks.’ Henceforth those phrases are against the law—when you yell at me again the next one out of your mouth better be ‘Goddammit, ma’am’!”

For one throbbing moment they stared at each other. Then the rage in Tiago’s face splintered. “‘Henceforth?’ ” he said. He started to chuckle. “You’re kidding, right?”

She kicked him in the shin. “Don’t you dare laugh at me!”

He laughed harder, and the ruthless hatchet-faced assassin transformed into a handsome man. “But you’re so damn cute when you’re mad. Look at you. The tips of your ears turned pink.”

As the Wyr male’s anger dissipated the faerie seemed to compress, even vibrate, with deeper fury. “Wrong thing to say, moron,” she snapped. She drew back her fist and planted it in his eye.

Tiago’s laughter hiccupped. “Ow.” He put a hand over his eye and glared at her. “Have all the hissy fit you like—you’re still not leaving New York without a Wyr security detail.”

At some unspoken signal she didn’t catch, Rune and Graydon relaxed. Graydon’s hand fell from his sidearm as Rune let go of Pia’s arm. She glared at him and rubbed the spot, even though he had been quite careful not to cause her discomfort. She followed the gryphons as they stepped out of the elevator.

“Tiago,” Tricks said, sounding severely tried. “First of all, Urien isn’t dead yet.”

“I give it a week,” said Tiago.

“Second,” the faerie continued, “after he’s dead, Dragos and I have already decided there will be no Wyr allowed when I leave. The Dark Fae would never accept the presence of a Wyr force, and if any of the other demesnes even suspect that the Wyr are trying to control the Dark Fae succession, shit would really hit the fan.”

“That’s suicidal,” said Tiago flatly. He crossed his arms, thick muscles bunching. “And it’s not happening.”

“Third,” Tricks continued through clenched teeth, “I’m going to be Queen. It’s the scissors-paper-rock game. Queen trumps Wyr warlord asshole. I get that you’re used to commanding your own army, running around and killing things and doing whatever the hell you want. That doesn’t happen in New York, and it doesn’t happen around me. Get over it or go home. If you have a home. If you even live in a house.”

Tiago scowled. “I live in a house when I have time.”

Rune strode forward, demanding, “When did you and Dragos decide you would leave New York without Wyr bodyguards?”

The faerie threw him a hassled look. “We discussed it this morning.”

Graydon joined the triangle. “Sugar, I think we should revisit that decision. It’s gonna be a hell of a shock when you go public with your real identity. Most people think your whole family’s dead. There’s gonna be some Dark Fae who will feel mighty displaced when they find out you’re the real heir to their throne.”

Tricks slapped her fists over her ears. “We’re not talking about this. I’m not talking.”

Still standing by the elevator, Pia watched the angry quartet in fascination. She didn’t understand everything that had just happened, but it was clear the four of them were tied together with much more than just inter-Elder politics. They were in the middle of a knockdown, drag-out family fight.

She looked around, feeling awkward and quite the outsider. She recognized where they were from the earlier tour. At the end of the hall were large double oak doors, at present propped open. They led to Dragos’s offices.

Overcome with curiosity, she inched down the hall and peered into the inner sanctum to find yet more luxurious appointments and a rampant display of wealth. She sucked in a breath. She didn’t recognize a lot of the artwork she had seen in the penthouse, but she was pretty sure she was staring at a painting by Jackson Pollock that hung directly opposite the open doors.

Dragos stood nearby. He was deep in conversation with a large shaggy young man who managed to look rumpled and somewhat shabby despite wearing an expensive suit. Dragos caught sight of her and he smiled. The warmth of his smile spread through her, and she smiled back.

A moment later his face darkened with rage, the swift transformation so inexplicable and unexpected, she recoiled. He strode toward her and yanked her against his side.

“She’s not alone. We’re here. We’ve got her,” said Graydon from around the corner, behind her. The gryphon had followed her. He stood not five feet away, relaxed but alert with his back against the wall.

She looked around as Dragos glared down the hall. Rune had planted himself several feet farther away. He was still arguing with Tiago and Tricks, but he had positioned himself between them and Graydon and Pia.

The rigidity left Dragos’s body and his expression eased. That was when Pia caught up. She pinched her lower lip between thumb and forefinger. His look of rage hadn’t been for her. It had been for her bodyguards. She said to him, “If I ever make you that mad—again—you will give me a chance to apologize, right?”

He pulled her hand away from her mouth and kissed her swiftly. “You won’t make me that mad again.”

She was all too aware of the young shaggy male’s fascinated gaze. Dusky color painted her cheekbones. She patted Dragos’s arm and murmured, “As long as you believe that, big guy.”

He turned, pulling her with him. “Pia, this is one of my assistants, Kristoff.”

She met the shaggy Wyr’s gaze, which was lit with appreciation. He gave her a shy smile. “Hi.”

Pia’s day brightened. Not everybody disliked her at first sight. She said, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Take ten,” Dragos said to Kristoff. He led Pia into his office.

Vertical blinds were pulled back from the two outer walls, and the large office was filled with bright, hot, early-afternoon sunlight. She blinked, dazzled. She gestured at the door and said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. They were all busy talking outside and I thought I would just take a quick peek—”

“They were the ones interrupting. They’re making enough noise to wake the dead,” Dragos said. He punched a button on the wall. With a near-soundless motor purr the vertical blinds closed over the windows, remaining half open but providing some shade from the blinding blaze of light. “Your arrival was a welcome bonus.”

Her attention returned to the windows and the cloudless bright blue sky outside. “We heard thunder?”

He sighed. “Tiago’s Wyr form is the thunderbird. Lightning and thunder come when he really loses it. It’s something to see in battle. Normally his temper is much better controlled, but everybody’s on edge right now.”

Pia caught sight of the two landscapes hanging on the inner walls. “Oh, these are magnificent,” she breathed. She walked toward them. The aerial landscape effect had been created by a mix of media, with paint, cloth, glitter and beads. The day landscape had a river cutting across the canvas. The night landscape conveyed an impression of towns scattered over a patchwork land. They couldn’t be more perfect for him. She could just see him sitting at his desk and looking at them as he imagined flying overhead, and he contemplated all the parts that comprised the whole. She turned to smile her delight at Dragos. “More patterns.”

His expression lightened with surprise and pleasure. He said simply, “Yes.”

A tapping made them both turn. Tricks stood with a sheepish smile in the open doorway. She said to Pia, “I’m so sorry you had to witness what happened in the hall.”

Grinning, Dragos said to the faerie, “Goddamn, ma’am.”

The faerie’s cheeks darkened. She said, “What, you’ve never said something stupid in a fit of temper?”

“Never,” said Dragos. He snagged Pia’s wrist and pulled her with him as he leaned back against his desk. As she settled at his side, he drew light circles on her back.

Pia coughed. He looked at her. She muttered behind her hand, “Big roar, last week?”

His fingers slid under the hem of her shirt, and he pinched her. Pia jerked upright and huffed at him.

Preoccupied with her own sense of grievance, Tricks didn’t notice their byplay. She said, “Dragos, you’ve got to do something. Tiago’s giving me fits.”

“Clearly,” said Dragos.

Tricks scowled. She told Pia, “I’m great friends with all the other sentinels, but I barely know this guy. He’s always off somewhere fighting things. Over the last two hundred years we’ve had maybe a dozen conversations whenever he’s been called back to New York. Suddenly he’s seething and snarling around the place, thinking he can tell me what to do?” The faerie turned to Dragos. “He’s a junkyard dog. He shouldn’t be allowed in the house. Would you please send him back to South America?”

“The South America contract is unimportant. I canceled it a half hour ago,” said Dragos. “We’re pulling the rest of the troops home.”

Tricks’s slender shoulders sagged. She wore the expression of someone watching her life crash in pieces around her. Pia’s mouth slid into a sympathetic pout. She knew just how the faerie felt.

Tricks gave her a grim smile. “How about some alcohol with lunch?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Pia.