Storm's Heart

FOUR

The sound of gunshots passed quickly. What she heard next was incomprehensible and just as frightening. There was a sudden explosion of glass shattering, a shout of rage and then a high scream of pain.

After what seemed like forever but was just a few moments, Niniane couldn’t take it any longer. She broke a cardinal rule and disobeyed her bodyguard. She shifted and eased up on one knee until she could peer out the rain-smeared window.

The SUV and the other car’s headlights, along with the streetlamps, caused the surrounding area to be unevenly lit and filled with deep shadows. Still, Tiago’s aggressive black-clad form was unmistakable as he slammed one boot down on the head of a supine figure. The figure convulsed then lay still.

She covered her mouth, swallowing hard. There was another figure slumped at the steering wheel. The driver’s window was starred with bullet holes.

Her gaze darted around. The Dark Fae tradition of working in triads extended to more than just legitimate groupings of governmental officials. If this was a Dark Fae triad, where was the third?

She pressed a hand to the wound at her side, and grimaced and panted as she began the painful process of wriggling back into the driver’s seat of the SUV. Maybe she couldn’t do much to help, but she could be ready to drive them from the scene if needed.

A dark figure lunged from the blackness of nearby shrubbery. The breath left her in a hiss. It was a shorter, slighter figure than Tiago and moved with killing speed as it threw something at him.

But Tiago was well aware of the threat and already acting. He dove to one side. He shot the other figure as he fell to the ground. The attacking Fae lurched and dropped. Tiago rolled. With a single leap that spanned at least twenty feet he was on the fallen Fae, who must have already been dead, because Tiago straightened almost immediately. He stared down at his fallen opponent for what seemed a long time. Then he spun to glare around at the scene. His raptor’s eyes flashed eerily in the car’s headlights as he turned toward her.

“That’s it,” he said. He knew full well that she could hear him with her sensitive Fae ears. “Don’t give me any lip this time. We’re going back to New York where I know I can keep you safe.”

She stared at his angry face as he stalked toward the SUV. Her finger went out and hovered over the lock button on the doors. She pulled her hand away and left the doors locked.

Tiago reached the driver’s side and pulled at the handle. He slammed his fist into the car. “What the hell are you doing now?”

“You aren’t taking me anywhere,” she told him.

“You are a crazy person. Open the goddamn door.”

She looked into his fierce gaze and shook her head. She knew he wouldn’t break the window, or do anything that might risk hurting her. She touched the glass where his fist was planted. She was filled with a yearning to let him take her home, to make the nightmare stop, but she knew he couldn’t. Then she put the SUV into gear and pulled away.

Tiago watched her drive away, his clenched fists planted on his hips. As she looked at him in the rearview mirror, blindinghot lightning struck the pavement near his feet, and the scene flashed black and white.

He roared, “GodDAMMIT, Tricks!”

She drove with intense concentration, mindful of the speed limit and the furious thunderbird that shadowed her over-head. She was also quite lost. After a few minutes she gave up trying to figure out the route on her own and punched the destination into the GPS system on the dashboard.

It was a terrible journey and it felt like it took forever. She almost pulled over a couple of times to let Tiago take the wheel. Her chills came back and raked at her body from the inside, and her skin hurt. Then her heart started working too hard, as if she were running, and her gaze started to blur. She kept a death grip on the steering wheel, afraid to loosen her hold for even a moment.

The Regent hotel was located in Chicago’s Gold Coast district on the near north side, a historic neighborhood that had arisen after the Great Chicago Fire. Located just a few blocks from the famous Magnificent Mile shopping district on Michigan Avenue, the Regent was a luxury boutique hotel with mahogany-paneled walls, antiques, artwork, fireplaces and an old-world charm that was much favored by the Elder Races.

At long last she pulled onto the short one-way street where the Regent was located, and she could see the hotel’s well-lit portico ahead. There was also a mob of people milling about, huddling under umbrellas and awnings as they talked and drank coffee.

Camera crews and television vans. Of course.

And there was Tiago, wearing his mad assassin’s face as he leaned against a crosswalk post and watched the oncoming traffic on the one-way street with those dark killer’s eyes. He was quite the satanic figure, massive and motionless and clad in black, and wholly focused on her. She tried not to let the sight of him affect her as she looked away, but her hyperawareness of his presence added to her clumsiness. He looked so savage. No, sexy. No, savage. Oh, for Pete’s sake.

She carefully pulled the SUV over to the curb and parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant. “Big, tough, scary Wyr,” she whispered. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Tiago’s chin lowered to his chest as he looked at her. The downward angle of his eyebrows became more pronounced. The overhead streetlamp slashed black shadows across his hatchet-carved features.

The skin at the back of her neck tingled. She whispered, “You can’t hear me whisper from all the way over there, can you?”

He tilted his head in silent acknowledgment. Adrenaline pulsed. Her bones were wiser and more sensible than her foolish brain. They reminded her that his mad face was the last thing many creatures saw before they died.

Phooey. The keys clacked as her shaking fingers turned off the ignition. The spurt of adrenaline was a weak one that fled as her muscles seemed to turn to goo. She slumped in her seat. It hurt to breathe.

A light tap sounded at the window. She forced herself to look up. Tiago stood at the driver’s window again. His madassassin face had morphed into sharp concern. He put his flattened hand on the window. It looked as big as a dinner plate. “Faerie,” he said. “Niniane. Please open the door now.”

Her arm felt like it weighed fifty pounds as she pushed the lock button. He yanked the door open and leaned over her, his brow creased in a frown. He put a hand to her forehead and took in a quick breath.

“They all want Niniane Lorelle,” she said to him. Her voice sounded tinny and weird, and echoed in her own ears. “But who am I kidding? That girl died a long time ago. Tricks is just going to have to fake it.”

His expression gentled in a way she would never have believed if she hadn’t seen it for herself. The satanic killer morphed into a handsome worried man. “Niniane didn’t die,” he said. He stroked her hair. “She just went into hiding for a very long time. She’s a brave, beautiful woman who needs medical attention now.”

“I know, it’s infected,” she said. She watched as a man from the crowd noticed them and began to walk toward them. A few others joined him, then more. An internal quaking rattled her limbs, and her breathing grew choppy. She gripped Tiago’s thick, strong wrist, and her gaze clung to his. “Please don’t leave me until I get better. I can’t do this alone and sick. You’re the only one I know I can trust.”

Death came back into his face as he glared at the oncoming crowd. “You couldn’t get me to leave if you tried,” he said. “And you might recall, faerie—you’ve tried. Just relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

She nodded. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and pulled out of the SUV. He took the Glock from his waistband and pointed it at the crowd. People cried out and jerked to a halt. In his deep battlefield-carrying voice, Tiago said, “Her highness has survived two assassination attempts in less than thirty-six hours. Do not make the mistake of thinking I won’t shoot you, because I will. Back the fuck up.”

The crowd stumbled back, staring at him. Niniane stared at him too. He was pure aggression, from that powerful muscled body to his hatchet-hewn face, black hair shining wet from the rain and those hard, glittering eyes. The last of her strength ebbed away as she relaxed. He really would take care of everything.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

A flicker of his eyes, a small, brief quirk at the corner of his lips. He told the crowd, “Everybody—move across the street. Now.”

She must have closed her eyes for a minute, because suddenly there were uniformed police all around. She startled violently as her overtaxed body tried to pulse another alarm, but something must have happened when she wasn’t looking. The police had recognized Tiago and were helping, not confronting him. They cleared the path to the hotel.

Tiago leaned into the SUV one more time to ease his arms under her shoulders and knees. She tucked her face into his neck as he cradled her against his broad chest. Cameras started to flash, sparking in the wet night like fireflies. Tiago’s Power enveloped her, a warm masculine blanket of inexhaustible energy. She concentrated on his scent, on his massive strength, which kept the rest of the chaotic, dangerous world at bay. Thank you, thank you.

Uniformed staff held the doors as he strode into the Regent. He headed toward the reception desk, intensely aware of the small shivering female in his arms. She felt so vulnerable. Rage swept over him again as he recalled the footage of when she was knifed.

A distinguished, well-dressed human male with salt-and-pepper hair approached Tiago before he was halfway to the desk. The male was flanked by hotel security. Tiago bared his teeth at them when they were still several feet away. “Stop there.”

The men froze and regarded him with wide-eyed wariness. The human in the suit said, “Sir, whatever we can do—please know the full resources of the hotel are at her highness’s disposal.”

“We need a suite on a secured floor,” Tiago ordered. “It should be at least two floors away from the Dark Fae delegation. And her highness needs medical attention. Get a doctor. Make it happen now.”

The suit nodded and spoke in an urgent low voice into a handheld. He said, “If you’ll follow me, sir.” He gestured and they strode to the elevators. Security fell into step behind them. The suit looked at Niniane, then back to Tiago, worry in his eyes. Her knife wound had bled through the dressing and the T-shirt. A patch of red showed clearly against the light material. She had not bothered to slip on the flip-flops. Her delicate pale legs and feet seemed very bare. Tiago raged that her wounded nakedness was so visible to the public.

He and the suit stepped onto the elevator. Tiago snapped at the security guards, “Take the stairs.”

They jerked to a halt. As the doors shut, they turned to sprint away.

He looked at the suit and said, “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, sir. You’re the Wyr sentinel Tiago Black Eagle,” said the human. “Lord Cuelebre called personally and informed us of your involvement. It is my understanding Lord Cuelebre has also been in contact with Chicago PD. I’m the hotel manager, Scott Hughes.”

Tiago nodded. The seven Wyr sentinels had a legal authority that had several things in common with that of a federal U.S. Marshal, although there were several discrete differences as well that mainly had to do with the chain of command. When Tiago was in the States, among other things he had the authority to apprehend fugitives from Wyr justice, enlist help from willing civilians, and protect Wyr judiciaries, dignitaries and witnesses. He assumed control of the current situation from a long-standing precedent. Niniane had been a public member of Wyr society for many years, and she had often been under the sentinels’ protection.

It helped to have some of his road smoothed. Now was not the time to fuck around with an argument over jurisdiction and weapons privileges.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Tiago said. “It was her choice to come back to the hotel, not mine. I am on a hair trigger, and I will kill anyone who moves too quickly or tries to get too close. Clear the floor of the suite and put guards on the elevators and stairway exits. In fact, if you haven’t already done so, clear the hotel. You might have heard what I said outside—there have been two assassination attempts on her in less than thirty-six hours. I’m prepared to shoot and ask questions later. Do not let the Dark Fae delegation come onto that floor for any reason, not until we have some kind of independent authority and arbitration on-site.”

“Some of the hotel staff and guards are undercover police,” said Hughes. “They were put in place once it was decided her highness was staying here before crossing over to the Dark Fae land for her coronation. Lord Cuelebre has advised us that the Elder tribunal is sending one of its Councillors, who will be here shortly.”

“I would have expected nothing less,” said Tiago. The tribunal would not be sending either the Dark Fae or the Wyr representative, but a representative from one of the other five demesnes in order to maintain an impartial stance in arbitrating any conflicts that might arise. Tiago dismissed the subject and thought for a moment. Safety, shelter, food, clothing. “Is there a suite with a kitchen next to the one we’re going to occupy?”

“Yes, all the suites on that floor are business class. They’re equipped with small kitchens.”

“Put a chef and an assistant in a neighboring suite. They’ll be on call twenty-four/seven. Better put a hotel housekeeper in there too. Put one of those undercover cops in there. The staff stays sequestered for now. They eat whatever they cook, plus you need to make sure they can test for poisons in any grocery delivery. Also, she needs clothing. See that she gets some of her things from the penthouse. Make sure they are swept for poisons and thoroughly cleaned before they’re delivered.”

The hotel manager was looking more somber by the moment. “All right.”

Tiago stared hard at the manager. “I’m holding you responsible. You don’t want to piss me off. Understand?”

Hughes swallowed hard but kept a calm demeanor and nodded. “I understand.”

Tiago ducked his chin and said gently in Niniane’s ear, “Almost there now, faerie. Hang on.”

She nodded, a wisp of her silky black hair tickling his chin, and whispered, “You need c-clothes too.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll get my stuff in a bit,” he told her. Soon as he got her settled, he would have Tucker bring his duffle back from the motel room.

She raised her voice. “Scott?”

Scott? Tiago looked up fast, eyes narrowed. The hotel manager’s face had gone from sober worry to pure adoration. “Yes, your highness?”

“Thank you so much for everything. I don’t know what I would d-do without your help.” It was clear she was gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering too much, as shivers continued to rack her body.

“It’s my privilege, your highness, whatever I can do. This has been a terrible ordeal. We’ve all been so worried about you.”

Tiago turned to face forward toward the elevator doors, his expression turning wry. Of course. Niniane had already met the manager and staff, and had already worked her particular brand of magic on them. It seemed she made conquests wherever she went, except, apparently, with anyone intent on murdering her.

“Please thank all the hotel staff for me as well. As s-soon as I’m well enough, I want to thank everybody personally.”

“I’ll be sure to do so,” promised the manager with a fervent smile.

Tiago sighed as he thought of Niniane coming within proximity of so many strangers. Yeah, he’d be sure to talk her out of that one.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Tiago gave the corridors a good hard look before stepping out. Then he and the manager moved at a rapid pace until Tiago stopped at a suite in the middle of a hall with a clear view of each end of the corridor. He nodded to the manager. The two security agents jogged through the stairway exit as Hughes opened the door with a key card.

“Are you two undercover cops?” Tiago asked. They looked at each other, at Hughes and finally at Niniane, who rested with such trust in Tiago’s arms. The older one of the pair nodded. Tiago told the pair, “Guard the door. Knock when the doctor arrives.”

They both nodded. Hughes held the door for Tiago as he strode down the short hall to the living room. He booted the coffee table aside and eased his precious package onto the sofa. He knelt on one knee and got his first look at Niniane in good light for a while. Her pale skin was sallow. Those normally lustrous overlarge Fae eyes were dull and circled with dark purple shadows. Her lips were shaking.

His jaw clenched. He knew her injury was not life-threatening. He was long familiar with the horrific casualties of war. For him her knife wound wouldn’t even warrant an email back to New York. He knew she was going to be all right. None of that helped alleviate how he felt as he stared at her helpless suffering.

He snapped out an order. “Blanket.”

Even as he reached out, Hughes was thrusting something soft, heavy and warm into his hand. He shook out the blanket and tucked it with care around Niniane. He rested one hand on her quaking shoulder as he studied her with a frown. He said, “Why are your chills worse all of a sudden?”

“Your body heat was h-helping,” she gritted.

He paused, then with infinite care he picked her up again, sat on the sofa and settled her on his lap with the blanket tucked around her. She lay against him, head on his shoulder, a limp weight except for the shivering that clawed through her slender body. He placed the Glock on the sofa arm as Hughes approached from the kitchen with a chilled bottle of water.

“Here,” said the manager, offering it to Tiago. “It’s still sealed.”

Tiago nodded in approval, propped the bottle against his leg and twisted the cap off while he cuddled Niniane in his other arm. He took a sip of the water, rolled it over his tongue, and decided it was safe enough to drink. He offered the bottle to Niniane.

She stared up at him. “Don’t you ever do that again,” she said. What her thready voice lacked in strength, she made up for in anger. “Don’t risk yourself by tasting for poison. It’s hard enough to live with you putting yourself on the line doing bodyguard detail for me.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her and tilted the bottle so that she was forced to drink or let the water dribble down her chin. She gargled and swallowed. He said, “That’s not your call to make, your snippiness.”

“Tiago,” she said. She sounded like her patience was severely tried. “Who is going to be Queen? Me, not you. You are not in charge here. You can’t be. Get over it or go home.”

“Like that’s going to happen,” he told her, tilting the water bottle at her again. She was forced to drink more while storm clouds gathered in those amazing eyes. “You asked for my help, and you got it. Deal with it and shut up.”

She pushed her chin up and turned her mouth away from the bottle, and he let her. She huffed, “Your bedside manner is sociopathic.”

“Trying to care about that,” he said. He cocked his head and widened his eyes. “Huh. I guess I’m not managing it.”

Sarcastic son of a bitch. “Thanks for everything you’ve done tonight. I really appreciate it. I’ve changed my mind about you staying. You’re fired.”

“I came to Chicago whether you wanted me to or not, so I’m not caring about that so much either,” he told her. He held the bottle up, and she flinched, slapping a protective hand over her mouth. “Come on, your recalcitrance, finish the bottle. On top of your wound being infected, you drank far too much vodka. You need the hydration.”

“Which I don’t get,” she muttered. Since she was thirsty anyway, she reached for the water bottle, and he let her take it. “As much alcohol as I ingested, my whole body should be a sterile environment.”

“Life isn’t logical.”

Between his body warmth and the blanket her chills had eased, and she was looking sulky and mutinous. The bottom lip of that luscious little X-rated mouth was sticking out. The clench in his gut started to ease until he felt almost cheerful.

He could see Hughes’s expression out of the corner of his eye. The manager’s usual dignified expression had given way to openmouthed fascination. Tiago scowled at him. Then he heard a sound. He had eased Niniane onto the sofa, grabbed the Glock and was striding down the hall before either Niniane or Hughes could react.

Someone knocked at the door as he approached.

“What,” he said without opening it.

“The hotel physician is here.”

He stood to the side and leaned over to peer through the peephole. The hotel security/undercover cops were standing back from the door, in sight of the peephole. Between them stood a slight, intelligent-looking male who carried a bag. Even through the door Tiago could pick up a whisper of magic about the man. The doctor was a witch.

Hughes had come to the door as well. Tiago pointed to the door. “Verify this guy,” he said.

The manager took a look through the peephole. “That’s Dr. Weylan, the one I called. The hotel has had him on retainer for several years now.”

Tiago opened the door, gestured the doctor in and shut and locked the door behind him. Then he pinned the doctor to the wall with one hand around his throat and introduced him to the Glock.

“Here are the rules,” he said. “No second chances. I’ve been on battlefields for far longer than you’ve been alive. I have performed triage and I am very familiar with medical procedures, including magical ones. You do not want me to misunderstand anything you do. You do a single thing that seems off to me in the slightest way, and you’re dead. And I won’t lose a single moment’s sleep over that decision. Got it?”

Paling, the doctor nodded. Hughes stared at Tiago, and from the living room Niniane exclaimed, “Tiago!”

He raised his voice as he snapped, “Let’s revisit, your argumentativeness. There’ve been two assassination attempts in less than thirty-six hours. You won’t let me take you back to New York, so it’s shotgun justice until we have a safe base of operations established.” He said more quietly to the doctor, “You got that?”

“Actually, I do,” said the smaller man. Tiago eased his hold on the human male’s throat. Steady, sharp eyes met his. The doctor gave him a tight smile. “You’ve made your point. Let me do what I came to do and treat my patient now.”

Tiago took a deep breath and stepped back. He had lived a long life by trusting his gut. His gut told him that Hughes was for real, and that through the years the human doctor would have proven himself to the five-star hotel and its customers many times over.

Tiago’s gut also knew that anybody could be gotten to, through bribery or coercion, through family or lovers held hostage or through religious or political beliefs. That was why he followed so closely behind the doctor as the human entered the living room, knelt beside the sofa and introduced himself to Niniane as he opened his bag.

Like Tiago had said to Niniane, life wasn’t logical. It was often filled with uncertainties. At that moment he knew just one thing for sure.

That little manipulative sex kitten was not going to die tonight.

The fate of anybody else remained an open question.

Niniane huddled under the blanket and looked at her surroundings with a dull gaze. The hotel living room seemed unobjectionable enough. There were chairs, the sofa, tables, a flat-screen television, all the obligatory elements, but her exhausted mind seemed unable to absorb any details.

She had a weird kind of infection, she decided. Someone had tried to stuff an extra dimension in her head, and it didn’t fit. Too-loud noises came and went. Her vision flickered around the edges.

Her knife wound hurt. The light was too bright and her eyes hurt. Her skin hurt, breathing hurt—hell, even her hair hurt. She felt like she barely had enough energy to lie on the sofa and live.

But whenever Tiago was near she seemed to have plenty of energy for arguing with him. It must be God’s way of telling her how wrong he was.

She opened her eyes as three men entered the room. Hughes showed that he was a man of discretion, as he caught her eye and gestured that he would go to the kitchenette. She nodded in thanks to him. A slender human male knelt on the floor beside her, opened a medical bag and smiled at her. Tiago hovered just behind him, his dark face grim, and his murderous obsidian eyes tracked the human male’s slightest movement.

She turned her attention back to the man kneeling beside her. His intelligent face was creased with kindness. “I’m Dr. Weylan,” he told her. “It’s quite an honor to meet your highness, but I’m sure we both could have wished it was under better circumstances. I hear you’ve been having a challenging couple of days.”

“You can say that again,” she said. Exhaustion kept her voice faint. Then she glanced pointedly at Tiago and rolled her eyes at the physician as she added, “And somebody tried to kill me too.”

The doctor’s eyebrows shot up and he laughed, while over his shoulder Tiago glared daggers at her. “Okay,” Dr. Weylan said. “I’ll explain everything I’m going to do before I do it. The first thing I want to do is to put my hands on you and give you a magical scan. I want to put one hand on your forehead, and the other one close to where you’ve been injured. Have you had one of these scans before?”

She nodded.

“Good, then you know it might tingle a bit but it won’t hurt. It’s just going to give me information while you tell me all about what happened to you. All right?”

“All right,” she said.

He laid his hand lightly against her forehead, and after asking her, he placed his other hand against her side near the knife wound. The look in his hazel eyes grew intent. “Go on now, tell me what happened,” he encouraged.

She sighed. “If you saw that stupid viral video, you know pretty well what happened. My cousin said he wanted to take me out to dinner. Then he and my two other attendants attacked me, and I got knifed. I cleaned the wound as best I could, but it’s awfully deep. It must have gotten infected.”

The doctor nodded. The room fell silent as he concentrated. After a moment, he pulled his hands away and smiled at her. “I’m glad to say you’re quite a lucky lady, your highness. The wound is deep, and if the entry had been at a slightly different angle, your lung would have been punctured.”

She looked at Tiago. His dark gaze met hers. If anything, he looked deadlier and grimmer than ever, although his hand was quite gentle as he reached out to tug at a lock of her hair.

The doctor went on, “And you’re right, of course. An infection has set in. It will be simple enough to cleanse once we’ve gotten rid of some cloth fibers that are trapped in the puncture. You’re suffering from shock and blood loss, but otherwise, you’re quite healthy. I would like to set up an IV drip to help replenish your fluid levels—”

Tiago stirred. “No IVs,” he said. “No injections. Not without having all your medical supplies tested first.”

The doctor had frozen while Tiago spoke. Weylan continued, without having ever looked away from her gaze, “But barring that, I will strongly urge you to force liquids. Everything you need I can do in the privacy and safety of this suite. I can put a local anesthetic charm near your wound, and I have an extraction spell that will flush the wound and expel the fibers within ten minutes or so. It will feel strange, but it’s much less painful or invasive than physically probing into the wound itself. After that, I can either cleanse the infection with a spell or prescribe a course of antibiotics for you to take.”

“Which is better?” she asked. No matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes open, they drifted shut.

“It’s six-of-one, half-a-dozen of the other,” he told her. “The cleansing spell is quick and efficient, but it takes a system by storm. You would feel pretty weak and exhausted for a couple of days afterward. The antibiotics take more time, but they don’t leave one feeling quite so mowed down.”

She forced her eyes open again and looked at Tiago. “Maybe the antibiotics,” she said. “So I can get back on my feet faster.”

“No,” Tiago said. He bent over her and took her hand, lacing her fingers with his. His hand was huge and enveloped hers. “You will have all the time you need to convalesce, and the world will wait for you. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You are perfectly safe.”

She gave him a blank stare. Perfectly safe. She had no idea what that meant.

She closed her eyes. “Do whatever is best then,” she said in a listless voice.

There was a pause. The doctor pulled down the blanket, pulled up the loose outer shirt and folded back the camo T-shirt. His touch was gentle and efficient. She could tell the moment the local anesthetic charm was laid on her stomach. She sighed with relief as at least some of the pain eased.

She kept her eyes closed and listened without interest as the men talked.

“She’s going to lose more fluids when I use the extraction spell. I don’t like her level of dehydration. What can I do to convince you that the bags of saline solution I have are safe?” the doctor asked Tiago.

The Wyr warrior said, “Do you have more than one IV needle?”

“Yes.”

“Use one on yourself. After five minutes, you can transfer the rest of the bag to her.”

“Fine, done.” Weylan raised his voice. “Scott?”

The manager hurried into the room. “Yes?”

“Would you please get some towels from the bathroom?”

“Certainly.” After bringing in an armful of towels, the manager disappeared again.

She flinched as a warm hand came down on her forehead and smoothed back her hair. Tiago’s hands were much larger than the doctor’s, rougher and more calloused. She rested her fingers on his muscle-corded forearm. He thrummed with so much latent Wyr Power he felt like a current of electricity wrapped in a tree trunk.

She opened her eyes briefly to see that he had knelt by her head. He was bending over her while he watched with a sharp raptor’s gaze as the doctor removed the sodden dressing and wiped the puncture wound clean. The doctor had to work with care as he had attached his right hand to a bag of saline, which he had hung from a picture hook on the wall.

Tiago continued to stroke his fingers through her hair. It felt so good she might have nuzzled his hand just a little bit. He murmured to her, “You’re no fun when the stuffing’s been knocked out of you, your listlessness.”

Did that require an answer? She sighed.

“You’re like a rubber ball with no bounce,” he said. He cradled her cheek in one large palm. “A worm that’s lost its wiggle.”

A worm? “Oh, please, the hyperbole.” She put a hand to her forehead. “It’s too flowery.”

Somebody snorted nearby. The doctor said, “It’s been five minutes.”

Tiago told him, “You can use the IV on her. That bag only.”

“I understand.”

The doctor inserted the needle into her left hand, which was closest to the wall, taped it into place and hooked her to the IV. Then he tucked rolled towels along her side and cast the extraction spell. She made a sound and clenched her right fist.

It was instantly swallowed in Tiago’s larger grip. “You all right, faerie?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. She opened her eyes and gave him an unhappy look. “It just itches deep inside where things aren’t supposed to itch.”

He frowned and asked the doctor, “Can you numb her any more?”

The doctor was busy blotting the bright trickle of blood and fluid that had begun to spill from the puncture wound. He shook his head. “Not without resorting to medication. And I’m not injecting myself or anybody else without good reason.” He looked up at her. “This is as bad as it gets. I promise. It’ll be over with in just a few minutes.”

“All right,” she said in a flat voice. She shifted her legs in an effort to get more comfortable.

Tiago began to stroke her hair again. She stilled, and everything inside her focused on the warm comfort he offered. He met her gaze and said, “Guess what you get for being such a good girl at the doctor’s?”

She was still flush with fever, and she hated the itchy-crawly feeling deep in her wound. She didn’t want to smile at him. She didn’t. One corner of her mouth lifted. She asked, “What?”

He crinkled at her. “How about some pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream?”

Her eyes brightened. “You promise?”

“Of course I do.”

Her smile deepened. A dimple appeared in one cheek. “Well, now that you’ve promised I guess I’m getting pancakes whether I want them or not.”

Even as she said it, she knew it was true. A certain knowledge settled deep into her bones. She may not know Tiago very well in some ways, but after decades of living with and interacting with Wyr sentinels, in other ways she knew him intimately. Once he set his mind on something, nothing would stop him. Once he gave his promise, he would never give up, never stop, until he had achieved whatever it was he said he would do. It might be infuriating at times, but it was something she could rely on, wholly and completely.

“Oh, come on, faerie. You’re just being cranky.” His white teeth flashed in that hard, rugged face. “You know you still want them.”

A miserable, lonely and unsettled part of her eased into something resembling peace. She turned her cheek into his hand.

A look came into his dark eyes, a new expression she couldn’t decipher. He stroked her lips with his thumb and stared at her like he had never seen her before.

Another knock sounded at the door. Hughes said, “I’ll see what they want.”

Without looking away from her, Tiago ordered, “Don’t open the door. Don’t let anybody in.”

“No, sir.”

Reality was trying to intrude. She didn’t want it to. She wrapped the fingers of her free hand around his thick wrist as her forehead crinkled. Holding her gaze, he whispered, the barest thread of a sound, “Shh.”

Hughes returned. “The Dark Fae delegation is demanding to see her highness. They’re denying your right to protect her and threatening war with the Wyr.”