Dragon Bound (Elder Races #1)(110)

She located Urien in the crossbow telescope. The bastard had started a nasty smile. He kicked to a canter. She shot just as a blow slammed into her.

It knocked her down.

She lay sprawled on her back and blinked up at the rain that felt so good, so maybe she was the only one on the ground who saw the dragon plummet, screaming, out of the sky.

Forelegs extended, talons spread, wicked teeth bared, Dragos snatched Urien from the back of his horse. He pumped his wings to rise in the air above the trees; then he threw back his head and roared as he ripped the Fae King apart.

“There’s my bad boy,” she whispered. God, he was breathtaking.

A strange melee played out in the meadow. It was like something out of a nightmare. Gryphons attacked Fae while horses screamed and plunged in terror. She thought she saw a winged, demonic-looking creature rip out the throat of a Fae. There was a huge dark bird that caused thunder with the beat of its massive wings. Lightning flashed out of its eyes, but maybe by that point she was beginning to hallucinate.

Graydon bent over her. “Oh f**k, no,” he whispered. He grabbed for her crumbled shirt and pressed it around the crossbow bolt sticking from her chest. “Hold on, honey.”

She touched his hand. “I’m okay,” she tried to tell him. “Everything’s going to be all right now.”

She didn’t think she managed to get the words out because he wiped his cheek on his shoulder and shouted, “Dragos!”

Then Dragos fell to his knees beside her, and her world turned right again. His face was ashen, his eyes stark. He added pressure to the wound at her chest and laid a hand against her cheek.

“Pia.” He spoke like the words were ripped out of him. “Don’t you dare leave me. I swear to God, I will follow you into hell if I have to and drag you back by the hair.”

One corner of her mouth lifted. She put her hand over his on her cheek. She said, “You say the most god-awful things.”

She was tired so she rested her eyes for a minute.

Afterward she remembered a series of images, like pearls on a string.

She opened her eyes to find that Graydon held her back against his chest, one arm across her shoulders, the other arm clamped low around her waist. They sat in a cage made of talons formed by Dragos’s two front feet. Rune stood over them, looking through the talons. “Hold her just like that,” he said with his face grim. “Don’t let her get jostled.”

“I got her,” Graydon said. “Let’s go.”

They were acting so dramatic, like it was life or death or something. So much for being big tough warriors. They were worse than a bunch of high school girls.

She faded out as Dragos launched.

The next thing she knew Dragos was the one holding her. She could have carried a brimming wineglass and not spilled a drop as he raced up a flight of stairs. “I don’t care!” he roared. “Get any goddamn doctor fast as you can. Steal one from Monroe if you have to. One of you fly to New York and get our Wyr healer!”

She tried to focus her blurry gaze. Is this Urien’s house again? I’m awake, I’m asleep, I’m awake, I’m asleep. I’m in the house, I’m out. Now I’m in again. This is getting ridiculous.

And she faded out.

Then things got really strange.

She was immersed in the dragon’s Power. He had consumed her. With every breath, he worked her lungs. Her heartbeat faltered. The great engine of his heart took over the rhythm. Her Power started to fade, but he had her Name. He demanded she stay in her flesh. She drifted inside him, inextricably woven with his life force.

She thought she heard her mother say, He cannot hold you forever. You may come to me if you wish.

But there was somebody else with them, a bright, tiny, stubborn spark. He was just a new creation, but he already had his own opinions. Dragos held her life to her body, but her son’s Power pulsed inside her.

He was trying to heal her. She roused.

Oh no, sweet baby, she crooned. You’re too small for that.

The peanut begged to differ.

A warm glow of energy suffused her body, so like her mother’s healing Power, so like her own. For one moment everything was shining and well and right. Then, with infinite gentleness, the dragon laid his Power on that tiny spark of life that glowed too bright, too strong, and eased it back until it nestled into place.

Precious baby boy.

Her fingers crept an inch across a sheet. They were grasped by a much larger, more powerful hand that held on to her hard as she fell asleep.

TWENTY

When she woke up again for real she was in their bed at Cuelebre Tower. She gazed at the ceiling for an unmeasured time as the light changed. It was quiet. She was warm, clean and dry and pain free.

Dragos lay beside her, his arm around her. She looked at his sleeping face and saw something she had never seen before. He looked exhausted and worn, as if something inside of him had stretched too thin. She frowned. Had he gotten hurt in the battle?

She tried to raise her right arm to stroke his face but she couldn’t. She tugged at her arm, and all of a sudden Dragos rose up on his elbow. He put his hand on her arm to hold her down. “Sweetheart, don’t do that.”

“My hand’s caught on something,” she mumbled. She looked up at him with sleepy anxiety. “What’s wrong? You look so sad. Are you hurt?”

He smiled down at her, gold eyes alight, and the careworn look vanished. “I did not get hurt, other than in my heart.”