Dragon Bound (Elder Races #1)(59)

The memories of what they had done together were so intense she lost her breath every time she thought of them. Yet they seemed surreal at the same time, almost like they had happened to someone else. And she couldn’t quite connect the man who had been her lover with this splendid exotic creature who carried her with such care as he flew.

She propped her elbows on a talon and buried her face in her hands. Images from the last few days flashed across her inner eye. The confrontation with the Elves. Dragos getting shot. The car crash. The Goblin stronghold, the beating. The beautiful dream of her mother. The standoff on the plain.

She didn’t know what to make of all of it. She wanted that dark room to hide in until she figured everything out. Like in maybe ten years or so.

And it was really not good that she had come to the Fae King’s attention for sure this time. Front and center. He couldn’t know everything that had happened between her and Dragos. But they had escaped together. Now the Fae King had to have some questions about whether she had anything significant to do with Dragos’s transformation, questions he would want to have answered along with all the questions he might have had from before.

Way to stay under the radar and avoid scrutiny, dingbat. If he might have known something and been interested in her before, he sure as hell did now. She had no doubt she’d just shot right up to the Fae King’s Ten Most Wanted list. For all she knew they would be posting pictures of her in post offices and police stations and faxing them to the FBI.

She could always have plastic surgery and run away to live off the grid in a remote Mexican village. If she could collect the stuff from her three remaining caches and get out of town again. That wouldn’t stop magical detection, though. Dragos had already warned her he would find her if she tried to run.

What did that make her? She didn’t know. Was she his prisoner when they got back to New York? Was he serious about considering her his property now or had that been a joke? He had a strange sense of humor sometimes, so it was hard to tell.

Just tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you go. Ha. She rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe she fell for that one.

She did believe he had forgiven her for the theft. She supposed that was a miracle all on its own, since not that long ago she had been convinced he was going to tear her to pieces. And she had promised him she wouldn’t try to escape. She had meant it at the time.

She wondered if she was going to keep that promise. Life had turned so unpredictable she wasn’t willing to bet on anyone or anything at this point, least of all herself.

All she knew for sure was that she still faced a dangerous and uncertain future.

And that she was . . . lonely again. Worse than ever before.

ELEVEN

She fell into a cramped, fitful doze, propping her head on one arm as she leaned against a curved claw. Come to think of it, it was quite a bit like trying to nap in an airplane seat. The change in their altitude woke her up. She straightened with a wince and looked around. New York lay spread out all around her. The panoramic splash of lights in the deepening dusk stabbed at her eyes. She winced and rubbed her face in an attempt to wake up.

Dragos banked and wheeled in a great circle. They were headed for one of the tallest skyscrapers. She groaned as her stomach lurched. Then they dropped onto the launchpad on the roof of Cuelebre Tower.

She looked around, dazed, and tried to stand without staggering when Dragos set her on her feet. The roof was a huge expanse of space, more than adequate for handling someone of Dragos’s size with room for the takeoffs and landings of other creatures at the same time.

A group of people stood waiting by a set of double doors. In front of them a tawny-haired man stood with feet planted apart and arms crossed. A feral-looking beautiful woman stood beside him, hands on her hips. A Native American–looking man stood a little apart from the others in a black sleeveless leather vest and black jeans, with black hair cut short with shaved whirls of pattern throughout it and tattooed, muscular arms.

Every last one of them bristled with weapons. They all stood six feet tall or over. None of them looked like someone she would be comfortable running into in a back alley.

The air behind her shimmered with Power. She looked over her shoulder as Dragos changed, every ounce of the dragon’s force and energy compacted into the tall, muscular shape of the man. By some trick of the magic in the change, he still wore his battered grimy jeans and boots and nothing else. She looked from his bare chest up into that blade-cut face and raptor’s eyes and lost her breath all over again.

He took her by the arm and strode with her to the group waiting by the doors. Her face heated as curious, unfriendly eyes assessed her.

“’Bout time you showed up,” said the tawny-haired man. He jerked his chin toward the Native American. “I sent to South America for Tiago and some of the cavalry. You all right?”

“I’m fine,” said Dragos. Two of the men held the doors open. Dragos ignored the open elevator doors and took the stairs. She had no choice but to trot along by his side. The others followed. “Conference in ten minutes. Is the room ready?”

What room? Her room? Pia looked at him sidelong as they hit the landing for the penthouse floor.

“All set,” said the tawny man just behind her. Most of the rest had broken away from them to go to the conference room.

They swept down a large hallway, turned and went down another. The halls had luxurious marbled floors. Original works of art hung placed on recession-lit walls. She craned her neck. Wait—was that a painting by Chagall?