Dragos Goes to Washington (Elder Races #8.5)(36)

The president’s expression tightened, but he gave Dragos a short nod. “Understood.”

As Dragos released the other man’s hand, for the first time in a long time, Pia spoke up telepathically. She said softly in his head, You’re sexy when you’re incisive and imperious.

The dragon in his head hadn’t receded and preened at the compliment from his mate. He gave her a sidelong smile as he told her, I didn’t know how the conversation was going to go or how difficult it might get. All I knew was that we needed to walk out of this room allies, but Johnson also needed to know—the Elder Races aren’t going to be his bitch, just because some humans decided to throw a hissy.

That’s my dragon politician I know and love so well, she crooned.

He laughed softly. They watched as Johnson squared his shoulders, strode for the double doors and threw them open.

A noisy crowd of guests had gathered outside in the hall. Tumultuous noise blasted into the room, as everyone tried to talk or shout at once. The president stepped forward and raised his voice to address them.

Pia rolled her eyes and said, I can’t even deal with all the drama llama.

As Dragos cocked an amused eyebrow at her, she collapsed in a dead faint.

*     *     *

Pia dreamed the dragon coiled around her in a white heat and raged at anybody else who tried to come close. All the protestors with their slogans and placards had to remain outside on the sidewalks.

You’re not helping any, she tried to tell him. We need to get the dinner on the table, or the soufflés will be ruined. We can serve Mr. Colton in the closet. There’s already a place setting on the desk.

But she was wrapped in thick cotton wool that made it impossible for her to move or say the words out loud.

Then the dragon picked her up and raced around with her, as they searched for her spinach soufflé so that she could eat it before it fell flat. I’m not hungry, she wanted to tell him, while in the kitchen, Gennita sniffled over the endive salad.

The Djinn Soren appeared in a swirl of Power, but he was a member of the Elder tribunal. He wasn’t one of the demesne leaders, and they didn’t have a place at the table for him.

“Bring Wyr doctors,” the white-faced dragon told him. “And Soren, I swear to all the gods, if you try to bargain with me right now, I’ll—”

“I will return as quickly as I can,” said the Djinn, his starlike gaze fixed on Pia. His physical form disappeared.

And then there was blood, so much blood. She cried and wrung her hands, because her shoes were ruined, and she didn’t have time to wash her feet.

That brought the dragon’s attention back to her. Somehow they had arrived in an unfamiliar bedroom. She couldn’t figure out whose house she was in. As she lay stretched out on the bed, he bent over her prone figure and placed a hot hand on her forehead.

“Hush, darling,” he murmured. “Don’t cry so. Everything will be all right.”

Suddenly the dragon vanished, and it was Dragos stroking her forehead, Dragos, who looked stark and on the edge of panic.

She didn’t think she had ever seen Dragos in a panic before. That frightened her more than anything she could have imagined. Don’t go, she said, trying to reach through the cotton wool to take his hand. Don’t leave me.

Strong fingers closed over hers. They were as hot as the hand stroking her hair. “What nonsense are you talking now?” he whispered gently. “I could never leave you. Pia, you’re hallucinating.”

Rousing, she finally managed to get verbal words out of her mouth. “I am not,” she told him in a strong voice. “There is too a dead man in our closet.”

Well, in somebody’s closet. She was pretty sure they weren’t at home. If only she could remember where they were, and why.

“Ssh,” he told her. “None of that matters right now.”

She huffed. Easy for him to say. He’s not the one who raced around like a crazy person all day trying to pull off the most important dinner party of his life.

Dr. Medina appeared in her line of sight, just behind Dragos’s shoulder. Okay, maybe she really was hallucinating, because she hadn’t even called the doctor back yet.

“Get out of my way, Dragos,” the doctor said.

He moved away quickly, and the doctor leaned over to smile at Pia. “Just relax, dear,” she said, showing Pia the glove she wore. The one with five blades on the end of the fingers and thumb. “You won’t feel a thing.”

As she opened her mouth, true darkness rose up to swallow her scream.

Chapter Ten

When she next opened her eyes, she found herself in their bedroom in D.C., tucked underneath the covers. She ached everywhere, like she had the flu or someone had beaten her in every major muscle group.

The room was still a mess, clothes strewn everywhere. The curtains were pulled, with no hint of sunlight along the edges, but the bedside lamp on Dragos’s side of the bed was on, throwing a circle of warm illumination into the room.

Dragos lay stretched out on his back beside her on top of the covers, fully clothed in black jeans and a black silk sweater. He had the fingers of one hand draped over his eyes, while he held her hand with the other.

She could hear several voices in the distance, along with movement, both inside the house and out. Someone slammed a car door outside.