Lord's Fall (Elder Races #5)(34)

Dragos said, “Sidhiel.”

She screamed and spun, her sophisticated poise shattered, and there was his old adversary again. Despite their designer clothing and their urban setting, and the laws and traditions they had surrounded themselves with, civilization remained the thinnest of veneers after all.

EIGHT

The Elven Councillor’s attendants had whipped around also, drawing weapons. Dragos regarded them contemptuously. Pulling guns on him was a stupid move. Firing on him would be even more stupid.

It had been a very, very long time since he had killed an Elf. He raised an eyebrow and almost smiled.

“Put away your weapons, fools!” Sidhiel snapped. Looking shaken and wild-eyed, the two attendants holstered their guns. The Elven woman regarded Dragos with abhorrence. “This is outrageous, Wyrm. You have no business approaching me for anything.”

“Quite the contrary,” said Dragos. “Talking to you has become the most important priority of my day.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she gritted. “But I will have a great deal to say to the Elder tribunal if you do not leave me alone immediately.”

“The tribunal is not here,” Dragos said in an exceedingly gentle tone of voice. “Would you like a cup of coffee, Councillor? Perhaps a ride to the Garden.”

She hissed and yanked a BlackBerry out of her suit pocket. Moving faster than sight, Dragos grabbed her wrist. He held her effortlessly as she struggled to free herself.

Sidhiel’s attendants stood frozen. Dragos told them, “You are out of your league. There is no shame in acknowledging that. Do nothing.” They watched him unblinkingly and didn’t move.

Sidhiel’s eyes widened as her BlackBerry grew hot. “Stop. Stop it!”

He said nothing. With a gasp the Elf’s fingers sprang open, and her BlackBerry tumbled to the ground. As both he and Sidhiel watched, the phone glowed red and melted into a dangerous, acrid smelling puddle that steamed on the frozen sidewalk.

Sidhiel’s gaze raised, her features sliced with impotent fury. “You are a blight upon this Earth.”

“I’m always amused at how the Elves insist upon vilifying me,” he remarked. “Your pot is much blacker than my kettle. Yes, I hunted some of you long ago before I grew and evolved. But you killed so very many more of yourselves than I ever did, and you tore up the Earth while you did so.”

“My gods, I loathe you.”

“About that cup of coffee,” said Dragos. As she turned woodenly toward the hotel entrance, he told her, “Not in a public restaurant. Your suite or my limo. Or even my suite at the Garden, if you prefer.”

After a brief struggle with the choices he offered, she turned to her attendants. “Go. Wait for me at the main entrance to Madison Square Garden. If I am not there shortly, call the head of the tribunal and tell him what has happened.”

“Councillor,” said the taller of her attendants.

“You can do nothing here,” she said through white lips. “But you can bear witness to my absence.” She threw a scathing glance at Dragos. “You will be held accountable for anything you do.”

“You should be careful when you talk of accountability, Sidhiel,” he growled. “I am not a patient man at the best of times. Now my mate is visiting your demesne, and I cannot get in contact with her.”

She stood rigid, her startled gaze searching his face. Then she gestured to her attendants, gave him a curt nod and strode with him to the sleek black Mercedes limousine that idled at the curb.

In the back of the limo, Dragos settled back in his seat with his arms crossed. He watched indifferently as the Elf positioned herself so that she avoided any accidental contact with his long legs. Without any further preamble, he said, “You may not have heard, but Beluviel invited Pia into Lirithriel Wood so that she could talk with Calondir. They traveled in yesterday morning.”

Sidhiel’s gaze flickered. “No, I had not heard.” She added slowly, “Someone should have warned you that cell phones do not work in the Wood.”

“I already know that,” he said impatiently. “What I want to know is if the Wood can block spells.”

“What kind of spells?” Sidhiel asked suspiciously.

He studied the Elf, his mouth tight. He was secretive by nature, and he hated to give up any kind of information to her, but there was no other way for him to find out what he needed to know. He said, “I have been dream casting, but last night either it didn’t reach Pia or she didn’t sleep. I chose to talk with you before I went down to South Carolina to discover for myself if she is all right.”

The Elf sucked in a breath, but she replied calmly enough. “There is no reason for alarm or for acting hastily. I believe in this case the Wood might have caused interference. Spell casting from within its borders is quite a different experience from casting a spell from the outside. It is important to keep in mind, Cuelebre—the Elves do not regard Pia in the same light as we do you. No one wishes her any harm.”

“So everyone has said,” he replied, eyeing her coldly. “Which is why I finally agreed to her visit in the first place. It does, however, occur to me that not everyone may have the same definition of harm. For instance, someone might think that taking my mate hostage would be a good way to try to control me. Then of course once you start talking about taking hostages, a whole new chessboard emerges.”