Pia Does Hollywood (Elder Races, #8.6)(24)

The other Wyr joined them, questions in their eyes. Aryal’s gaze dropped to the bandage Dragos still wore, and she swore, while Eva’s face tightened and Quentin blew out a breath.

Together, the group of Wyr strode toward the front entrance of the house, where several guards stood. As they drew near, the guards swung around to stand in formation, and all of them had their guns trained on Dragos.

Bailey was with them. She stepped forward, her expression regretful. “I’m so sorry, Dragos,” she said. “But we can’t let you in the house.”

“That’s preposterous.” Pia gestured angrily. “Look at him—he’s in perfect control of himself.”

“Yes, he is, for now,” Bailey agreed. The Light Fae woman gave them an apologetic glance. “But that could change quickly, and if it does, we won’t be able to reason with him. And even without his ability to shapeshift, your husband is still very powerful. He could do a lot of damage, and infect a lot of people, before we could stop him.” She turned her attention to Quentin, Aryal and Eva. “None of us want to hurt any of you, but we may not have any choice. You may not have a choice either, and you all need to be prepared to face that fact.”

Pia whitened, while Aryal rubbed her face and swore.

“She’s right,” Dragos said, interrupting whatever Pia might have said next. He asked Bailey, “Where are we going to meet?”

“My mother is willing to let you into the back garden,” Bailey told them. “Shane will be there, and she’ll be surrounded by guards, but it’s a compromise of sorts, and it would allow us to discuss possible next steps.”

“Fine. Let’s go,” Dragos said. As they strode around the house to the back, he asked, “What about the neighbors? These houses and yards are large, but that’s no real protection, either for them, or for any sensitive discussions we might have.”

“That’s not an issue,” Bailey told them. “Bel Air has already been evacuated.”

Unexpected anger burned, hot and bright. He demanded, “Since when?”

“We evacuated for several blocks around 10 P.M. last evening,” Bailey replied, giving him a hassled glance. “We thought at the time we were just erring on the safe side, but as it turns out, it’s good we did.”

“This morning, you brought my wife, and my people into this mess,” he snarled. “You got me involved in this.”

“Look, in the last forty-eight hours, this outbreak has grown exponentially,” Bailey shot back, her eyes sparkling with quick anger. “As soon as my mother got the first hint that something might be wrong, she sent for me and tried to cancel Pia’s visit, but you guys insisted. This morning we tried to remove Pia to a safe location in Malibu. And you aren’t supposed to be anywhere near here, Lord Cuelebre, let alone wandering around and sticking your nose into things, so let’s try to stop with blame throwing and work on finding some solutions, all right?”

As she spoke, she opened a gate in a stuccoed wall and strode through.

Dragos met Pia’s burning gaze. Behind them, Aryal whispered, “If I start slapping people, I might not be able to stop.”

“Everybody’s stressed right now,” Quentin muttered. “Rein it in, harpy. Don’t add to it.”

“Much as it pains me to say this,” Dragos growled, “Bailey is right again. Arguing about what happened and who might be to blame is useless. In any case, this is no longer just a Light Fae problem, because it sure as hell has become a problem for the Wyr.” He looked at Pia and said more quietly, “Come on.”

At that, he reached out to put a hand at the small of her back, but then he caught himself up.

Reaction glittered overbright in Pia’s eyes. Tightening her mouth, she stepped through the open gate, and he followed.

* * *

Pia’s nerves were jumping all over her body. She felt as if she might leap out of her own skin like a scalded cat, if given the slightest provocation.

Avoid stress, the doctor had said. Eat lots of good food and enjoy this little mysterious bun cooking in the oven. Ha!

Dragos stalked by her side, a dark lowering shadow, his hard face cut with severe lines. Even in his human form, he moved with a lethal fluidity that spoke of the fact that he was an apex predator. He was faster and stronger than anybody she knew. It was no wonder the Light Fae were still terrified of him, despite the fact that he couldn’t shapeshift into the dragon.

From the short time he had disappeared to shower, his eyes had grown darker, and the dark lines shooting from the bite wound was one of the most terrifying things she had ever seen. He never got sick, never. It was as if germs vaporized whenever he became exposed to them. The fact that he wasn’t healing from the bite might force her to consider a terrible choice—her mate or her child.

No. Her mind went into a frenzy, and she tore that idea to shreds. There had to be other alternatives, ways to think outside of this box that they didn’t know about yet. If the Light Fae were writing off others who had been infected as a lost cause, it might be in part because they had turned so quickly. Dragos hadn’t, yet. They needed to gather as much information as fast as they possibly could.

“Fight it,” she said to him a low voice. “Fight as hard as you can.”

Just as low, he replied, “I am.”