Pia Does Hollywood (Elder Races, #8.6)(35)

Utterly flummoxed, Pia stared at the other woman.

Thing? What did Tatiana mean by thing?

One thought after the other tumbled through her mind. Had they been enemies? Lovers? Dragos was older than sin. She had known for a fact that he’d had sex before, and probably quite a lot of it at some point or other, because he knew how to do such wise, wickedly inventive things that made her eyes pop out of her head, and she was quite sure they hadn’t exhausted all of his repertoire of tricks yet.

But knowing something had happened and coming up against the reality of it were two different things entirely.

She wasn’t jealous at the thought. Not exactly. Dragos was hers, totally, but she did feel sour and unsettled.

The only way to get more information was to pump Tatiana for it, because Dragos wouldn’t be able to tell her anything, even if he wanted to. She asked, “What do you mean, they had an ongoing thing? Do you mean they had an affair?”

“I don’t know,” Tatiana replied. “They might have, but I never knew anything for sure. Even then, I was marginalized at her Court, and I was certainly not privy to any confidences. I remember they sort of smilingly poked at each other verbally, and she seemed to be fascinated by him. And I had no idea how to read him. It had something of a flirtatious hint to it, but there was also this edge, like maybe they hadn’t yet decided whether or not they were enemies. She once called him ‘that damn inquisitive dragon.’ I always wondered if he was either trying to get information from her, or perhaps he was searching for something. Maybe he’ll remember in time.”

“Maybe,” Pia said. Inwardly, she doubted it. He had recovered most of his lost memories within a few days after the accident, and now, the more time passed, the less likely it was that he would remember.

“Well, if you have anything to do with Isabeau, be careful. I cannot say if she and Dragos parted on friendly terms or not, and as you have seen for yourself, she is a vicious and relentless enemy.”

“I appreciate the warning.” Rubbing her forehead, she wondered how Aryal, Quentin and Shane were doing. No news might be good news. Of course, it might not too. Quentin had seemed pretty certain that Morgan would kick their asses. She muttered, “Why is Isabeau’s Chief Hound called Morgan of the Fae?”

“Because Morgan lives at Isabeau’s Court, but he isn’t actually Light Fae himself. Neither Shane nor I are quite sure what he is, although I make a point of not getting close enough to him to find out. He seems human, but he’s also hundreds of years old, which of course no normal human could achieve.” Tatiana had tensed while she talked. Now she looked unsettled as well. “If he has human blood in him, he also has something else—either Elder Races blood, or perhaps some kind of magical Power—that has prolonged his life. Not much frightens me, but he does.”

A trickle of real fear for Quentin and Aryal ran down Pia’s spine. She wished they would get in touch somehow, but of course they would be too busy to call, and Dragos’s telepathy was down.

While they talked, she kept part of her attention on the quiet, sunny afternoon outside, which was how she saw what happened next.

The quiet scene erupted. In place of the large, black-haired man lying prone on the lawn, an immense bronze dragon appeared, with the bronze coloring darkening to black at the tips of his long talons, tail and gigantic wings. His sudden appearance knocked the two Hummers sidelong. Looking down at his body, the dragon shook himself like a dog, and his chains fell away.

Fierce joy shot through Pia, as strong as a sunburst.

Guards shouted in both surprise and alarm, causing Tatiana to spin in her seat and stare wide-eyed out the window.

The dragon mantled his massive wings, looked at the guards and said, “If you shoot at me now, you’re only going to piss me off.”

Surging to her feet, Tatiana strode to the French doors and yanked them open. She shouted, “Any fool that shoots at him will face disciplinary action!”

The dragon strode to the verandah. It took him three steps.

Grinning, Pia pushed to her feet and poked her head around Tatiana. “Hi, baby,” she said. “Good to see you.”

“Good to be here,” Dragos said. He folded his wings into place and cocked his head to look under the verandah roof at her with one golden eye. “I’m going hunting. Okay with you?”

“Everything’s great with me,” she told him, beaming.

He told her, “Take your medicine.”

“I will.” Telepathically, she said, I love you.

Love you too. Be back later.

With that, he wheeled, crouched and launched into the air.

* * *

Dragos had tried to shapeshift every ten or fifteen minutes. When he finally did connect with his Wyr form and shift, he felt the last of the contagion burn away.

Now, he tore through the air, fierce eagerness fueling his flight. He said telepathically to Aryal, Where are you?

Whoa, she exclaimed. You’re telepathizing!

While I appreciate your gift for the obvious, he drawled. I would rather know your location.

South Harbor Boulevard, she said briefly. Near the waterfront. There’s a large herd of zombies here, Dragos. The Hounds are here too, behind them, driving them forward at us. They’re using them as shields while throwing attack spells at us.

Zombies?

He coughed out an unamused laugh. That was as good a word for them as any.