As she moved toward the front of the house, she picked up her pace until she was running. The double front doors stood open, framing a sunlit lawn. Two guards stood in the doorway, facing outward.
There was just enough space between the two guards. As Pia wriggled between them, she realized they both had their weapons drawn.
Had the world gone crazy?
She almost made it through to outside. Exclaiming, both of the guards grabbed for her, and one of them managed to catch hold of her by the arm.
“Are you insane?” she hissed furiously. “Put up your weapons. We’re invited guests!”
“Lady, you don’t understand,” the guard said. “You can’t go out there.”
“Like hell I can’t,” she said between her teeth.
She caught what happened next in snatches.
Dragos stood on the lawn, his clothing torn and bloody. He had his hands on his hips, his hard expression grim. One of his forearms had cloth tied around it.
Then Pia was knocked sidelong, as Eva tackled the guard who held on to her arm. Stumbling, she fell to the ground, scraping her elbows on the concrete pavement while Eva and the guard grappled with each other.
Bailey ordered, “Stand down! Everybody stand down!”
Then Quentin and Aryal shot onto the scene like dark, deadly arrows. Pia didn’t catch what happened next, but as she rolled to her feet, suddenly weapons were drawn everywhere, Light Fae guards and Wyr pointing guns at each other.
Dragos roared, “Wyr—lower your goddamn weapons NOW!”
Immediately, Quentin and Aryal stepped back, guns lowered. As Quentin edged around the group to approach Pia, Eva jerked out of the grasp of the Light Fae guard she was grappling with and threw a roundhouse punch at him that made him stagger.
“Don’t you ever put your hands on her again, asshole,” Eva snarled at the guard. Then she skipped back a couple of steps, hands raised.
Quentin threaded between people to reach Pia, his blue eyes hard. He asked telepathically, You okay?
Yes. She turned and started toward Dragos again.
This time Bailey lunged forward to grab her by the arms.
“What the hell?” Pia snapped. “Will you people stop grabbing me?!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bailey said. “Pia, you can’t.”
Quentin rounded on Bailey and slammed a flattened hand against her chest, physically knocking her back from Pia, while Eva growled, and the whole fiasco might have escalated again, except that this time, Dragos said sharply, “Stop. Everybody stop. Pia, do what they say and stay back.”
Exasperated now, and still badly unsettled, she wheeled around to stare at him. “I don’t understand. Why can’t I come close? How the hell did you get hurt?”
“I got curious and started poking around.” When he met her gaze, she saw that his gold eyes had darkened. Compared to their normal brilliance, they looked almost dull.
Immaculate and as coolly poised as if she were still drinking coffee on the verandah, Tatiana stepped around the clump of angry, unsettled people on her doorstep.
The Light Fae Queen and the Lord of the Wyr regarded each other for a moment.
Dragos growled, “Your people have a discipline problem under pressure, Tatiana. Tell them to put their goddamn weapons up.”
Unhurriedly, she studied him while making no move to do so. “You’re infected.”
“Apparently, yes,” he said between his teeth. “With whatever the fuck this is.”
Infected.
The word bounced around in Pia’s head. This time, instead of struggling to get to him, she met Quentin’s grim gaze. Her breathing sounded harsh to her own ears.
“Did you get bitten?” Tatiana asked.
“On my arm,” he said tersely.
“What happened to the one who bit you?”
“It was with a group of thirty or so others. I burned them.” Dragos’s gaze switched to Pia. He told her, “Whatever this is, it’s affecting my Power. I can’t telepathize, and I can’t shapeshift either. I had to hot-wire a car and drive here.”
Struggling to sound calm and rational, Pia said, “What the fuck is happening?” She rounded on Tatiana. “What do you mean, he’s infected?”
Regret filled Tatiana’s expression, along with resolve. The Queen said to Bailey, “Call Shane back to the house. Tell him to hurry.” Then she turned to her guards. “As long as Dragos remains lucid, don’t shoot him.”
* * *
Despite Dragos’s warning to stay away from him, Pia plunged across the lawn. Eva, the sentinels, and Bailey followed her immediately. Uneasily, Dragos took several steps back as they neared.
“You guys have to stop,” Bailey insisted. “He could turn rabid at any time.”
Dragos felt the urge to bare his teeth at her, but he was mindful of the guns still trained in his—and now Pia’s—direction and refrained. Tatiana’s guards were spooked enough. If he showed how he was really feeling, the gods only knew who they might accidentally shoot.
“I’m not turning rabid right at the moment,” he snapped.
Tatiana’s guards weren’t the only ones who were spooked. Bailey gave him a leery glance. She asked, “How long has it been since you got bitten?”
“Over forty minutes ago.” He turned his attention to Pia, who was pacing around him in a wide circle, wearing a fierce scowl.
“We’re not in California five minutes.” She flung up a hand, fingers and thumb splayed. “Five minutes, Dragos, and you managed to get bitten by… by …” She stopped pacing. “What bit you?”
“An infected Light Fae.”
She studied him worriedly. “Show me the wound.”
In answer, he unwrapped the cloth from his forearm and showed it to her. They both regarded the bite mark, which was clearly visible, the tears in his skin dark red.
“It’s negligible,” he said. “Barely more a nuisance. It should have healed within ten minutes. Instead, it’s not healing at all. After I burned the pack, I discovered I wasn’t able to telepathize or shapeshift.”
As he spoke, he was aware that the others were listening as well. Aryal swore softly and raked her hands through her hair, while Quentin pinched the bridge of his nose.
Bailey’s eyes had widened at his story. She said, “Your constitution is very strong. The people we know who were bitten turned within fifteen or twenty minutes. This is very bad news. So far as we knew, only the Light Fae have been affected. We had no idea until now that others of the Elder Races could be infected too.”
He had no intention of mentioning it to anyone, but he could feel the infection from the bite, coursing through his veins like poison, and his Power had roused to combat it. It felt strange and tiring. He was almost never too hot, but now he had broken into a light sweat and felt both hot and cold at once. Was this what a fever felt like?
Pia stood facing him with her feet planted apart, hands fisted at her sides. She looked grim and determined, and ready to do battle. “I want to telepathize with you so badly right now,” she muttered.
He glanced at the others and said to her, “I want to telepathize with you too.”
“It’s going to have to wait,” Bailey told them. “We think the contagion is passed through blood and saliva. Dragos, you’re a walking hazard—you’ve got blood smeared all over you. We have to burn your clothes and get you as disinfected as we can.”
“Privacy is the least of anybody’s concerns right now,” he said. “Let’s do this. Somebody get me something clean to wear. How are you disinfecting people?”
“We’ve been using propyl alcohol, along with an antiseptic detergent.” She turned away. “Follow me.”
He did so, and the others trailed after him several feet behind.
Bailey led them around the far corner of the house, to an area where they had constructed a large structure draped with plastic.
“I see the tour of the grounds you gave me earlier didn’t lead over in this direction,”
Pia said to Bailey, her voice bitter.
The other woman looked chagrined. She said to Dragos, “It’s a decontamination chamber. It’s pretty makeshift but it will get the job done. When you step in, leave your clothes and shoes by the outer flap. We’ll get you something else to wear. You’ll find the alcohol and detergent in the shower area. I’m sorry, the shower’s cold—for now, we’re just running water from the sprinkler system.”
“A cold shower is the least of my concerns right now,” he snarled. He stalked into the plastic-draped area and stripped to the skin.
Bailey was right, the construction was crude but effective. After he had stripped and left his clothes in a crumpled pile where she had indicated—saving the jewelry, which he kept in one hand—he stepped into the makeshift disinfectant chamber. He scrubbed his whole body for at least ten minutes with the sharp-smelling detergent then doused himself with the propyl alcohol, making sure to scrub and douse the jewelry as well.
Both the alcohol and detergent should have stung in the bite, but they didn’t. The skin around the bite had turned numb, and he still wasn’t healing. As he prodded the wound and inspected it, dark streaks had begun to shoot out from the puncture wounds. His Power might be slowing down the progress of the poison from the bite, but it wasn’t stopping it.
Once he had finished showering, they had collected other medical supplies, and he securely taped a bandage over the bite mark. He even wiped off his phone thoroughly with disinfectant.
He dressed quickly in the jeans and shirt they had found for him. The gods only knew where they had found an outfit big enough for him, because typically the Light Fae were nowhere near his massive size. The clothes were snug, but they would do. Stuffing the cleaned necklace, earrings and bracelet into the pocket of his new jeans, he stepped out of the plastic area.
Pia stood nearby with the other Wyr waiting in a close, tense huddle, while the Light Fae had retreated to give them some semblance of privacy.
After sweeping the scene, Dragos kept his eyes on Pia. She was biting her nails and tapping one foot nervously. He strode over only to stop several feet away, clenching his fists in frustration. The urge to take her into his arms was almost overwhelming. He hated he couldn’t act on it.
Her gaze went immediately to the white bandage on his arm. “How is it?”
“Still there,” he replied. He looked at the others. “Give us some space, will you?”
Reluctantly they stepped away, Aryal scowling over her shoulder at them.
Pia burst out, “This is so wrong. I can’t even touch you.”
“I know,” he said, very low.
They stared at each other. The morning had evaporated into a hot afternoon. Indirect sunlight gilded the ends of her hair, and sent shafts of illumination into her dark gaze. She said between her teeth, “Everybody on the property has supersharp hearing, and I want to telepathize with you so badly.”
He pulled out his phone. “Let’s text it.”
She snatched hers out of the pocket of her maxi dress, and her slender fingers flew over the tiny keyboard. When she was finished, she did one final, emphatic stab.
His phone pinged, and he looked down at the screen.
She had written: I don’t have time for a meltdown. Let’s pretend I just spat out a lot of AGH and UGH and OMG HOLY FUCK!!! and get it out of the way, shall we?
A hint of laughter ghosted through him. He texted back, I’m almost sorry I missed that.
She gave him a brief glare and turned her attention back to her phone. We need to get enough privacy so that I can try to heal you.
Agreed, he replied. But you might not be able to. You’re taking a drug protocol that suppresses your own abilities.
For a moment she stood frozen, staring at him with wide eyes, her phone dangling from her lax hand. Then she set to typing again furiously. The dose is wearing off. I’m supposed to take the next round this evening.
“I just want you to be braced,” he told her aloud, quietly. He texted the rest. You’re supposed to take the dose before the effects of the protocol have fully worn off. If you wait and take it late, you could endanger both yourself and the baby.
That was assuming he could stave off the effects from the bite long enough, but he didn’t text that thought. A look of sheer terror flashed across her face, and he had to clench down again on the need to take her into his arms.
Then her jaw firmed, and she said, “Let’s not get trapped into thinking it’s an either/or scenario. None of this may be necessary. Wait here.”
“Pia—” he began.
The glare she threw at him had sufficient strength to stop him in his tracks. “I know what you’re going to say, but don’t even bother, because we don’t have time for that either. Let’s pretend we had an entire argument about it—you just said we can’t, and I just said we have to. You said what about the secret, and I’m telling you right now I don’t give a fuck about the fucking secret!”
“Calm down and think about what you’re saying,” he rasped.
“Well, I can’t calm down, and I am thinking about it. Think about how many people already know, Dragos. The sentinels. Eva and Hugh. Liam, Dr. Medina and Dr. Shaw, and you know Stinkpot’s going to know as soon as he—or she—gets big enough. And probably there are other people I’m forgetting right now. No, wait! That’s right!” She threw out both hands. “Beluvial and some of the Elves know. The list keeps getting larger and larger, and chances are, we won’t be able to keep a lid on this forever.”
“We’ve got a lid on it for now,” he snapped.
“Yes, but it’s a train crash in slow motion. It might take months or it might take years, but sooner or later, that lid is gonna blow. In fact, the way I feel right now, I could just shout the fucking secret to the whole fucking world. So just wait there a fucking minute.”
Belatedly he caught up with everything that she had said.
Stinkpot?
She had sworn more in the last three minutes than she had in the last six months, but he had gone well past the point of any desire to laugh. Crossing his arms, he glared back at her but complied. He watched as she strode over to the other Wyr. After a silent exchange with them, Quentin reached into his pocket to pull out something and hand it to her.
She swiveled and jogged back, but instead of stopping in front of him, she continued past. “Come on,” she said over her shoulder as she headed back around the corner toward the decontamination chamber.
He threw a wary glance at the Light Fae by the front door. They were watching him closely. As he spun to follow Pia, he noted security cameras mounted high along the corners of the walls. He would bet all the jewelry in his pocket that he was being watched right now.
Rounding the corner of the building, he came upon Pia, who had opened up a pocketknife. Her face tight with determination, she gestured to him. “Come on. Pull the bandage back.”
“Damn it, Pia,” he growled. “This isn’t private either. We’re being watched.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
He jerked his head up, toward the direction of the security camera, and she rolled her eyes. She looked beyond fed up. In fact, she looked like she had joined Basket Case and driven straight to Crazy Town, and he knew if she wasn’t stopped, she really would shout the fucking secret to the whole fucking world.
He needed to derail that meltdown, if he could. Glancing around, he eyed the decontamination chamber.
“Take a breath,” he told her. “The camera won’t be able to see anything we do behind a few layers of plastic. Come on.”
It was her turn to follow him as he led the way through the thick plastic flap. Ignoring the sharp, acrid smell inside, he turned to face her.
Still wearing an expression that told him she was close to the edge of panic, she rotated her wrist at him. “Hurry up. Pull back the bandage.”
“Lower your voice,” he whispered. “The plastic will stop the camera from seeing what we’re doing, and it might muffle ou
r voices somewhat, but there are still a lot of people around with very sharp hearing.”
“I don’t care,” she muttered. She gripped the knife like she meant to stab herself with it.
He roared, “I care! I mean it, Pia. Get a fucking grip.”
Freezing, she stared at him. For a moment, her mouth wobbled precariously, then she firmed up. The strain was evident in her voice as she said, “I apologize. It’s just—Dragos, when I weigh the secret against the thought of possibly losing you, there’s no contest.”
At that, he wanted even more desperately to put his arms around her. Instead, he whispered fiercely, “One way or another, it’s going to be okay. But we’ve got to think our way out of this. We’re not going to get there if either one of us is in a panic. Understood?”
Jerkily, she nodded. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Get braced. This isn’t pretty.” He pulled back the bandage and showed the bite wound with the slowly expanding dark streaks to her.
He watched as the sight hit her like a blow. She swallowed and blinked rapidly. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” he said tersely. “It should, but it doesn’t.”
Giving him another terror-filled glance, she took the knife and held her hand over his forearm.
Uneasy at exposing the open wound so close to her, he muttered, “Careful, don’t touch me.”
“I’m not touching you!” she flared. Then, giving him an apologetic look, she said more temperately, “Just hold still.”
He did, clenching his fist as she drew the pocketknife across the end of one forefinger quickly. Bright blood beaded in the cut. She squeezed her finger, forcing the blood to flow more freely until a few precious drops fell onto the open wound.
He had said they had to think their way out of this, but he couldn’t help but feel they were fast running out of options. If this didn’t work … well, they would cross that bridge when they came to it.
If it did, the gods only knew how they were going to explain their odd behavior or his unexpected healing in such a way to keep the fucking secret.
Chapter Seven
Together, they stared at the bite mark while Dragos waited for the signature wave of her Power to wash through him. Her healing Power was an amazing, unstoppable sensation, unlike anything he had ever experienced. When Pia healed him, he felt like he was bathed in light.