Dragon Bound (9 page)

He looked at the door and back at her again. “Do it again.” She stepped outside. She walked back in after he locked the door. He said, “I didn’t feel you cast a spell.”

“That’s because I didn’t. It’s just a part of me.” Locks, wards—you name it, and she could walk through it. Nothing could cage her. Nothing, that is, unless it plummeted out of a clear blue sky and sat on her. She dug the heel of her hand into one temple where a headache was starting to throb and sighed. “That’s all I know. That, and again, I’m sorry. I suppose you’ll want to do the rending now.”

He hadn’t moved back when she stepped inside. She was so close she could feel his body heat on her skin. He had a kind of strength and vitality that was a constant shock to the system. She felt small and cold and pale by comparison. Despite the colossal danger this creature represented, she had quite an irrational desire to curl up in his warmth.

He cupped her head. The broad palms and long fingers cradled her skull. Oddly, she didn’t feel afraid and she didn’t resist when he tilted her face up.

The predator bent over her. “You committed a crime,” he said. “And you owe me. Say it.”

What was this? She could gain no hint by searching his face. Her shoulders sagged and her mouth drooped. “What if I don’t want to say it?”

“You will make recompense,” said the Lord of the Wyr. “You will serve me until I deem the debt is paid. Is that clear?”

“No rending?” she asked. Her gaze clung to his. Could she believe him this time, or was this another cruel joke?

He shook his head and smoothed back her hair. “No rending. You told me the truth,” he said. “I could sense it as you talked. You committed a crime, but you were also a victim. This is justice.” He bent his head until his nose just touched the top of hers, inhaling. His voice was much softer as he continued, “But when I go after who orchestrated this? That will be vengeance.”

She shuddered, going limp with relief. Her hands smoothed over the heavy muscles in his chest. She felt encompassed by him, and against all good sense or sanity, she felt safe. Her spine lost its starch. She leaned against him. Just a little. She did it sneakily so he wouldn’t notice. “I don’t like that word ‘serve.’ What would you want me to do?”

“I’ll make use of you somehow,” he said.

“What if I don’t want to do it?” Her head started to lower, a drooping flower on a stalk. His hands guided her to rest on his chest. “I’m not stealing again,” she warned. “So if that’s what you want, we might as well get back to the rending right now.”

Listen to her. Big tough girl.

“There is nothing you could steal that I couldn’t get in any number of other ways. I will not put you in harm’s way.” He kept her head cradled in one hand and put an arm around her. He murmured, “I do not endanger my treasures.”

What did he mean by that? She was mesmerized by his hold in a way that had nothing to do with beguilement. She tried to focus. “I’m not agreeing, mind you,” she grumbled. “I’ll have to think about it.”

But it didn’t sound so bad. It was much better than rending. And she
did
steal from him, along with telling him too much about herself. She bit her lip. What if he decided to blackmail her too?

“I wasn’t aware that I gave you a choice,” he said. Was that amusement in his voice? “Crime and judgment, remember, not negotiation. You lived in my demesne, you lived by my law. But you go ahead and think about it all the way back to New York.”

A car horn sounded from the street side of the house. She jumped and yanked herself away. He looked at her with his eyebrows raised.

“Oh God,” she said, “that’s the . . . that’s the delivery. I’ll go get it. Be right back.”

She charged for the door to be brought up short by his hand circling her wrist. “I’ll get it,” he said.

“Don’t be silly,” she told him. A wild horse galloped in her chest. “I said I would buy you supper, and I will. It’s the least I can do.”

“No.” He brushed past her, long legs eating up the distance to the front door.

Oh damn. She caught him by the arm just before he opened it and tried one last time. “Please, Dragos. Let me do it.”

He put his hands to her shoulders and nudged her back into the living room. “Something is not right. I can feel it. You are not going out there,” he said. He had turned into a stone-cold killer. His Power revved like fighter plane powering up. “It’s not safe.”

How did this get so messed up? She wrung her hands. He not so much walked outside as flowed, that great magnificent body of his turning into a weapon.

A sound sliced the air. Dragos spun backward, his legs buckling. It all happened too fast. She caught up a heartbeat later. She stared at Dragos, who had collapsed on the walk. A dozen tall Elves stepped out of various hiding places, from behind her Honda, the nondescript Ford idling at the curb and nearby shrubbery. They held weapons trained on the sprawled figure. Six-foot longbows.

She launched toward Dragos, who was lying on his back. Darkness appeared on one white-clad shoulder. It began to spread. She fell to her knees beside him.

“You shot him!” she shouted. She stared at the stern-eyed Elves encircling them. “Do you know who he is?”

One of them stepped forward. He was a silver-haired male, beautiful in the way that all Elves are, with a gracious light that somehow made all other creatures leaden by comparison. Despite his slender build, he not only looked powerful, he carried more Power than anybody else in the clearing except for Dragos.

“We know who he is,” said the Elf. He stared down at Dragos, his beautiful face cold. “Wyrm.”

She turned back to Dragos. Even though he lay wounded, he looked utterly without fear, his raptor’s stare turning from the Elves to focus on her. She tore open his shirt to stare at the bleeding hole over his left breast. Her uneven breathing sounded loud in her ears.

“I don’t get it. None of you are carrying guns. Where’s the arrow?” she asked. She tore off her hoodie and pressed it to the wound.

“Elven magic,” Dragos responded through gritted teeth.

“No simple arrow could mark him,” said the Elf. “But this one has already melted into his body. It will continue to release poison into his bloodstream for a number of days.”

“What did you do!” she shouted. Her face contorted. She clenched her fists and started to her feet. Dragos grabbed her wrist.

“Pia,” he said when she fought against his hold. “It would take a lot more than this to kill me.”

“We have disabled him,” the Elf told her.

“You don’t understand,” she told Dragos. “I called them. It’s my fault.” She tried to pry his fingers open. It was like trying to pry open a steel shackle. She looked up at the Elf.

He had shifted his attention to Dragos. “You entered our lands without permission. Treaties have been broken. There will be consequences. For now, the poison will keep you from changing into the Great Beast. Since we have clipped your wings, we will give you twelve hours to get beyond our borders. If you are not gone by then, there will be more than twelve of us who will come for you.”

“I broke his law,” Pia said. “He was just coming after me.”

“His law is not our law,” said the Elf. “And he broke ours. Wyrm, release your hold on the female.”

“She is mine.” Dragos bared his teeth, gold eyes flaring to lava. His growl shivered through the ground at her knees, and long fingers clenched on her wrist. He tensed and began to rise.

The other Elves sighted down their longbows at him. “You will release her now or forfeit the twelve hours’ grace,” their leader said.

Pia flung her free hand out at the Elves, fingers spread and palm out. “Stop!” She leaned over Dragos. Bending close to that feral face was one of the braver things she had done in her life. Some instinct she could not have verbalized had her gentling her voice. “Dragos,” she murmured. Calm and quiet, like she would speak to a wounded animal. “Can you look at me, please? You know how normal people say ‘please.’ Pay attention to me, not them.”

That lava gaze turned to her, burning and alien. He may not be able to change, but he was immersed in the dragon.

“Thank you,” she breathed. She dropped her free arm and stroked at his black hair. Dragos tracked the movement and then looked at her face. “I know you’re very angry, but I promise you, this is not worth fighting over,” she whispered. She tugged just a little at the inky ends. Inspiration struck. “And you promised me you wouldn’t put me in harm’s way. Just a few minutes ago. Remember?”

His dangerous face clenched. “You’re mine,” he told her.

For a blistering instant, she had no idea what to say to that. Then hey, another lightbulb moment came along and she was on a roll. “Letting go of my wrist doesn’t change a thing,” she murmured. She mimicked what he had done to her earlier and stroked a finger down the side of his face, then laid her hand against his cheek. “Please.”

His fingers loosened and he let her pull away.

She got to her unsteady feet, somehow managed to stay upright and turned to face the Elven leader, who gave her a slight bow. He stared at her. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Interior alarm bells started to ring, but all the lightbulbs had left her high and dry. She shook her head and said, “We’ve never met.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen you before. You look—” The Elf’s sea-colored gaze widened. “You look exactly like—”

Dragos curled a hand around her ankle.

“Yeah, I look like Greta Garbo,” she interrupted in a loud voice. A pulse of dread dampened her skin. Shut up, Elf. “I get that a lot.”

“My lady, I am so honored to meet you,” the Elven leader breathed. He bowed low to her, his previous generic respect turned to reverence. When he straightened, his face was alight with joy. “You have no idea how we hoped and prayed that something of your mother still remained in this world.”

All the other Elves stared at them, their faces alight with curiosity. She scowled at the Elven leader. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she told him.

He seemed to start and come to himself. His joy became muted but she could still feel it beating in him. He smiled at her and said, “Of course, forgive me. I am mistaken.”

Then his telepathic voice sounded in her head like deep bell chimes in the wind.
My name is Ferion. I knew a woman once who looked much like you. Meeting her was one of the greatest gifts of my life.

I am honored that you would share that with me,
she said
. But it is dangerous for me that we talk of this, and I am not that woman. In fact, I am very much less than that woman.

Not to my eyes,
he said.
Please allow us to offer you sanctuary. I know our Lord and Lady would greet you with joy every bit as deep as my own. We would treasure your presence among us.

She hesitated and for a moment, oh, she was tempted. The thought of such a welcome wrung at her lonely heart. But Ferion’s reverence brought her up short. She didn’t think she could bear to live with such regard. Not when she was so much less than what he thought she was, nothing very special at all, just a glow-in-the-dark night-light and a stupid parlor trick and a big mouth that got her into too much trouble. Living with the Elves, where she would feel like a fraud while she aged and died and they remained forever the same, would just be a different kind of loneliness.

The jealous hand on her ankle tightened. She looked down at Dragos, who was watching her with a narrowed gaze.

I thank you for the offer of sanctuary. Perhaps one day I may take you up on it,
she said to Ferion. While she couldn’t accept, she couldn’t bear to say no, either, to what might be the only home ever offered to her.
In the meantime, I have a debt to pay.

Ferion said aloud, “Lady, I beg of you, come away with us. Do not stay with the Beast.”

She squatted by Dragos and dared to peek under the hoodie covering his wound. It had stopped bleeding. She mopped the blood streaks from his shoulder as gently as she could, wiped her hands on the material and folded the bloodied part into the rest of the hoodie.

“This train wreck all is my fault,” she said. “I have to do what I can to make it right.”

Dragos’s grip on her leg eased. His fingers slid along her calf in a subtle movement.

It annoyed her so much, she snapped at him. “But no matter what ridiculous thing you say, I am not yours. You wouldn’t be here except for me so I will see you to the Elven border. I know you lost your head, and you got all scary and obsessive and territorial, and you want to get back your property and all that, but come on. All I took was a freaking penny. Besides, I already gave you another one.”

One corner of his long, sexy, cruel mouth lifted in a smile.

The Elves refused to touch Dragos, so she had to help him as much as she could. By the time he had pushed himself off the ground and she had gotten herself insinuated under his good arm, the Elves had disappeared. She knew better than to believe they were gone.

“You took a 1962 penny,” Dragos said. His teeth were gritted. “You left a 1975 penny. It’s no replacement.”

She stared at him. “Oh my God, it’s scary you noticed that.”

“I know everything in my hoard and exactly where it is,” he told her. “Down to the smallest piece.”

“You could go to a doctor, get checked out for OCD,” she panted. “There might be medication for that.”

His chest moved in a silent laugh.

She focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He leaned on her as little as possible—otherwise they both would have crashed to the ground again. He still felt like a Volkswagen had been hung around her neck.

They got inside. He collapsed on the couch. He draped an arm over his eyes and stretched out one leg until his boot hung over the end. He left the other foot planted on the floor. Between the blood and the buttons she’d popped when she ripped it open, his Armani shirt was ruined. She eyed his chest that went both wide and far, narrowing to an eight-pack that rippled into his jeans.

For God’s sake. The male was injured and here she was ogling him like a pervert in a porn store. “I’m just not right in the head,” she muttered.