Dragon Bound er-1

by Thea Harrison

  “But guards even here?” She felt any hope of even an illusion of freedom slipping between her fingers.

  “A couple thousand people work here every day. Several thousand more visit. Yes, there is security and there are restricted areas, but no place is a hundred percent secure, not when Power is involved. You remember how I got to you with the dream. What if some magical attack occurs? You will have guards until this is all over. End of discussion.”

  Her lips tightened. His logic was irrefutable and his autocratic attitude all but intolerable. When she thought she had her temper under control, she gave him a short nod. She didn’t necessarily disagree with him once he had explained things. She just expected to have a say in what happened in her life.

  He settled back against the pillows and laced his hands behind his head again. He gave her a relaxed, ruthless smile. “Now that it’s come up and we can have that long-overdue conversation, why don’t you tell me all about your mother and how you healed me?”

  TWELVE

  After a frozen moment, she threw herself off the bed. She grabbed her sewing kit and stomped into the dressing room. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that.”

  He followed and leaned a shoulder against the doorpost. He had slipped on a pair of black silk pants. His gold eyes gleamed. “It’s pretty evident you healed me with your blood. That’s why you were so desperate to destroy it. Your blood tells something important about you. You couldn’t leave any behind.”

  She took in his dark lounging figure and looked away with determination. Yes, he was too sexy for words. He was also utterly insufferable and he didn’t have an ounce of shame or embarrassment to his name. “I guess when you promised not to ask me about it, you meant you wouldn’t ask when you didn’t want to,” she said in a grim voice. She shoved her sewing kit into a drawer and brushed past him.

  “Of course.” He turned to track her. “I learned that from someone I know. You know, the one who promised not to argue only when she doesn’t want to,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her. “Now who could that be?”

  She stormed up to him and stuck her finger under his nose. “That was different.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “We were in a bad situation. I reserve the right to sometimes know better than you do what should be done. So I’ll argue with you whenever I feel like arguing, big guy.”

  His mouth flattened. He folded his arms. It was obvious he was unimpressed with her finger or her posturing. “Like you did when we were in the car with the Goblins watching?”

  She scowled. “That was a mistake. I already said that and apologized. I would also like to point out that if I had been a good little girl and followed every single thing you told me to do when you were throwing orders around, I might still be sitting in my cell. My initiative saved your ass.”

  “I already said that too,” he said, eyes narrowed. He went nose to nose with her. “You’re deflecting. You really don’t want to talk about this, do you?”

  She backed away from him, rounding her eyes. “What part of ‘don’t ask me any questions about this’ gave you that idea?”

  He followed, on the prowl, his body moving with liquid grace. “So, let’s see, what do I know? No lock can hold you, you’re an herbivore, you have to wear a dampening spell to appear human, and your mother was revered by the Elves.”

  “Stop it,” she whispered. It felt like he was peeling her alive, exposing everything.

  There was no mercy in that predator’s gaze. “You know, I felt the Power in your blood when I cleaned you off in the car. Then on the plain, when you put your hand on me, I thought you were going to knock me to the ground. But you weren’t sure it was going to work. It’s because you’re a half-breed, isn’t it? All those abilities are from your Wyrkind blood. You got them from your mother.”

  She turned away and looked around the room. It seemed so much smaller than it did before. She went to the French doors, threw them open and rushed outside, desperate for fresh air.

  That was just before she saw there was no railing or wall, just a straight, flat ledge to open air. Sharp whistling gusts of wind teased her hair. Everything whirled around her and started to tilt. Hard arms caught her and held her fast.

  “Shit,” she said, shaking. She clutched his arm. “There’s no railing.”

  “You did so well on the flight. I thought you weren’t afraid of heights,” he said. He pulled her back inside and kept one arm around her waist as he shut and locked the doors. He frowned down at her. “You’re white as a sheet.”

  “I don’t have a problem with heights—when there’s a rail! Or a wall, or some kind of barrier!” She pointed out the window. “That’s a straight eighty-floor drop. Not so small a deal to someone with no parachute or wings.”

  “Pia, the edge is a good twenty feet away now.” His hand was gentle as he rubbed her arm.

  “I know that. Did I say I was being rational?” she said. Embarrassment and fright made her even more irritable. She found her balance and straightened out of his hold. There was a sharp rap on the door. Rune and Graydon walked in. She threw up her hands and snapped, “And does anybody in this place wait for an answer when they knock?”

  The two men froze. They stared at Pia, with her disheveled blonde hair and furious face, pink thigh-length robe and delicate contoured legs down to the red-tipped polished toes. Then they looked at Dragos, in his black silk pajama pants, bare chest and blonde braid of hair on one dark wrist.

  Dragos stalked after her as she stormed into the bathroom. She slammed the door. He put his hands on his hips and raised his voice as he told her through the panel, “We’re not through discussing this.”

  The bathroom door yanked open. She snapped, “And my mother is none of your business!” She slammed the door again.

  Dragos turned to look at the two men. Graydon, the brawniest of the gryphons, had begun shaking his head and backing out of the room. Rune just stared.

  Dragos said, “What.”

  “Who are you,” Rune said, “and what have you done with Dragos?”

  He gave them his machete smile. “I had no idea this could be so much fun.”

  Rune said, “We just thought you’d be ready to get on with your day. There’s a backlog of issues waiting for your attention.”

  Graydon said, “We’ll go now and come back much, much later.”

  “No, don’t bother.” He strode over to the serving cart and started inspecting the contents under the silver covers. One hid oatmeal with walnuts and apples. He covered it back up. The other had a pound of fried bacon and a half-dozen scrambled eggs. He picked up the plate and a fork.

  He told Graydon, “Make us a pot of coffee.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “Please.”

  Graydon turned his head to the side and widened his eyes at Rune while he said, “Yes, my lord.”

  Dragos settled on one couch, grabbed the remote and turned on CNN. He ate breakfast in quick, efficient bites. Rune sprawled on another couch. Graydon brought three cups of coffee from the wet bar.

  Eyes on the morning headlines, Dragos said, “No more barging in.”

  “Never again,” Graydon said. The gryphon had a fervent note in his voice. “We’ll pass the word.”

  “The breakfast faerie has no doubt already done that,” Dragos remarked around a mouthful of bacon. “You two clowns just missed the memo.”

  “The breakfast faerie.” Rune pinched his nose and coughed. Amused gold eyes met his, then turned back to the running ticker tape on the plasma flat-screen.

  “What things need to be addressed?”

  He finished his meal as he listened. They ran down a list of things, a variety of domestic, administrative, business and military issues. He responded with his customary decisiveness. The two gryphons started relaying his orders telepathically to the appropriate people.

  The bathroom door opened and the scent of Chanel wafted across the room. The men fell silent. Pia walked out wearing her short pink robe. Sh
e entered the dressing room and shut the door.

  Dragos scowled. “Get a personal shopper for Pia. Make sure a longer robe is on the list.”

  “Right.” Graydon looked like he was being tortured.

  “Are the contractors done repairing the other bedroom?”

  “Almost,” Rune said. “There was some structural damage when you, uh, punched the wall. They’re working hard to be as quiet as possible. Since it’s on the other side of the building, the noise shouldn’t be too bad. They already know they may have to stop at times, and they’re prepared to work around your schedule if necessary.”

  He looked out the windows and rubbed his chin. “When they’re through, have them put up a balcony wall. Tell them to go halfway around the building and put gated fences on each end. That’ll still leave plenty of open ledge.”

  Pia emerged wearing low-rider jeans and a tight blue long-sleeved jersey shirt that bared her midriff. She carried a cloth zippered bag under one arm. She paused, looking from the three men to the food cart and the unmade bed, her expression uncertain. She looked much calmer.

  Dragos unfolded from the couch and walked toward the cart. “Come eat your breakfast with us,” he said. He put his empty plate on the cart and retrieved her bowl of oatmeal and a spoon. “Would you like some coffee?”

  She nodded, trailing behind him to the couches. Graydon started to his feet.

  Dragos put her oatmeal and spoon on an end table by the couch where he was sitting. “I’ll get you a cup,” he told her. Graydon paused halfway out of his seat.

  She gave Dragos a wary scowl. “Are you sucking up?”

  “Of course.” He bent to give her a swift kiss. Dusky color touched her cheeks. He touched one high, delicate cheekbone.

  She glanced sidelong at the two other men. They were dressed in jeans and T-shirts. Leather jackets were thrown over the back of the couch, and each man wore a shoulder holster and gun. She suspected they both had several other hidden weapons.

  Graydon looked like he was watching a train wreck. Rune sprawled, long legs stretched out, his expression unreadable. She curled up at one end of the couch, thanked Dragos for the coffee as he set it beside her and concentrated on keeping her head down and eating her breakfast while the men talked. She was so hungry again she almost inhaled the apple walnut oatmeal.

  She pulled out of her bag a bottle of nail polish remover, cotton balls and a bottle of Dusky Rose nail polish. She cleaned the chipped red polish off, tucked cotton balls between her slender toes and began to paint her toenails.

  From what Dragos had described, Cuelebre Tower was a small city. Just from listening to the men, she got the merest glimpse of how vast and complex Cuelebre Enterprises was. It was quite the global corporation.

  There was a pause in the conversation. She looked up. Dragos had angled himself toward her, one long leg hooked up on the couch cushions, an arm draped across the back. His head was tilted as he watched her work. She glanced at the other two men. Still not a whole lot of friendly coming from that quarter. She looked down at her half-painted toes and her cheeks burned.

  “I’ll go into the bathroom,” she said.

  “No,” Dragos said. “You are to be comfortable here.”

  She sighed and muttered, “You just can’t dictate things like that happening, big guy.”

  “I can dictate anything I want,” he told her.

  She rolled her eyes. She decided to try to ignore the other two men and went back to painting her nails. She finished one foot and started on the other.

  “Anything else?” Dragos asked the gryphons.

  “One last thing,” Rune said. “The Elven High Lord is demanding a teleconference and proof of Pia’s well-being. She’s become somewhat of a problem.” The gryphon’s tawny, expressionless gaze flicked to her; then he looked away.

  Sudden anger burned. “I am not a problem,” she announced. She finished painting her little toe. “I am a ‘tactical consideration.’ ”

  Dragos dropped his hand to her shoulder. He squeezed her. She glanced sideways at him. He smiled at her. He said to Rune, “The Elven High Lord can go fuck himself. You can quote me.”

  “Ms. Giovanni,” Rune said. “Forgive me. I did not mean to imply that you are a problem. I meant to imply that the Elves are turning the subject of you into a problem.”

  Chin resting on upraised knee, she looked at the gryphon. The apology seemed too easily offered, his handsome face too smooth.

  I don’t think you meant that, slick. She looked at him hard and made sure he saw it.

  But now was not the time to pick another confrontation. Instead, she said, “If they’re turning the subject of me into a problem, why don’t we just make it go away?” She turned to Dragos. “You could have the teleconference and let me be there.”

  His white teeth showed a little too much as he enunciated, “I have no intention of pandering to that son of a bitch’s demands.”

  She set aside the nail polish and put her hand over his. “Is this important?” she said to him. He looked at her from under the dark slash of his brows, gold eyes obdurate. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. “Wouldn’t it be better if the Elves would just shut up and go away? Hey, what if they stopped throwing a fit at you walking across their backyard. It’s not like you ate their tulips or dug holes in their lawn. You didn’t piss on any trees when I wasn’t looking, did you?”

  The thundercloud that had darkened his face broke apart. He laughed. “I would have if I’d thought of it.”

  Rune grinned. A snort exploded out of Graydon, who covered his smile with a hand as big as a dinner plate.

  She ducked her head and wiggled the cotton balls from between her toes. It wasn’t acceptance. But at least it was something.

  While Dragos showered and dressed, Pia gave in to the urge that had been eating at her ever since Rune and Graydon entered the room, and she made the bed with quick efficiency. She felt better when it was done, less exposed, even though it was crystal clear that she and Dragos had shared that bed the night before. She kept her face averted from the gryphons’ covert stares while CNN continued in the background.

  Dragos strode out in boots, fatigues and a black shirt that molded to his muscled torso. The symbolism of his attire didn’t escape her. He was still in a combative mood. She ducked past him to pick out a pair of sandals to wear. She chose black slipons with silver sequined straps and low heels. She mourned her tennis shoes. They had been a big splurge, custom-fitted, and she doubted the dried blood and filth could be cleaned from them enough so that she would feel comfortable wearing them again.

  Dragos led the way to the floor below. Pia had to trot to keep up. Rune and Graydon fell in behind them. She looked around, taking in as much as she could while on the move. She felt adrift. She didn’t know the layout of the penthouse, and she couldn’t get a feel for this floor’s layout in the route they took. They did pass a massive gym with aerobic equipment, weights and a weapons training area. She stared through the windows at four Wyr engaged in a sword-training exercise and almost ran into a wall. Dragos’s hand shot out and corrected her course.

  His presence was a battering ram that cleared their path. People gave way as they approached, greeting him with a variety of nods, bows and other gestures of respect. She avoided focusing on any one of the sea of unfamiliar faces and curious gazes.

  They arrived at an executive conference room, as richly appointed and built on the same massive scale as everything else. A couple of people were already present. Cuelebre Enterprises’ PR faerie, Thistle Periwinkle, stood in a formal pose, hands clasped at her waist. She was dressed in a pale blue silk pantsuit and gladiator-style sandals. Standing no more than five feet tall, she looked even more diminutive when she was surrounded by oversized Wyr. The faerie faced one wall and was speaking Elvish. The teleconference had already begun.

  Dragos took Pia by the hand and strode forward. Looking curiously at Pia, the faerie backed out of the way. Dragos turned to
face the large flat-screen on the opposite wall. Rune and Graydon assumed places behind them.

  Three tall, slender Elves filled the screen. They stood in a sunlit office much like the conference room. Ferion stood to the right. A gracious Elven woman with long black hair and a starlit gaze was on the left. The Elf in the middle had the same ageless beauty as the others, but the Power in his eyes was palpable even through the distance of the teleconference.

  They all wore cold expressions as they regarded Dragos. The Elven High Lord’s gaze glittered. Dragos appeared unimpressed, his body stance aggressive. His face had turned dangerous, and his eyes flat and wicked.

  Alrighty. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  The Elven High Lord looked at her, and spring came to his winter-cold elegant face. “We see that Ferion did not exaggerate,” he said in a deep, musical voice. He inclined his head to her. “My lady. It is our very great pleasure to meet you. I am Calondir and this is my consort, the lady Beluviel.”

  A fine trembling took up residence under her skin. The sense of exposure was back, and this time it was all but unbearable. In a whole long string of bad ideas, doing this teleconference in front of witnesses came close to topping the cake. Dragos’s fingers tightened on hers to the point of pain.

  She took a deep breath. It was too late to back out now. Might as well see what she could make out of yet another screwup. “I’m honored to meet you,” she said. “Please forgive me. I don’t have any formal Court training.”

  The Elven woman smiled at her. “Such things count as nothing compared to a good heart.”

  Dragos said, “You wanted to see if she was all right. She is. We’re done.”

  “Wait. We wish to hear that from her,” Calondir said icily. The Elven High Lord looked at Pia. “Lady, are you well?”

  She glanced at Dragos’s stone-cold profile and then back at the Elves. She said on impulse, “I am being treated with extraordinary graciousness, my lord. While I did not want to, I actually did commit a crime. Dragos has heard the circumstances of what happened and what compelled me. He’s chosen to forgive me. I would respectfully ask that you consider doing the same for him. No harm has come to you from his actions. But a great deal of harm has come to him from mine, which I very much regret.”