“I still think you should have worn the red dress,” Pia told her. “You look stunning in red.”
The other woman shook her head with a grin. “Not while I’m on duty. The heels that go with that red dress are killer to run in.”
“All set?” Bayne asked Dragos.
Dragos nodded, and the four of them stepped outside where two black SUVs and a limousine were waiting. Security rode in the SUVs in front and behind, while Bayne and Eva climbed with Dragos and Pia into the back of the limo.
At first their conversation remained lighthearted. Dragos took her hand, lacing long, dark fingers through hers while Bayne and Eva engaged in good-natured banter.
As Pia listened to them with a smile, she absentmindedly scratched at her right thigh. She hadn’t taken the time to smooth lotion on after her shower, and her skin felt dry and itchy.
The banter died away, and Bayne and Eva fell silent as they drew close to the White House.
Protestors lined the street, carrying signs and shouting at the passing cavalcades. Pia watched the faces scroll past. The armored limo blocked the sounds so she couldn’t hear what the protestors were shouting, but their expressions were angry and distorted.
Disquieted and scratching at her itchy thigh again, she glanced at Dragos. He was wearing his inscrutable expression, his gold gaze flat and unrevealing as he watched the protestors. It was one of his most dangerous expressions.
What was he thinking when he looked into the crowd? With a single pass over their heads and a rain of dragon fire, he could so easily destroy all of them.
Of course, that would mean he would also destroy the entire Wyr way of life as well.
She crooned in his head, Honey, I’m so proud of you for not killing anybody.
His gaze flashed to hers, and that flat, assessing expression vanished as he laughed. Squeezing her fingers, he told her, Week’s not over yet.
More seriously, she asked, What do you think it will take to smooth things over?
His sexy mouth took on a cynical twist. Money, business and political agreements, the promise of less violence from the Elder Races, and a lot of charm. Other people, like you, are going to have to supply the charm.
She nodded, unsurprised by that last bit. If I’m expected to dance with anybody, you’re going to have to suck in your mating crazy. You up for that?
The laughter left his face, and he gave her a sour look. I’ll make it happen. Thankfully, most human male politicians are old, ugly, lying fuckers. They’re not your type at all.
It was her turn to burst out laughing. Well, you are old, and you do lie better than anybody I know.
His eyelids lowered. That might be so, but you don’t think I’m an ugly fucker.
True. She laughed harder. He might deal with politics out of necessity, but at his core, Dragos was far too rude to make an excellent politician. His real skills lay in cutthroat business.
And war. He was unsettlingly talented at going to war.
That thought sobered her up fast. Still absently rubbing at her thigh, she looked out the window again as they passed through the security gates and approached the White House.
When the limo rolled to a smooth stop, Bayne and Eva exited first, then Dragos.
Camera lights flashed nearby, blinding her as she took Dragos’s hand and stepped out of the vehicle. She looked up at the famous, imposing building. At first she had thought she would be very nervous at facing the evening, but to her surprise, a sense of calm anticipation settled over her.
Time to go make nice with the old, ugly, lying fuckers.
Giving Dragos a sidelong, laughing glance, she tucked her arm into the crook of his sleeve and walked with him into the building.
Chapter Five
The White House function was a large, lavish affair. Ostensibly, the purpose was to give all the senators and members of Congress a chance to mingle with the seven demesne leaders as a way to break the ice for the week’s meetings and help to dissipate interracial tensions.
Dragos had never told anyone what happened in his head when he entered such large gatherings, not even Pia.
The dragon rose up to look out of his human-seeming eyes.
Look at all the fragile humans, dressed in their finery and girded with a sense of their own importance. He took note of the glittering jewels that the women wore, the beat of pulses at soft, vulnerable throats, and the way eyes slid away from meeting his.
The president and first lady greeted them with polite smiles. Silently, Dragos inclined his head when spoken to, while the dragon thought, I play at your games because it suits me to do so.
President Ben Johnson was a hardy, athletic-looking male in his early sixties, and universally acknowledged to be a charming, poised and intelligent man, but when he spoke, all the dragon heard was bleating, like a sheep. His mate responded with a quick reply, and both president and first lady smiled at her.
The pleasantries over, the dragon and his mate moved away to greet other dignitaries. Frailer, self-important prey.
They came face-to-face with an enemy—the vice president of the United States, Sarah Colton—and her husband, Victor. The vice president was much younger than the president. A graduate of the Yale law program, she was a clever, trim brunette in her early forties with a photogenic smile.
Dragos whispered in Pia’s head, Vice President Colton is one of the ones responsible for stirring up much of the anti-Elder Races sentiment in Congress. Along with Senator Jackson, she spearheaded setting up the federal subcommittee that is investigating alleged abuses of power by the Elder Races.
Pia’s smile never wavered. She had grown used to their internal dialogue at such functions. Senator Jackson—he’s the one who lost his son in a boating accident earlier this year, right? I remember when news of his death was splashed all over the news.
Yes.
This time no pleasantries, no matter how insincere, were exchanged. Neither the vice president nor her husband offered to shake hands. Dragos did not deign to offer his either, and with a quick glance sideways at him, Pia took her cue and remained self-contained and composed.
“Mr. Cuelebre,” said the vice president, watching him with cold eyes.
It was clearly meant as an insult. The proper form of address was Lord Cuelebre. The dragon almost smiled at such pettiness, but that might involve showing too many teeth. And if he did that, he did not think he would be able to resist a little snap at the air in front of her.
Instead, he deliberately dropped the vice president’s honorific as he replied, “Mrs. Colton.”
As he spoke, he took in an instinctive breath to mark the scent of his enemy . . . but caught no scent from either her or her husband.
No scent at all.
Instead, all he scented was a faint chemical stink.
Realization raged through his veins. Both the vice president and her husband had sprayed themselves with KO Odorless Odor Eliminator.
Deer hunters used the spray to mask their scent. So did Wyr criminals.
This time the dragon did show far too many teeth. He put his hand over Pia’s as it rested in the crook of his arm, tightening his grip so hard he felt rather than heard her silent intake of breath.
He told the humans, “I look forward to having you for dinner tomorrow.”
“We will be there.” The vice president inclined her head in brusque acknowledgment.
Her manner clearly said they would be present because they had no other choice. As he spun Pia away from the other couple, she wiggled her fingers protestingly under the weight of his iron grip.
You look forward to “having them for dinner”? she asked silently, giving him a rebuking look. Really, Dragos, you’re not even trying. She paused to search his expression. What’s wrong?
He said, Did you catch their scents?
No, I— She paused thoughtfully and her eyebrows drew together. No. Not at all.
That’s because they were masking them. He glanced down into her confused f
ace and explained, Human hunters mask their scents when they’re hunting prey. And Wyr criminals mask their scents to avoid detection.
Her confusion darkened into disquiet. That’s . . . why would they do that?
That is a very good question, and one I would like to get answered. He switched mental gears and looked for Bayne. The sentinel stood several feet away, talking to Eva. Dragos said to him, The vice president and her husband are masking their scents. I want to know why. And I want to know if there’s anybody else present who is doing the same.
Other than a quick flicker in his hard hazel eyes, the sentinel’s expression never changed. Calmly, Bayne said, I’m on it.
Since the White House was protected by the Secret Service, protocol for the evening’s function kept their individual security detail to two, one for each dignitary, which meant Bayne’s investigative capabilities were limited.
Take Eva with you, said Dragos. I’m staying with Pia.
You got it, said Bayne. The sentinel touched Eva’s arm and the pair headed off, disappearing into the crowd.
Pia rubbed her thigh as she looked over the crowd. She said in a quiet voice meant for his ears alone, “Suddenly I don’t feel like making nice or dancing with anybody.”
Distracted from larger questions, he frowned as he looked down at her leg. “Why do you keep rubbing yourself like that?”
“You don’t have to make it sound so dirty.” She scowled back at him. “My leg itches. Do you have to take note of every little thing I do? I mean every tiny, little thing, Dragos.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “When I look at you, even when things are going to hell, somehow everything is all right.”
“Ooh.” Her grumpy gaze melted into warm affection. She stepped close to slip an arm around his waist and lean against him. A corner of her mouth tugged upward. “Even when you’re about to put yourself in the doghouse over something, somehow you manage to say just the right thing and get yourself right out again.”
He put an arm around her, hugging her briefly as he pressed his mouth to her forehead. “That’s because you love me, and you hate having me in that doghouse anyway.”
“True . . .” Then she focused behind him, and her expression transformed into such complete delight, he didn’t have to turn around to know who was standing behind him. “Niniane!”
Pulling out from underneath his arm, Pia dashed forward. He pivoted on one heel to watch her throw her arms around a petite, curvy Dark Fae woman. Niniane, or “Tricks” as she had been known when she had lived among the Wyr in New York, threw her arms around Pia with an excited squeal.
Before Dragos killed her uncle Urien, who had murdered her family and usurped the Dark Fae throne, Niniane had been a refugee at Wyr Court, living under Dragos’s protection.
Back then, she had been prone to very high heels, sparkly sequins, marabou, and other kinds of feminine froufrou, but he saw that her tastes had sobered or matured somewhat since she had assumed the Dark Fae throne, at least in public.
Tonight, she wore richly embroidered Dark Fae traditional attire in subtle hues—a long, high-necked tunic over slim trousers. She had also let her black hair grow longer and wore it in an elegant chignon that bared long, pointed ears and emphasized her large, dark gray eyes. Nestled atop her sleek hairdo, she wore a thin circlet of sparkling sapphires, and she looked every inch a pocket-sized Dark Fae royal.
He was very pleased. Tricks did indeed look like she was thriving. For the first time since entering the White House, Dragos’s smile turned real. He looked his attention from the embracing women to the enormous Wyr male who stood just behind them. Tiago also wore traditional Dark Fae attire, although his outfit was entirely black.
Bayne was right, Dragos thought, amused. All the fresh air and prospect of political assassinations did seem to be doing Tiago a lot of good. He looked both relaxed and deadly, his dark skin burnished from good health and sunshine.
Once one of Dragos’s seven sentinels, Tiago had mated with Niniane and went with her to live in the Dark Fae Other land of Adriyel.
When the Earth had been formed, time and space had buckled, creating Other lands that were connected to Earth and sometimes to each other by dimensional crossover passageways. They were magic-rich places where combustible technologies didn’t work, and where time ran differently.
Sometimes the Other lands were immense, as Adriyel was, and they had several crossover passageways to other places. Sometimes the Other lands were mere pockets of space that led nowhere. Adriyel had significant time slippage from the rest of Earth, so that visits from Niniane and Tiago were rare.
As Tiago had been a Wyr sentinel and she had become the Dark Fae Queen, according to Dark Fae law, they could never marry, but neither had found that to be an impediment to their happiness. Tiago lived at her court as her chief of security.
In the face of Dragos’s friends, the dragon’s feral internal voice retreated into the shadows. Stepping forward, he clasped hands with Tiago. “You look good.”
“You too,” Tiago said, eyeing him with a glance of approval. He turned to survey the large, crowded ballroom. “Good job not killing anybody.”
“That’s what Pia said,” Dragos told him. “Night’s not over yet.”
“I kinda love it more than I ever thought I could, especially since I have such bad memories from when my family was killed,” Niniane was saying to Pia. “But I can’t get over missing junk food. I have it shipped all the way to Adriyel. Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Doritos. Skittles, and oh my gods, Hostess Ho Hos. And you just can’t ship fresh-baked pepperoni pizza. I’ve been gorging on it ever since we arrived.”
Dragos met Tiago’s black gaze. “You ship Hostess Ho Hos to Adriyel?”
“They’re very important,” said Tiago impassively. “In fact, they have become quite the court fashion in Dark Fae circles. A single Ho Ho is now worth twenty Dark Fae doubloons. We’re making a killing.”
A bark of laughter burst out of Dragos, surprising him. Releasing Pia, Niniane turned to fling her arms around him. “Dragos! It’s so, so, so good to see you! Come down here, I need to kiss you.”
Obligingly, he bent and turned his head so that she could smack him on the cheek. She hugged him tightly again, and as he put his arms around her, he glanced at Pia, who was, after all, in the mating heat as well.
Her face had turned sour, and she sucked a tooth, but she didn’t say anything. Still amused, he said in her head, Okay there, lover?
If it was anybody else but Niniane, I’m not sure I would be, she told him. Thankfully, you’re not very approachable to most people.
At that, he cocked a sardonic eyebrow, but as she was right, he let it pass.
He caught sight of Bayne winding his way between clumps of people and told the others, “Excuse me.”
Stepping away from the small group, he asked, What did you find?
Bayne shook his head. To a casual observer, he might still look relaxed, but Dragos knew him very well and caught the subtle tight compression to his mouth.
Bayne said, I counted close to seventy people who are masking their scents, mostly congressmen and other officials and their spouses, along with a few interns. I cornered the White House press secretary, since Angela’s always been on friendly terms with us. She said it started sometime early last week in a sub-faction of people who are against maintaining warmer relations with the Elder Races. They’re calling it a Right to Privacy movement.
Dragos rubbed the back of his neck. Seventy fucking people, most of them government officials. That’s a sub-faction?
I know. Bayne met his gaze with a grim look. Washington is pretty strongly divided on how to deal with the Elder Races right now. Rumor has it, Angela said, that the vice president started it. This is the president’s last term in office, and she thinks Colton might be cultivating the issue to use it in her platform in a bid for election.
Fucking hell. If Colton became president, the world for the Elder Races, and the Wyr in pa
rticular, would get very cold indeed.
Automatically, he scanned the crowd for Colton. As he was taller than most people, he was able to locate her easily, standing to one side of the large ballroom with a tall, lean man. They looked like they were having a tense conversation, perhaps even an argument.
He strained to hear what they might be saying, but even though he was very good at pinpointing something specific from some distance away, there were too many people, and the orchestra was too loud, for him to catch any of their conversation.
Who is that man standing with Colton? he asked Bayne.
The other man turned to follow his gaze. I think that’s her chief of staff, Aaron Davis.
If he was Colton’s chief of staff, then Davis would be coming to dinner tomorrow evening. Dragos’s eyes narrowed. There might be something he could do to increase the tensions between the two. He would make a point of talking with Davis, to see if the other man’s loyalties might be less than concretely fixed.
Anything else you need? Bayne asked.
No, not now, thanks. Circulate, and see if you can overhear anything useful.
Will do.
Bayne disappeared into the crowd again.
Deep in thought, Dragos joined Pia, Niniane and Tiago. Waitstaff threaded through the crowd, offering platters of hors d’oeuvres to people as they passed.
While Dragos responded to the conversation, and smiled when the others did, in the back of his mind, he began to lay plans.
If Colton announced a bid for the presidency, he was going to funnel money into every PAC he could find that operated against her candidacy.
Because he was always thinking of contingencies.
He played with budget numbers for a while, but ultimately set it aside as unsatisfactory and considered other options.
There was always assassination, of course. But assassination was tricky to pull off without having it backfire. If Colton announced a bid for the presidency and gained any traction—and even if she didn’t—her death could potentially add fuel to her causes, which would eventually make everything worse.