A couple of months ago, curious, Dragos had asked Pia, “Why do you have such a soft spot for Gray?”
She smiled, and the part of him that would always be selfish and acquisitive took jealous note of how her face softened whenever Graydon’s name was mentioned. “Because he’s got this bluff, gruff exterior, but underneath that he’s true, right down to the bottom of his soul.”
True, faithful. Loyal.
Unlike many other predator Wyr, including several of the other sentinels, Graydon often pulled his punches when he struck at someone else. He was well aware of his outsized strength. So far, Dragos had noticed, the gryphon was pulling his punches in the arena as well. With the intimacy of long acquaintance, he knew that Graydon would only hammer down when the occasion called for it.
Dragos frowned and turned toward the window again. Graydon joined him and looked out the window too. “I have every expectation that you will be one of the final seven again,” Dragos said. Graydon nodded without speaking, plain even in this. Dragos told him, “When Friday comes, I want to announce you as my First.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Graydon give him a quick look. After a few moments, Graydon said, “I suppose you know that Rune has been in the audience.”
He nodded.
“So you’ve talked?”
“No,” he said.
Graydon said, “I wish you both would get over this shit.”
That one sentence was the most any of the sentinels had said to him on the subject. He said, “Will you consider the position and let me know?”
The other male sighed. “When do you want me to get back to you?”
“Thursday evening would be fine.” Then, driven by an impulse he chose not to dissect, he said, “You keep in touch with Rune, don’t you? You all do.”
“Yep,” Graydon said. “Some of us are mad at him. Some are mad at you. Some of us are mad at both of you.”
Dragos rubbed his face. “Has he ever talked about what happened?”
“Nope. Far as I know, he hasn’t told anybody about it. Well, maybe he’s talked to his mate, Carling, but he hasn’t talked to any of us.”
There were different ways to manifest loyalty, Dragos thought. Maintaining silence was one of them.
As he considered the events of last summer, he thought he could see the cracks in Rune’s own behavior that had indicated the volatility of a Wyr in the early stages of mating. While Rune was known for his even temper, he had snarled at everyone when he had returned from Adriyel, even Dragos. Dragos remembered his own volatility when he was mating with Pia, and how he had nearly choked Rune to death over something that had been entirely innocuous.
How readily Rune had seen what was happening and forgiven him then. Fuck.
He gritted his teeth. Talking to Pia was so much easier.
He growled, “If you are inclined to take the position, you should consider. I was not easy on Rune. He bore the brunt of my temper often, and when he started to show strain, I did not take notice or change any part of what I did. When he asked for me to pause and listen to him, I did not. I issued orders.”
He had specifically ordered Rune to return to New York and abandon Carling, who had at that time been an ally to the Wyr. The Elder tribunal had put Carling under a kill order. While normally Dragos might have involved himself in the issue, last summer the Wyr demesne had been facing border tensions with the Elves, and had been too deeply entrenched in the Dark Fae problems for too long. Overextended, understaffed and short on political tolerance, he had decided, to use a fisherman’s term, to cut bait.
It had been the right decision, goddammit, and one Rune might have agreed with, if he hadn’t become so deeply invested in Carling. Hell, probably even Carling would have agreed with it. She knew the necessity of doing what was politically expedient in order to survive.
If Dragos had it to do all over with the same information he’d had at the time, he would make the same decision again. But it had been the right decision delivered badly, and he had not given Rune a chance to weigh in on the subject and change his mind. Then it had been Rune who had cut bait in favor of his mate.
Graydon’s thoughts must have followed in a similar vein, because he said, “You all went crazy when you mated. I may want a mate, but I don’t want to go crazy.”
Dragos smiled wryly. “I may remind you of that someday.”
“Yeah well.” Then the other male said, wistfully, “Don’t suppose you could tell Rune all this and apologize.”
“Things cannot return to what they were, Gray,” he said. “Even if I were to apologize—even if Rune apologized for his part in creating what happened—we cannot go back. Maybe we can find a new definition, but he will not ever be my First again. That time is done.”
“Well,” said Graydon. “Suppose I had to ask.” He sounded disappointed but not surprised. “Do you mind saying—why me?”
Dragos considered. “Because not only do I trust you but Pia does too. It matters to me that she loves you, and that you’re close to her. I want you to talk to her if you ever feel the need. I know she’s young, and she may not have experience with administrative shit, but she has more understanding and compassion for people than I will ever have. I think that may lend us a stability that Rune and I didn’t achieve in the end.” He smiled. “She won’t let me be too hard on you.”
His rugged face sober, Graydon said, “Thank you for telling me.”
Dragos nodded to him. “Let me know when you’ve decided.”
“I’ve decided,” Graydon told him. “I’ll do it.”
They talked for a few more moments, then the gryphon took his leave, and with that Dragos reached his limit on meaningful talks for the day. He needed out. Out of the crowded complex that was filled with so many vulnerable creatures and such a strong scent of blood. Out of the crowded city.
He left the building and launched into flight, and let the burn of the icy winter air take him until solitude gave him a measure of balance. He would stay in the air until darkness covered the land. Then he could hope to find peace with Pia, in a dream.
He supposed this was love. The thing of it was, he had seen examples of love that were twisted, small-minded and unhappy, so he wasn’t quite sure. The immensity of experience he had with Pia was so much more than that.
When they came together, he felt a deep knowledge in massive bones that were as old as the Earth. The knowing was a vibration that altered the fabric of his existence. It became the sound that mystics claimed was the absolute reality in the universe. Having never, ever embraced mysticism, he thought he must have gone more than a little mad.
She was his, his only true treasure and one possession, and part of what created that trueness was that she chose it too, and she claimed him, and he was hers. What existed between them was active and passionate and elemental, a hinge upon which everything else pivoted.
A Prime, indivisible. That pure, that strong, that essential.
Without this, he had nothing. Everything else might cease and pass away, but this one thing would never fail. And the rest of his life became as if seen through a glass, darkly.
• • •
Since he knew Pia’s true Name, bringing her into a dream was easy. Still, he took time with this one and worked to get the details right, brushing them into place with his mind like an artist putting the finishing touches on a painting. Then he cast it out, an invisible net woven with Power, and he went to sleep himself and waited.
Part of him marked the passing of time even as he drifted quietly. Then he felt her presence slide into the dream, and he came alert.
The setting was cool and quiet, and a light, delicate wind blew. He had recreated the subtle hues of night.
She was outside. The light, musical tinkle of bells danced through the air. “What the . . .” she said, sounding disoriented and puzzled. Then she laughed, and the sound was more beautiful than the bells.
He smiled, rose from the couch where he had been reclining and lifted the flap of the tent to look out.
Sand dunes rippled underneath the silvery cascade of moonlight. Several feet away from the tent a small oasis of water, little more than the size of a comfortably large hot tub, was surrounded by a collection of ferns and palm trees, which didn’t make any ecological sense, but still, the scene was pretty.
Pia stood on the path between the tent and the oasis, looking down at herself. Pleasure washed through Dragos. She was a symphony of the precious colors he loved the most, silver, ivory and gold, and those gorgeous sapphire eyes. Her loose hair rippled down her back, and the harem outfit he had devised for her to wear was skimpy in all the right places. Bracelets and anklets of tiny bells adorned her graceful wrists and ankles, and her slender, arched feet were bare.
She looked up, still laughing. “You made me look like a belly dancer . . . oh my. Oh, very much my.”
“What?” he said, strolling toward her with a slight smile. He was barefoot as well. He wore a simple linen robe that wrapped and belted at the waist, with thin cotton pants underneath. “The belly dancer outfit was my favorite part.”
“How very sheikh-ish you look.” Her face tilted up as he neared, and her midnight-colored eyes were wide.
He played with her jewelry, letting the dangling earrings slide over his fingers. The heavy, gold linked necklace at her neck was shamefully erotic. It highlighted the delicacy of her throat and collarbones, and evoked the concept of bondage. He said deeply, “You should wear jewelry more often.”
The bells at her wrist tinkled as she raised a hand and laid it at his chest where the robe parted. Her fingertips were cool on his bare skin, her hand unsteady, resting against him as light as a trembling butterfly. “It’s at times like this that I want to say something incredibly foolish,” she said. She sounded breathless.
He captured her fingers and brought them up to his lips. “Like what?”
She murmured, “Like I’ll wear anything you want me to, whenever you want.”
“I see nothing at all wrong with that statement.” He mouthed the words against her fingers.
She snickered. “Of course you don’t. And I’m not saying it. I’m only confessing to the impulse.”
He told her, “You should always tell me your foolish impulses so that I may take advantage of them.”
“That is not going to happen, your majesty,” she informed him. “The ones I do tell you are bad enough.” She looked down at herself and her voice grew mournful. “This outfit makes me look fat, doesn’t it?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he growled. He had started to bend down to her for a kiss, and he reared his head back to glare at her. Without a clever layering of clothing to hide it, her slender waist flowed gracefully out to a lightly rounded belly, and her br**sts were lush and ripe, the creamy skin soft as a white peach. Everything inside him tightened at the sight. “You look utterly incredible.”
She swayed forward. He put an arm around her as she leaned against him, and his head came down over hers. He rested his cheek in her thick, soft hair, and for the first time that day the dragon’s constant, rogue urge to violence subsided. What it left behind was a deep, hungering ache. He wanted to drag her to the ground and ease his c**k inside of her while she gripped him with her inner muscles and rocked him with her strong, supple body until he spilled everything he had into her. He was the hardiest of all creatures, but good gods, these dreams were going to kill him.
He slid a greedy, possessive hand down the front of her body to cup her rounded belly. A pang of disappointment lanced him as he realized the familiar, young bright spirit was absent. “I didn’t notice before,” he murmured. “The baby isn’t here.”
She tilted her head back, gaze darkening in ready sympathy. “I can sense him, but I guess he isn’t dreaming?”
He shook his head and shoved the disappointment away. “No.”
She rubbed his back. After a moment she asked, “How did . . . everything go today?”
He answered her real question. “Everybody is fine. All the sentinels and, yes, your friend have won through to the next round.”
“That’s good.” She searched his gaze. “Right?”
“Yes.” Suddenly the playful, pretty scene was no match for his darkening mood. Setting his teeth, he let go of her and turned away.
Silence fell between them. He gazed over the endless-seeming, empty desert with a scowl. When he heard tinkling and a splash, he looked over his shoulder. Pia sat by the edge of the oasis with her feet in the water, harem trousers rolled over her knees. She had taken off the anklets. She straightened one leg and lifted her pretty foot out, looked at it then let it fall with a splash back into the water.
Somehow she knew when not to push him. Yes, she was wiser sometimes than he would ever be. He walked over to ease down behind her until she sat between his legs, and when he put his arms around her again she leaned back with a sigh. The feel of her body in his arms felt maddeningly familiar and yet somehow incomplete. Damn these dreams, yet he would not go the week without them.
He said, “I asked Gray to be my First, and he said yes.”
She turned her head slightly. “That’s great news.”
He sighed. “We also talked a little about Rune and what happened last summer.”
She said gently, “That must have felt complicated.”
“It did.”
“I’m glad you finally talked to someone about it. Did it help?” She rubbed slender fingers soothingly along his forearms.
“Yes, actually, it did.” He pressed his mouth to the place where her neck met her shoulder. “How was your day?”
She smiled, and the part of him that would always be selfish and acquisitive took jealous note of how her face softened whenever Graydon’s name was mentioned. “Because he’s got this bluff, gruff exterior, but underneath that he’s true, right down to the bottom of his soul.”
True, faithful. Loyal.
Unlike many other predator Wyr, including several of the other sentinels, Graydon often pulled his punches when he struck at someone else. He was well aware of his outsized strength. So far, Dragos had noticed, the gryphon was pulling his punches in the arena as well. With the intimacy of long acquaintance, he knew that Graydon would only hammer down when the occasion called for it.
Dragos frowned and turned toward the window again. Graydon joined him and looked out the window too. “I have every expectation that you will be one of the final seven again,” Dragos said. Graydon nodded without speaking, plain even in this. Dragos told him, “When Friday comes, I want to announce you as my First.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Graydon give him a quick look. After a few moments, Graydon said, “I suppose you know that Rune has been in the audience.”
He nodded.
“So you’ve talked?”
“No,” he said.
Graydon said, “I wish you both would get over this shit.”
That one sentence was the most any of the sentinels had said to him on the subject. He said, “Will you consider the position and let me know?”
The other male sighed. “When do you want me to get back to you?”
“Thursday evening would be fine.” Then, driven by an impulse he chose not to dissect, he said, “You keep in touch with Rune, don’t you? You all do.”
“Yep,” Graydon said. “Some of us are mad at him. Some are mad at you. Some of us are mad at both of you.”
Dragos rubbed his face. “Has he ever talked about what happened?”
“Nope. Far as I know, he hasn’t told anybody about it. Well, maybe he’s talked to his mate, Carling, but he hasn’t talked to any of us.”
There were different ways to manifest loyalty, Dragos thought. Maintaining silence was one of them.
As he considered the events of last summer, he thought he could see the cracks in Rune’s own behavior that had indicated the volatility of a Wyr in the early stages of mating. While Rune was known for his even temper, he had snarled at everyone when he had returned from Adriyel, even Dragos. Dragos remembered his own volatility when he was mating with Pia, and how he had nearly choked Rune to death over something that had been entirely innocuous.
How readily Rune had seen what was happening and forgiven him then. Fuck.
He gritted his teeth. Talking to Pia was so much easier.
He growled, “If you are inclined to take the position, you should consider. I was not easy on Rune. He bore the brunt of my temper often, and when he started to show strain, I did not take notice or change any part of what I did. When he asked for me to pause and listen to him, I did not. I issued orders.”
He had specifically ordered Rune to return to New York and abandon Carling, who had at that time been an ally to the Wyr. The Elder tribunal had put Carling under a kill order. While normally Dragos might have involved himself in the issue, last summer the Wyr demesne had been facing border tensions with the Elves, and had been too deeply entrenched in the Dark Fae problems for too long. Overextended, understaffed and short on political tolerance, he had decided, to use a fisherman’s term, to cut bait.
It had been the right decision, goddammit, and one Rune might have agreed with, if he hadn’t become so deeply invested in Carling. Hell, probably even Carling would have agreed with it. She knew the necessity of doing what was politically expedient in order to survive.
If Dragos had it to do all over with the same information he’d had at the time, he would make the same decision again. But it had been the right decision delivered badly, and he had not given Rune a chance to weigh in on the subject and change his mind. Then it had been Rune who had cut bait in favor of his mate.
Graydon’s thoughts must have followed in a similar vein, because he said, “You all went crazy when you mated. I may want a mate, but I don’t want to go crazy.”
Dragos smiled wryly. “I may remind you of that someday.”
“Yeah well.” Then the other male said, wistfully, “Don’t suppose you could tell Rune all this and apologize.”
“Things cannot return to what they were, Gray,” he said. “Even if I were to apologize—even if Rune apologized for his part in creating what happened—we cannot go back. Maybe we can find a new definition, but he will not ever be my First again. That time is done.”
“Well,” said Graydon. “Suppose I had to ask.” He sounded disappointed but not surprised. “Do you mind saying—why me?”
Dragos considered. “Because not only do I trust you but Pia does too. It matters to me that she loves you, and that you’re close to her. I want you to talk to her if you ever feel the need. I know she’s young, and she may not have experience with administrative shit, but she has more understanding and compassion for people than I will ever have. I think that may lend us a stability that Rune and I didn’t achieve in the end.” He smiled. “She won’t let me be too hard on you.”
His rugged face sober, Graydon said, “Thank you for telling me.”
Dragos nodded to him. “Let me know when you’ve decided.”
“I’ve decided,” Graydon told him. “I’ll do it.”
They talked for a few more moments, then the gryphon took his leave, and with that Dragos reached his limit on meaningful talks for the day. He needed out. Out of the crowded complex that was filled with so many vulnerable creatures and such a strong scent of blood. Out of the crowded city.
He left the building and launched into flight, and let the burn of the icy winter air take him until solitude gave him a measure of balance. He would stay in the air until darkness covered the land. Then he could hope to find peace with Pia, in a dream.
He supposed this was love. The thing of it was, he had seen examples of love that were twisted, small-minded and unhappy, so he wasn’t quite sure. The immensity of experience he had with Pia was so much more than that.
When they came together, he felt a deep knowledge in massive bones that were as old as the Earth. The knowing was a vibration that altered the fabric of his existence. It became the sound that mystics claimed was the absolute reality in the universe. Having never, ever embraced mysticism, he thought he must have gone more than a little mad.
She was his, his only true treasure and one possession, and part of what created that trueness was that she chose it too, and she claimed him, and he was hers. What existed between them was active and passionate and elemental, a hinge upon which everything else pivoted.
A Prime, indivisible. That pure, that strong, that essential.
Without this, he had nothing. Everything else might cease and pass away, but this one thing would never fail. And the rest of his life became as if seen through a glass, darkly.
• • •
Since he knew Pia’s true Name, bringing her into a dream was easy. Still, he took time with this one and worked to get the details right, brushing them into place with his mind like an artist putting the finishing touches on a painting. Then he cast it out, an invisible net woven with Power, and he went to sleep himself and waited.
Part of him marked the passing of time even as he drifted quietly. Then he felt her presence slide into the dream, and he came alert.
The setting was cool and quiet, and a light, delicate wind blew. He had recreated the subtle hues of night.
She was outside. The light, musical tinkle of bells danced through the air. “What the . . .” she said, sounding disoriented and puzzled. Then she laughed, and the sound was more beautiful than the bells.
He smiled, rose from the couch where he had been reclining and lifted the flap of the tent to look out.
Sand dunes rippled underneath the silvery cascade of moonlight. Several feet away from the tent a small oasis of water, little more than the size of a comfortably large hot tub, was surrounded by a collection of ferns and palm trees, which didn’t make any ecological sense, but still, the scene was pretty.
Pia stood on the path between the tent and the oasis, looking down at herself. Pleasure washed through Dragos. She was a symphony of the precious colors he loved the most, silver, ivory and gold, and those gorgeous sapphire eyes. Her loose hair rippled down her back, and the harem outfit he had devised for her to wear was skimpy in all the right places. Bracelets and anklets of tiny bells adorned her graceful wrists and ankles, and her slender, arched feet were bare.
She looked up, still laughing. “You made me look like a belly dancer . . . oh my. Oh, very much my.”
“What?” he said, strolling toward her with a slight smile. He was barefoot as well. He wore a simple linen robe that wrapped and belted at the waist, with thin cotton pants underneath. “The belly dancer outfit was my favorite part.”
“How very sheikh-ish you look.” Her face tilted up as he neared, and her midnight-colored eyes were wide.
He played with her jewelry, letting the dangling earrings slide over his fingers. The heavy, gold linked necklace at her neck was shamefully erotic. It highlighted the delicacy of her throat and collarbones, and evoked the concept of bondage. He said deeply, “You should wear jewelry more often.”
The bells at her wrist tinkled as she raised a hand and laid it at his chest where the robe parted. Her fingertips were cool on his bare skin, her hand unsteady, resting against him as light as a trembling butterfly. “It’s at times like this that I want to say something incredibly foolish,” she said. She sounded breathless.
He captured her fingers and brought them up to his lips. “Like what?”
She murmured, “Like I’ll wear anything you want me to, whenever you want.”
“I see nothing at all wrong with that statement.” He mouthed the words against her fingers.
She snickered. “Of course you don’t. And I’m not saying it. I’m only confessing to the impulse.”
He told her, “You should always tell me your foolish impulses so that I may take advantage of them.”
“That is not going to happen, your majesty,” she informed him. “The ones I do tell you are bad enough.” She looked down at herself and her voice grew mournful. “This outfit makes me look fat, doesn’t it?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he growled. He had started to bend down to her for a kiss, and he reared his head back to glare at her. Without a clever layering of clothing to hide it, her slender waist flowed gracefully out to a lightly rounded belly, and her br**sts were lush and ripe, the creamy skin soft as a white peach. Everything inside him tightened at the sight. “You look utterly incredible.”
She swayed forward. He put an arm around her as she leaned against him, and his head came down over hers. He rested his cheek in her thick, soft hair, and for the first time that day the dragon’s constant, rogue urge to violence subsided. What it left behind was a deep, hungering ache. He wanted to drag her to the ground and ease his c**k inside of her while she gripped him with her inner muscles and rocked him with her strong, supple body until he spilled everything he had into her. He was the hardiest of all creatures, but good gods, these dreams were going to kill him.
He slid a greedy, possessive hand down the front of her body to cup her rounded belly. A pang of disappointment lanced him as he realized the familiar, young bright spirit was absent. “I didn’t notice before,” he murmured. “The baby isn’t here.”
She tilted her head back, gaze darkening in ready sympathy. “I can sense him, but I guess he isn’t dreaming?”
He shook his head and shoved the disappointment away. “No.”
She rubbed his back. After a moment she asked, “How did . . . everything go today?”
He answered her real question. “Everybody is fine. All the sentinels and, yes, your friend have won through to the next round.”
“That’s good.” She searched his gaze. “Right?”
“Yes.” Suddenly the playful, pretty scene was no match for his darkening mood. Setting his teeth, he let go of her and turned away.
Silence fell between them. He gazed over the endless-seeming, empty desert with a scowl. When he heard tinkling and a splash, he looked over his shoulder. Pia sat by the edge of the oasis with her feet in the water, harem trousers rolled over her knees. She had taken off the anklets. She straightened one leg and lifted her pretty foot out, looked at it then let it fall with a splash back into the water.
Somehow she knew when not to push him. Yes, she was wiser sometimes than he would ever be. He walked over to ease down behind her until she sat between his legs, and when he put his arms around her again she leaned back with a sigh. The feel of her body in his arms felt maddeningly familiar and yet somehow incomplete. Damn these dreams, yet he would not go the week without them.
He said, “I asked Gray to be my First, and he said yes.”
She turned her head slightly. “That’s great news.”
He sighed. “We also talked a little about Rune and what happened last summer.”
She said gently, “That must have felt complicated.”
“It did.”
“I’m glad you finally talked to someone about it. Did it help?” She rubbed slender fingers soothingly along his forearms.
“Yes, actually, it did.” He pressed his mouth to the place where her neck met her shoulder. “How was your day?”
