“But try this thought out,” said Dragos. “He also would have had to be pretty damn convincing to someone in order to get that charm. Do you know how many people could make something like that, something with the strength to hold against my strongest spells?”
“I’m guessing by how this conversation is going, not very many,” she muttered.
“Again, you’d be right. Offhand, I can think of three.” The manacle on her leg loosened. He rubbed her thigh. “See what I’m getting at?”
Following instinct, she grasped his hand between hers. He allowed her to hold it in her lap. “Who are they?”
“A very old witch in Russia. The Vampyre Queen in San Francisco is a sorceress. And the Dark Fae King.”
“Shit.” Shit, shit, shit.
“I have people doing research right now to see if there might be someone else who could pull off a charm strong enough to find my hoard. Right now, it looks like there isn’t. The witch is pretty indifferent to things that happen outside of her neighborhood. I don’t see her as likely. And the Vampyre Queen is a friend of sorts, or at least an ally, but the Dark Fae King?” Dragos shook his head with a grim smile. “Urien hates me beyond anything else. It just so happens that for the last two hundred years I’ve had something he desperately wants, and I’m not letting him get his hands on it. He wouldn’t hesitate to level the continent if he thought it would take me down too. You’d be nothing but a small bump in his road.”
From what little she knew of the Fae, there were two Courts, one Dark and one Light, and more often than not they were fighting each other over something. The Light Fae were ruled by a queen. Urien ruled the Dark Fae. He could be the nasty Power that had manipulated Keith behind the scenes.
She focused on the hand she held in her lap. It was such a big, strong hand. His arm was a tree trunk. She realized she was petting him, stroking his long fingers with her own.
“My people are very good. I don’t think you would be able to get far anyway, but you’ve proved to be surprisingly resourceful,” he said. He could be many things—seductive, coaxing, quiet—but this capacity for gentleness surprised her. “And on the off chance you did manage to get away, I would find you again. But you would be in danger until I did, so how about that promise?”
“Okay,” she said.
“Good girl.” His hand tightened on hers and then he pulled away.
They fell into silence. Sometime later, when the sky had lightened to predawn, the headlights behind them flashed, and the car that had been following pulled away. She supposed that meant they had crossed out of the Elven demesne.
After a while her eyelids drooped again. She didn’t think she could fall sleep, but two two-hour stretches and an afternoon nap wasn’t enough rest, since she hadn’t slept a full night through for a while.
She rubbed her temples and said, “One of these days, I’m going to get a real meal and a real night’s sleep.”
Dragos said, “I told Rune to find someone who could cook the kind of food you eat.”
Despite herself, she had to smile. He made vegetarianism sound so foreign, like cooking dog food. “That was very thoughtful of you, thank you.” She had a brief struggle between pride and desire, and desire won. She put her head against his arm.
It was wrong. It was foolish. She shouldn’t take such comfort from the hard, muscled warmth she leaned against. And the last thing she should do is start to rely on it.
He cupped her head and then focused again on driving. She dozed.
Some indefinable time later, she came alert to a vague sense of anxiety. It strengthened as she straightened and looked around. The morning light was stronger, although the sun had not yet appeared at the horizon. The passing scenery was whipping by. She glanced at the speedometer. They were traveling close to 110 miles an hour.
She looked at Dragos. His body was relaxed and he drove with complete competence, but his dark face was fierce. “What’s wrong?”
“Something’s found us. We’re being tracked. I don’t know if we can outrun it, but we’re giving it a shot.”
Even knowing it was useless, she couldn’t help but look around. She also opened her senses wide, straining to understand what she was picking up. Comprehension eluded her. She had never before experienced what she was sensing.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t understand what I’m feeling,” she said.
His eyebrows rose. “Try to describe it.”
“That’s just it; I don’t know.” She shrugged, feeling inadequate. “It—it doesn’t feel good. It’s like a feeling of dread, knowing something bad is near. Don’t you feel it?”
“No,” he said. “You’re describing something different than the spell that has locked on to us. The feeling may be connected to your Wyr blood.”
“Where are we?”
“The next big city is Fayetteville. If we get there, we’re going to change course.”
If we get there? He sounded so calm. She gripped her seat belt.