ELEVEN
Dragos’s fierce gaze came back down to her, and everything he had ever promised her was there in his eyes.
I never stop thinking about you. You’re with me everywhere I go, but I miss you when we’re apart.
I’ve already shown that I will kill for you. I would also die for you.
You make me laugh. You make me happy. You’re my miracle and my home. If you as much as twitch, I get a hard-on.
I will always come for you, always want you and always need you.
As she remembered every word, she saw past those promises in his gaze to what lay underneath them. He had been so afraid for her it had driven him away from the Games and into possible war.
“Dragos,” she said, very low. “They’re just scared of you. I don’t fully understand what happened, but I believe Calondir didn’t do this. And when I told him you were coming and asked him to stay, he did.”
The feral vibration underneath her palm stilled. That had to be good, right?
Still holding her, he stood upright. Her legs loosened from around his waist, and as she landed on her feet, he swept her gently behind him and held her there.
Oh no. That had to be bad.
“Lower your weapons now,” Dragos said to Calondir. “My mate is present.”
Pia fisted a hand in the thin silk sweater that stretched across Dragos’s wide back and held on to the material tightly. The tension between the two demesne rulers reverberated with the memories of ancient confrontations and unresolved grudges, but she couldn’t keep intervening every time they were rude to each other. At some point Calondir and Dragos had to be the ones to take the next steps.
“And my consort has been taken, along with many loved ones,” Calondir said, his voice ragged from smoke but still filled with Power.
Along with many loved ones? Pia’s fist tightened as any sympathy she felt for Calondir evaporated. They were all under a lot of strain, and now was probably not the best time to parse his words, but damn, that was cold. She didn’t need to hear details, explanations or an apology for misspeaking. He said that in public, and nothing else mattered. She was on Beluviel’s side and ready for divorce court.
Calondir had continued. “I do not have time to fight with you, Cuelebre. Ferion, have your men put up their weapons and go look for survivors. We must gather the largest force we can and prepare to cross over quickly if we are to have any hope of recovering them.”
As Pia peered around Dragos’s arm, Ferion gestured and the Elves lowered their bows. Dragos’s hold relaxed, and she stepped around to his side. She said, “You too, Eva.”
To Captain Psycho’s credit, she didn’t try to argue, nor did she look at Dragos. Instead she said, “Ease up, kids.” The other Wyr relaxed and unloaded their crossbows.
“Spread out,” gritted Ferion. “Comb the area for survivors.”
“Go help them,” Pia told Eva. At that the other woman did hesitate, turning to face her. Pia said telepathically, You’re not needed here at the moment.
Eva’s gaze flickered to Dragos. She said to the group, “You heard her. Let’s go.” The unit joined those who were gathering at one end of the clearing and after a quick consultation, the whole search party dispersed into the Wood.
Ferion stayed with Calondir, along with another tall, Powerful Elf. They bristled as Dragos strode forward. Pia followed more slowly, concerned about further confrontation and taken by the differences between Dragos and the other males.
Dragos’s Power was a roaring inferno that eclipsed the others. Calondir and his two companions were some of the most muscularly built males she had seen among the Elves, but they looked willowy against Dragos’s broad bone structure and raw solid strength. They would need an army to even think about trying to take Dragos down, and at the moment they didn’t have one. Also, as Calondir said, they didn’t have time. She let herself relax slightly.
Dragos stopped several feet away from the other three males, his hands planted on his hips. Ignoring Ferion and the other Elf, he said to Calondir, “Who was it this time?”
For the first time since Pia had seen him, the High Lord looked vulnerable as he took a deep breath and straightened, visibly bracing himself. “Amras Gaeleval, one of the Guardians that closed the Numenlaur passageway after the war. He came with two others.”
His voice heavy with sarcasm, Dragos said, “And you just thought they wanted to catch up on old times so you invited them in.”
Ferion snapped, “They came to us asking for help. One of them was suffering from an old wound that would not heal. Our best seers scanned them, but no one sensed that Amras possessed one of the Machines until he wielded it tonight.”