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.