Dragos Goes to Washington (A Story of the Elder Races)

Here I am, her cradling body said to him. I’ll be your home.

Looking deep into her eyes, he began to move. Here I am, his body said to her. I’ll cover you and keep you safe.

At this one place, his normal possessive nature shifted. At any other time, he told her in a dozen ways, you are mine.

But here, in this one place, he told her, I’m yours.

His own climax took him over, and he gave it to her. She watched him without blinking, without hardly breathing, stroking his face as he gave her everything he had.

After staying with her for long moments, he eased away, reached for the tissues on the bedside table, and helped her to clean off her inner thighs. Then he pulled her with him, so that they rested with their legs entwined. Utterly drained and satisfied in the best way possible, she buried her face against his chest and fell deeply asleep again.

When she woke next, she was alone in the bed. Rolling over, she took stock of her immediate surroundings. While the room still remained in deep shadow, a bright yellow band of sunlight along the edges of the curtains told her the day had advanced significantly.

Dragos wasn’t anywhere in the room. The open door to the bathroom revealed that it was empty and quiet. He had left her to sleep in.

She tsked softly, partly in exasperation but mostly in contentment. There was so much to do that day—so much—but she couldn’t deny that it had felt really good to get her sleep out.

As she rolled to her side of the bed, she saw a piece of paper resting on the bedside table. Picking it up, she saw that it was covered with Dragos’s bold scrawl.

No need to come with me this afternoon. Try to relax today. The staff can take care of everything for tonight. – D

Try to relax, when the president, the vice president, the speaker of the House, both the majority and minority leaders of the Senate, and all the demesne leaders, along with their spouses and personal security retinues were coming to the Wyr residence for dinner?

“I love you,” she told the note. “But sometimes you are a foolish, foolish man. Although undeniably a very handsome, sexy one.”

Kissing the paper, she set it aside, called down to the kitchen to request a pot of coffee and a bowl of fresh fruit and then she got out of bed.

As soon as she stood upright, nausea punched her, hard and wicked, and more powerful than ever. She bolted to the bathroom, and her body twisted into wretched spasms.

Finally, she was able to sit back on the floor and take in a deep breath. Instinctively, she scanned her body again. Still no baby.

She didn’t have time to mourn the lack of a tiny life spark within her. Damn it. Damnity damn damn it. Her leg itched furiously, and as she scratched it, the itching grew even worse. She looked down at herself.

Her thigh was redder than ever, a dark, angry color, and covered in bumps.

A knock sounded at the door. Pia rolled to her feet. Swirling nausea gripped her by the throat. She grabbed for the diamond pendant, slung it on, and the nausea subsided. She called out, “Who is it?”

“Eva. I’ve got your breakfast tray.”

Her bathrobe hung on a hook on the back of the bathroom door. She snatched it and put it on. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Eva carried the tray inside. As the other woman set it on the bedside table, Pia strode up to her and yanked one flap of the robe aside to bare her thigh. “What is this?” she demanded. “Do you know?”

Eva turned to look at her leg, and her eyebrows rose. After a moment’s thought, she replied, “Looks likes hives to me.”

“Hives?” Pia was trying to avoid scratching at it, but the itching was driving her crazy. “Isn’t that what happens when you’re allergic to something?”

“Yeah. What’d you do, eat something you shouldn’t have?”

Thea Harrison's books