Pia Does Hollywood (Elder Races, #8.6)

Then Quentin and Aryal shot onto the scene like dark, deadly arrows. Pia didn’t catch what happened next, but as she rolled to her feet, suddenly weapons were drawn everywhere, Light Fae guards and Wyr pointing guns at each other.

Dragos roared, “Wyr—lower your goddamn weapons NOW!”

Immediately, Quentin and Aryal stepped back, guns lowered. As Quentin edged around the group to approach Pia, Eva jerked out of the grasp of the Light Fae guard she was grappling with and threw a roundhouse punch at him that made him stagger.

“Don’t you ever put your hands on her again, asshole,” Eva snarled at the guard. Then she skipped back a couple of steps, hands raised.

Quentin threaded between people to reach Pia, his blue eyes hard. He asked telepathically, You okay?

Yes. She turned and started toward Dragos again.

This time Bailey lunged forward to grab her by the arms.

“What the hell?” Pia snapped. “Will you people stop grabbing me?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bailey said. “Pia, you can’t.”

Quentin rounded on Bailey and slammed a flattened hand against her chest, physically knocking her back from Pia, while Eva growled, and the whole fiasco might have escalated again, except that this time, Dragos said sharply, “Stop. Everybody stop. Pia, do what they say and stay back.”

Exasperated now, and still badly unsettled, she wheeled around to stare at him. “I don’t understand. Why can’t I come close? How the hell did you get hurt?”

“I got curious and started poking around.” When he met her gaze, she saw that his gold eyes had darkened. Compared to their normal brilliance, they looked almost dull.

Immaculate and as coolly poised as if she were still drinking coffee on the verandah, Tatiana stepped around the clump of angry, unsettled people on her doorstep.

The Light Fae Queen and the Lord of the Wyr regarded each other for a moment.

Dragos growled, “Your people have a discipline problem under pressure, Tatiana. Tell them to put their goddamn weapons up.”

Unhurriedly, she studied him while making no move to do so. “You’re infected.”

“Apparently, yes,” he said between his teeth. “With whatever the fuck this is.”

Infected.

The word bounced around in Pia’s head. This time, instead of struggling to get to him, she met Quentin’s grim gaze. Her breathing sounded harsh to her own ears.

“Did you get bitten?” Tatiana asked.

“On my arm,” he said tersely.

“What happened to the one who bit you?”

“It was with a group of thirty or so others. I burned them.” Dragos’s gaze switched to Pia. He told her, “Whatever this is, it’s affecting my Power. I can’t telepathize, and I can’t shapeshift either. I had to hot-wire a car and drive here.”

Struggling to sound calm and rational, Pia said, “What the fuck is happening?” She rounded on Tatiana. “What do you mean, he’s infected?”

Regret filled Tatiana’s expression, along with resolve. The Queen said to Bailey, “Call Shane back to the house. Tell him to hurry.” Then she turned to her guards. “As long as Dragos remains lucid, don’t shoot him.”

* * *

Despite Dragos’s warning to stay away from him, Pia plunged across the lawn. Eva, the sentinels, and Bailey followed her immediately. Uneasily, Dragos took several steps back as they neared.

“You guys have to stop,” Bailey insisted. “He could turn rabid at any time.”

Dragos felt the urge to bare his teeth at her, but he was mindful of the guns still trained in his—and now Pia’s—direction and refrained. Tatiana’s guards were spooked enough. If he showed how he was really feeling, the gods only knew who they might accidentally shoot.

“I’m not turning rabid right at the moment,” he snapped.

Tatiana’s guards weren’t the only ones who were spooked. Bailey gave him a leery glance. She asked, “How long has it been since you got bitten?”

“Over forty minutes ago.” He turned his attention to Pia, who was pacing around him in a wide circle, wearing a fierce scowl.

“We’re not in California five minutes.” She flung up a hand, fingers and thumb splayed. “Five minutes, Dragos, and you managed to get bitten by… by …” She stopped pacing. “What bit you?”

“An infected Light Fae.”

She studied him worriedly. “Show me the wound.”

In answer, he unwrapped the cloth from his forearm and showed it to her. They both regarded the bite mark, which was clearly visible, the tears in his skin dark red.

“It’s negligible,” he said. “Barely more a nuisance. It should have healed within ten minutes. Instead, it’s not healing at all. After I burned the pack, I discovered I wasn’t able to telepathize or shapeshift.”

As he spoke, he was aware that the others were listening as well. Aryal swore softly and raked her hands through her hair, while Quentin pinched the bridge of his nose.