Pia Does Hollywood (Elder Races, #8.6)

Bailey’s eyes had widened at his story. She said, “Your constitution is very strong. The people we know who were bitten turned within fifteen or twenty minutes. This is very bad news. So far as we knew, only the Light Fae have been affected. We had no idea until now that others of the Elder Races could be infected too.”


He had no intention of mentioning it to anyone, but he could feel the infection from the bite, coursing through his veins like poison, and his Power had roused to combat it. It felt strange and tiring. He was almost never too hot, but now he had broken into a light sweat and felt both hot and cold at once. Was this what a fever felt like?

Pia stood facing him with her feet planted apart, hands fisted at her sides. She looked grim and determined, and ready to do battle. “I want to telepathize with you so badly right now,” she muttered.

He glanced at the others and said to her, “I want to telepathize with you too.”

“It’s going to have to wait,” Bailey told them. “We think the contagion is passed through blood and saliva. Dragos, you’re a walking hazard—you’ve got blood smeared all over you. We have to burn your clothes and get you as disinfected as we can.”

“Privacy is the least of anybody’s concerns right now,” he said. “Let’s do this. Somebody get me something clean to wear. How are you disinfecting people?”

“We’ve been using propyl alcohol, along with an antiseptic detergent.” She turned away. “Follow me.”

He did so, and the others trailed after him several feet behind.

Bailey led them around the far corner of the house, to an area where they had constructed a large structure draped with plastic.

“I see the tour of the grounds you gave me earlier didn’t lead over in this direction,” Pia said to Bailey, her voice bitter.

The other woman looked chagrined. She said to Dragos, “It’s a decontamination chamber. It’s pretty makeshift but it will get the job done. When you step in, leave your clothes and shoes by the outer flap. We’ll get you something else to wear. You’ll find the alcohol and detergent in the shower area. I’m sorry, the shower’s cold—for now, we’re just running water from the sprinkler system.”

“A cold shower is the least of my concerns right now,” he snarled. He stalked into the plastic-draped area and stripped to the skin.

Bailey was right, the construction was crude but effective. After he had stripped and left his clothes in a crumpled pile where she had indicated—saving the jewelry, which he kept in one hand—he stepped into the makeshift disinfectant chamber. He scrubbed his whole body for at least ten minutes with the sharp-smelling detergent then doused himself with the propyl alcohol, making sure to scrub and douse the jewelry as well.

Both the alcohol and detergent should have stung in the bite, but they didn’t. The skin around the bite had turned numb, and he still wasn’t healing. As he prodded the wound and inspected it, dark streaks had begun to shoot out from the puncture wounds. His Power might be slowing down the progress of the poison from the bite, but it wasn’t stopping it.

Once he had finished showering, they had collected other medical supplies, and he securely taped a bandage over the bite mark. He even wiped off his phone thoroughly with disinfectant.

He dressed quickly in the jeans and shirt they had found for him. The gods only knew where they had found an outfit big enough for him, because typically the Light Fae were nowhere near his massive size. The clothes were snug, but they would do. Stuffing the cleaned necklace, earrings and bracelet into the pocket of his new jeans, he stepped out of the plastic area.

Pia stood nearby with the other Wyr waiting in a close, tense huddle, while the Light Fae had retreated to give them some semblance of privacy.

After sweeping the scene, Dragos kept his eyes on Pia. She was biting her nails and tapping one foot nervously. He strode over only to stop several feet away, clenching his fists in frustration. The urge to take her into his arms was almost overwhelming. He hated he couldn’t act on it.

Her gaze went immediately to the white bandage on his arm. “How is it?”

“Still there,” he replied. He looked at the others. “Give us some space, will you?”

Reluctantly they stepped away, Aryal scowling over her shoulder at them.

Pia burst out, “This is so wrong. I can’t even touch you.”

“I know,” he said, very low.

They stared at each other. The morning had evaporated into a hot afternoon. Indirect sunlight gilded the ends of her hair, and sent shafts of illumination into her dark gaze. She said between her teeth, “Everybody on the property has supersharp hearing, and I want to telepathize with you so badly.”

He pulled out his phone. “Let’s text it.”

She snatched hers out of the pocket of her maxi dress, and her slender fingers flew over the tiny keyboard. When she was finished, she did one final, emphatic stab.

His phone pinged, and he looked down at the screen.

She had written: I don’t have time for a meltdown. Let’s pretend I just spat out a lot of AGH and UGH and OMG HOLY FUCK!!! and get it out of the way, shall we?