Pia Does Hollywood (Elder Races, #8.6)

A hint of laughter ghosted through him. He texted back, I’m almost sorry I missed that.

She gave him a brief glare and turned her attention back to her phone. We need to get enough privacy so that I can try to heal you.

Agreed, he replied. But you might not be able to. You’re taking a drug protocol that suppresses your own abilities.

For a moment she stood frozen, staring at him with wide eyes, her phone dangling from her lax hand. Then she set to typing again furiously. The dose is wearing off. I’m supposed to take the next round this evening.

“I just want you to be braced,” he told her aloud, quietly. He texted the rest. You’re supposed to take the dose before the effects of the protocol have fully worn off. If you wait and take it late, you could endanger both yourself and the baby.

That was assuming he could stave off the effects from the bite long enough, but he didn’t text that thought. A look of sheer terror flashed across her face, and he had to clench down again on the need to take her into his arms.

Then her jaw firmed, and she said, “Let’s not get trapped into thinking it’s an either/or scenario. None of this may be necessary. Wait here.”

“Pia—” he began.

The glare she threw at him had sufficient strength to stop him in his tracks. “I know what you’re going to say, but don’t even bother, because we don’t have time for that either. Let’s pretend we had an entire argument about it—you just said we can’t, and I just said we have to. You said what about the secret, and I’m telling you right now I don’t give a fuck about the fucking secret!”

“Calm down and think about what you’re saying,” he rasped.

“Well, I can’t calm down, and I am thinking about it. Think about how many people already know, Dragos. The sentinels. Eva and Hugh. Liam, Dr. Medina and Dr. Shaw, and you know Stinkpot’s going to know as soon as he—or she—gets big enough. And probably there are other people I’m forgetting right now. No, wait! That’s right!” She threw out both hands. “Beluvial and some of the Elves know. The list keeps getting larger and larger, and chances are, we won’t be able to keep a lid on this forever.”

“We’ve got a lid on it for now,” he snapped.

“Yes, but it’s a train crash in slow motion. It might take months or it might take years, but sooner or later, that lid is gonna blow. In fact, the way I feel right now, I could just shout the fucking secret to the whole fucking world. So just wait there a fucking minute.”

Belatedly he caught up with everything that she had said.

Stinkpot?

She had sworn more in the last three minutes than she had in the last six months, but he had gone well past the point of any desire to laugh. Crossing his arms, he glared back at her but complied. He watched as she strode over to the other Wyr. After a silent exchange with them, Quentin reached into his pocket to pull out something and hand it to her.

She swiveled and jogged back, but instead of stopping in front of him, she continued past. “Come on,” she said over her shoulder as she headed back around the corner toward the decontamination chamber.

He threw a wary glance at the Light Fae by the front door. They were watching him closely. As he spun to follow Pia, he noted security cameras mounted high along the corners of the walls. He would bet all the jewelry in his pocket that he was being watched right now.

Rounding the corner of the building, he came upon Pia, who had opened up a pocketknife. Her face tight with determination, she gestured to him. “Come on. Pull the bandage back.”

“Damn it, Pia,” he growled. “This isn’t private either. We’re being watched.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He jerked his head up, toward the direction of the security camera, and she rolled her eyes. She looked beyond fed up. In fact, she looked like she had joined Basket Case and driven straight to Crazy Town, and he knew if she wasn’t stopped, she really would shout the fucking secret to the whole fucking world.

He needed to derail that meltdown, if he could. Glancing around, he eyed the decontamination chamber.

“Take a breath,” he told her. “The camera won’t be able to see anything we do behind a few layers of plastic. Come on.”

It was her turn to follow him as he led the way through the thick plastic flap. Ignoring the sharp, acrid smell inside, he turned to face her.

Still wearing an expression that told him she was close to the edge of panic, she rotated her wrist at him. “Hurry up. Pull back the bandage.”

“Lower your voice,” he whispered. “The plastic will stop the camera from seeing what we’re doing, and it might muffle our voices somewhat, but there are still a lot of people around with very sharp hearing.”

“I don’t care,” she muttered. She gripped the knife like she meant to stab herself with it.