Pia Does Hollywood (Elder Races, #8.6)

That, Pia believed. But she still could have kissed her.

“So,” Shane said, “if Morgan and others of the Queen’s Hounds are here, and the contagion is sorcerous in nature, I don’t think this outbreak is some terrible random act of fate. I think it’s a planned attack on the Light Fae.”

Bailey said suddenly, “That would explain why the outbreaks keep popping up in different places. When someone is infected, they don’t really have time to travel around before they turn. This hasn’t behaved in the way other diseases do. With some things, like the flu, the incubation period is long enough that someone who has been infected can travel across the world before they realize they’re sick. Whereas here, if someone gets bitten, they change almost immediately. The infected haven’t had time to travel to other areas.”

“At least not yet,” Pia said.

Silence fell over the group as everyone stared at her, absorbing the implications of that statement. Reluctantly, she continued, “This might have started with the Light Fae, but it’s now jumped to both humans and to the Wyr. What if other races react to the contagion more slowly, like Dragos has?”

Quentin rubbed his scarred, handsome face with one hand and muttered, “If that happens, then this could go global very quickly.”

Shane said crisply, “We can’t let it go global. That’s all there is to it.”

“Then we need two things, as fast as we can get them,” Tatiana said. “We need to stop the Hounds from spreading this further, and we need a cure.”

“Actually, we need three things,” Bailey said. “We not only need some kind of cure. We need an inoculation, so that further outbreaks can’t happen. That’s the only way to completely neutralize whatever this is.”

“I know which part is my fight,” Shane said. “I need to go.”

“Quentin and Aryal will go with you,” Dragos told him. “Because this is now our fight too.”

Pia burst out, “Before they leave, I need to talk to all of you. Quentin, Aryal, Eva—come over here to Dragos.” She looked at Tatiana. “I’m sorry, but this is confidential. Can you and your guards give us some space?”

The speculative expression flashed through Tatiana’s gaze again, but the Queen replied, “Of course. Everyone, fall back to the verandah.”

“Don’t take long,” Shane told them. He had turned grim, his ready smile nowhere in evidence. “We need to stop the Hounds before they can do more damage.”

Pia stepped directly in front of Dragos, her back to the verandah. As Eva, Quentin and Aryal gathered around her, she gestured wordlessly to Dragos to step around the end of the Hummer.

Eyes narrowed, he tried, but the chains wouldn’t let him move all the way to the far side of the vehicle.

So be it. She whispered to the others, “Cover what I’m doing.”

With a smooth, liquid glide, Quentin stepped into place behind her, and Eva and Aryal crowded close. When she pulled out the pocketknife, Dragos covered his mouth with one hand and growled softly, “There are at least half a dozen guards watching us right now.”

She whispered furiously, “We’re going to keep trying this every hour on the hour if we have to, until we find some other alternative that works. Every hour that passes means I have that much less of the drug in my system.” She looked sidelong at Aryal. “Are you guys blocking their cameras?”

Aryal studied the area, eyes narrowed. “Yeah. I really think we are.”

Pia told Dragos, “Now stick your damn arm out.”

Running his sharp gaze over the tableau, he complied, and peeled back the bandage. Pia stared at the bite wound worriedly.

Had the dark streaks grown? Did it look the same as it had before? Honestly, she just couldn’t tell.

With a quick slice, she cut the end of her thumb and let the blood drip over the torn skin. Collectively, the five of them stared at the wound for several moments. It was such a small wound to mean so much. As Dragos said, it should have been negligible at most.

It couldn’t take everything away from her.

Pia wouldn’t let it.





Chapter Eight





Eva and Aryal’s eyes had gone wide—neither one of them had witnessed Pia heal anyone firsthand. Behind her, Quentin had stopped breathing.

Nothing happened. The bite mark remained, the puncture wounds raw.

Without a word, Dragos smoothed the bandage back into place.

“Damn,” Aryal breathed.

Snapping the knife closed, Pia jammed it back into her pocket. She told Dragos, “This is our life now. Every hour, on the hour. I’m not even scheduled to take the injection until this evening. And we’ll count every hour past then.”

He nodded. “We’ll figure out a way to hide it. Until we have another alternative.”

“That’s our cue to get out of here,” Aryal said to Quentin. She paused “Just how worried should I be about coming up against this old, famous Morgan of the Fae?”