Pia Does Hollywood (Elder Races, #8.6)

Maybe the protocol had suppressed her nature but had not entirely negated it. Her blood might have worked, but very slowly. Or perhaps he had thrown off the effects of the contagion, himself.

They would never know for sure.

For now, he injected scorn into his mental voice. Tell me, have any of your doctors ever studied dragon’s blood before?

Her brows twitched together. You know they have not.

He snorted. Then of course it’s truly unique.

Cocking her head, she smiled wryly. You do have a point.

He reached out for Grym. I hear they’ve isolated the contagion.

They sure have, and in record time, Grym said. There’s a celebratory air right now in this lab.

Time to destroy all the blood samples. Make sure they’re incinerated, so that not a single cell is left.

You got it. Oh, the weeping and gnashing of teeth that will shortly commence.

Dragos smiled to himself. They hadn’t preserved every one of their secrets. But they had managed to preserve the most important one.

Then Tatiana stepped to the door, opened it, and he carried Pia through to the hallway, and up to the suite.

* * *

Pia walked along her favorite trail, enjoying the fall colors.

Wait a minute. She had already done this before. Remembering jolted her so that she realized she was dreaming.

Tilting her head, she walked slowly and listened for a small, stealthy rustle. Sure enough, she heard it, behind her and a little to the left.

She didn’t turn around or do anything to spook her small shadow. Instead, pretending to ignore it, she walked along slowly, thinking.

Soon, she came to an area where the trail opened up and the land flattened to form a high, grassy meadow atop a bluff that overlooked the land’s long decline. Eventually that decline would lead to their house, which was half hidden by the surrounding trees. Beyond the house lay the flat blue shimmer of the nearby lake.

Strolling through the small meadow, she picked a spot and settled cross-legged on the ground, looking over the countryside. The scene was beautiful, with rolling hills covered with the brilliant gold, yellow and vermillion of the fall foliage. She loved everything about upstate New York in the autumn.

A small rustle might be approaching. Happiness filled her. Cocking her head, she listened to the slight, cautious sounds behind her and fought not to laugh. What would her shadow decide to do now?

Something sharp poked her in the lower back, over her left kidney. She swept a hand behind her to move the stick, or weed, or whatever it was, but her hand encountered nothing but air.

Hm.

The sharp something poked her again.

Moving gently, so as to not frighten the wary shadow away, she twisted to look over her shoulder.

Underneath the slender spire of a horn, fierce gold eyes looked back at her.

Oh, holy gods. She froze. She didn’t even dare to breathe.

The small creature standing just behind her shoulder was … was …

It was small like a newborn foal, all gangly legs and overlarge head, with a narrow, racy body. And it was dark bronze all over, almost exactly the same shade that Dragos was in his dragon form, with the colors darkening to black at the legs, nose and tail.

And it had that slender horn at the middle of its forehead. The horn would lengthen and sharpen as it grew to adulthood, but for now, it was short and well suited for a baby’s developing neck muscles.

“Oh, Stinkpot,” she whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”

And so frightening.

This was the creature that carried the fiery Power that Liam had sensed. Those eyes, that coloring, were so like Dragos. If its personality was as fiery as its Power, it would have a royal temper. A temper that might even override all the instincts of its Wyr nature, instincts that would urge it to run and hide, or take the less obvious path to avoid detection and danger.

Swishing its tail, Stinkpot bent its head to nibble at the yellowing grass. While it acted like it was distracted, Pia carefully, carefully tightened her stomach muscles and leaned back to see if she could catch a glimpse between its slender, gangly legs.

Oh my God. Stinkpot was male. Delight, wonder and sheer terror clanged through her head like a three-bell alarm.

She whispered, “Are you okay if I pick you up now, darling?”

At the sound of her voice, Stinkpot flicked an ear but didn’t appear to be otherwise concerned. Moving slowly and gently, she twisted around to stroke his neck. His body was that of a newborn foal, but he carried the promise of power in the regal arch of his neck, and in the deep width of his chest.

He would be fast, she knew. Faster than almost anybody else, and he would be able to run for miles without tiring. She could see it all too well in her mind’s eye. He would be talented at running all right, but instead of running away from danger, he would run straight toward it.