Lord's Fall

ONE

Even though feeling like a drama queen sucked donkey’s balls, it was still true—leaving Dragos and New York behind was one of the hardest things Pia had ever done.

What sucked worse than that? Leaving was her idea. She had even argued for it, loud, long and vociferously.

And what sucked the absolute worst of all? She couldn’t even pretend she was leaving all her troubles behind, because she wasn’t. All her troubles came along with her in a nicely matched portable set, because of course she had to travel with a bunch of psychos.

She had just gotten used to one set of psychos, the Wyr sentinels. Not all of them liked her, but most of them had, more or less, accepted her. She even fancied that a few of them loved her, and she loved them, even though she thought they were all certifiably crazy, and to be fair, she was pretty sure they thought she was crazy too.

And now here she had to break in a whole new set. This crew was fresh and energetic, while she was just goddamn tired and feeling bitchy enough to start tearing off heads for no reason.

That’d win her some brownie points.

Three of the group traveled with her in one black Cadillac Escalade. Three more traveled in another Escalade behind them, also black. In fact, both SUVs quite illegally had the same license plate numbers and were identical in virtually every way, in case the group had to split up and one SUV had to act as a decoy for the other—which would end up being whichever one Pia was traveling in at the time.

In the Escalade following them were Miguel, Hugh and Andrea. Miguel was nut-brown and dark-haired, with a tight body coiled with lean muscles and dark, sharp eyes that never stopped roaming. Hugh was rawboned and rather plain. He had big hands, a slight Scottish burr, and a sleepy demeanor that Pia didn’t believe for a moment, because if he was really that sleepy and slow moving, he wouldn’t be traveling with her.

Andrea looked just like Pia from a distance, which had been intentional. She had the same leggy five-foot-ten body type and the same thick blonde hair that fell past her shoulders and could be pulled back in a ponytail. Andrea’s hair had been carefully lightened so that it matched Pia’s blonde shades.

They couldn’t pass for each other close up. Andrea looked to be possibly five years older than Pia’s twenty-five, although with Wyr, guessing someone’s age could sometimes be difficult, and Andrea could be as much as thirty years older. Pia’s face was more triangular. Andrea’s eyes were green, not midnight blue. Still, Pia got an eerie feeling whenever she caught sight of Andrea moving around in the distance. It was like looking at a doppelganger of herself.

The three traveling in Pia’s Cadillac were James, Johnny and Eva. James was the tallest of the crew and actually handsome, with dark hair that fell into blue eyes and a strong nose and jaw that looked great in profile. With his fine features and light brown hair, Johnny appeared so boyish that he looked downright innocent—which was another impression that Pia knew had to be false.

Then there was Eva, who was the alpha and captain of this particular pack of lethal whack-jobs. Eva had the whole Venus Williams Amazonian splendor thing nailed, with her honed, six-foot-tall body, rich ebony skin that rippled over strong muscles and a black, bitter gaze that had dissected Pia so thoroughly the first time they met, Pia was not exactly sure she’d found all the pieces and got herself put back together quite right afterward.

Most of her six attendants were canines of some sort, wolves, mongrels or mastiffs, although they had one winged Wyr who would provide aerial support if it ever became needed. Hugh was one of the demesne’s rare, prized gargoyles.

They all came from the Wyr’s version of Special Forces, the unit that was the most gifted and volatile in the army. They were the first into any conflict and acted as advance scouts, the rangers sent in to places too dangerous for the regular troops. They were the ones that patrolled the shadowed corners and slipped past enemy lines to take down their opponents from behind. The only Wyr more dangerous were Dragos’s sentinels and, of course, Dragos himself.

They were not good at conforming. They never wore a uniform, they didn’t salute and they didn’t bother to hide their opinions about things. And it was clear they didn’t think much either of Pia or the babysitting job they had been shackled with, which meant they were all in for a shitty trip if things didn’t change.

Pia slouched in the back behind the driver’s seat, arms crossed as she watched the dirty white, winter scenery scroll past. She could sense Dragos flying overhead, although they didn’t talk telepathically. Everything had already been said, shouted and argued out a while ago. After following the two-car cavalcade for about forty minutes, she could feel him wheeling and beginning the return flight back to the city.

She shifted restlessly in her seat. Her head pounded. On the sound system, 2Pac rapped “Ballad of a Dead Soulja.” Beside her, Johnny slouched in fatigues and a T-shirt, his light brown hair pulled into an untidy ponytail. He was totally absorbed in playing a handheld game.

Eva drove while James rode shotgun, literally, with the butt of a late-model SCAR (which, Pia had been told, stood for Special Operations Forces—SOF—combat assault rifle) resting on the floor between his boots. Eva’s kinky black hair was cropped short, emphasizing the graceful shape of her skull. As Pia looked at the rearview mirror, her gaze collided with the reflection of Eva’s contemptuous glance. Pia’s already strained temper gave up trying to control her behavior. It slunk away and took her better half with it.

She said, “I want to listen to Kenny G now. Or maybe Michael Bolton.”

Johnny’s head came up. James twisted to look at her.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Eva said. She turned to James. “Tell me she’s fucking kidding me.”

Pia felt childish, petty and vindictive. The drama queen had turned into a two-year-old, and the toddler was having a tantrum. She said to James, “Change it.”

“Woman wants it changed,” James said, expressionlessly. He punched buttons. Easy listening music filled the Cadillac.

“That’s just fucking great,” Eva muttered. “We’re going to be stuck in a goddamn elevator for the rest of the goddamn day.”

Pia hated elevator music too. She smiled and settled back into her seat. Now everybody else was almost as miserable as she was.

Time dragged along with the miles that scrolled behind them, and the urban scenery remained the same, dull brick factories, black railroad lines ribboning through dirty snow, rows of houses and the occasional shopping center. Nobody spoke, at least not out loud. The two Cadillacs wove smoothly through the sporadic Sunday morning traffic on the interstate, not always staying together to avoid drawing too much attention, but always keeping within sight of each other.

As Pia watched the passing landscape, she couldn’t help but think of the last time she had made this trip, seven months ago. The two trips were almost perfect opposites of each other.

Last May she had been on the run, frightened, exhausted and alone, while everything around her had been bursting into bloom. This time she was mated, pregnant—her hand curled protectively over her stomach’s slight bump—and surrounded by the most effective, if surly, soldiers in the Wyr demesne, and it was flipping cold outside, as winter held New York by the scruff of the neck with sharp, white teeth.

January in Charleston would feel positively balmy in contrast, with daytime highs up to sixty degrees and nighttime lows around thirty-eight to forty degrees. Mostly what Pia was looking forward to, though, was the lack of snow on the South Carolina coast. In late December, New York had been hit with one of the worst blizzards on record, and it would take months for all the mountains of snow to melt.

Ninety minutes into the trip, she stirred. “I have to stop.”

Eva glanced at her again in the mirror. “Does her?” said Eva in a baby-talk kind of voice. “Where would herself like to stop?”

James stirred and said, “Evie.”

“What?” Eva snapped. “We barely got on the road, and princess already wants to take a break. And while I’m on the subject, why are we driving and not flying? We could be there in a couple of hours, instead of the trip taking the whole goddamn day.”

“It’s none of your fucking business why we’re driving instead of flying,” Pia said icily. “And princess here doesn’t give a shit where we stop, just as long as we do in the next ten minutes. Got it?”

“Sure, doll-face,” Eva said. “Any little thing herself wants, herself gets.”

As Eva signaled and cut right from the fast lane to the exit lane, Pia watched the other woman in the mirror and thought, Imma have to kick your ass before the day’s out, aren’t I?

Yeah, it was shaping up to be a great trip so far.

And they were on a mission of diplomacy.

The other Cadillac cut across traffic to join their SUV, and the two vehicles took the next exit ramp. Their choices for stopping included two gas stations, a McDonald’s, a Denny’s and a Quik Mart. Eva pulled into the McDonald’s lot and parked. Pia stepped out and headed for the restaurant. The other six surrounded her so casually it seemed to happen by accident. The psychos had smooth moves, she would give them that much.

Feeling an increasingly urgent need, she found her way to the restroom, accompanied by Eva and Andrea. So far the seven-month pregnancy didn’t show much—a fact that pretty much freaked her out if she thought too much about it—and she could keep it completely hidden if she dressed strategically. But the peanut, bless him, was beginning to exert some influence on her bladder. That was going to get much worse before it got better.

The women’s restroom was more or less clean, and empty. She pushed past the other two women, slammed the stall door shut and enjoyed a few minutes of what was likely to be the only alone time she would get that day.

Resentment and antagonism were two of the troubles that had followed her. Pia hadn’t really gained acceptance from the Wyr over the past seven months.

Oh, she had from some of the sentinels. All the gryphons had embraced her, and Graydon had become one of her best friends. They also knew what kind of Wyr she was, and why she and Dragos kept it secret.

The gryphons were the only ones who knew. Not even the other two sentinels did, although that didn’t seem to cause gargoyle sentinel Grym any problems, but then it was hard to tell what he was thinking since he didn’t talk much. And she had achieved a kind of uneasy truce with the harpy sentinel Aryal—at least enough to spar with the harpy on the training mat several times a week, although they didn’t share confidences or socialize.

As far as all the other Wyr went, in the early days of her mating with Dragos, expectation had turned to puzzlement, and then suspicion as the whispering began.

She didn’t reveal to anyone what kind of Wyr she was because she was stuck-up.

No, she was a fugitive from some other demesne, because Dragos wasn’t the only one she had stolen from.

Or, she didn’t bother to reveal what kind of Wyr she was, because she was one of the antisocial ones, and she didn’t care if she made friends or fit into any of the packs, herds or prides.

She was stuck in a box, her options limited. She couldn’t just pretend she was a horse or a deer and dismiss the subject. Nobody would believe her if she tried, because her scent was too strange.

For the Wyr, it was hard to warm up to someone who kept something so fundamental to their nature hidden from everybody else. Knowing that and understanding the reasons why it was there weren’t much help. The low-level resentment and subtle ostracization still felt sucky.

Over half a year later, Pia still felt like an uneasy guest in what was supposed to be her own home. The only real friends she felt like she had were Graydon, who knew everything; the new Dark Fae Queen, Niniane, with whom she steadily corresponded; and a few people from her old job working as a bartender at Elfie’s.

Quentin, the bar owner, didn’t need to know all of her secrets, and she didn’t need to know all of his. And of course there was Preston, the half-troll barfly, who liked to describe himself as an eight-foot hunka burnin’ love, and who really was a sweetie through and through. Preston didn’t care if anyone had any stinking secrets. If you were willing to share a dozen orders of baked potato skins, lathered with cheese, bacon, sour cream and chives, and drink beer while watching the NBA playoffs, you were all right by him.

But Graydon was increasingly busy, and letters from Niniane, while fascinating and wonderful to receive, weren’t enough to satisfy her social needs. Quentin was absent more and more from Elfie’s these days, and anyway Pia couldn’t hide out at the bar twenty-four/seven. She could only visit a couple of times a week.

As far as she was concerned, there were only two things that made living in Cuelebre Tower worth it. One of them was the peanut—and she really had to stop calling him that, because the little fetus was already so smart, she could tell he thought his name actually was Peanut.

The other was Dragos, who was primitive, powerful, domineering, calculating, manipulative, infernally clever and tactless, and who she adored with all of her heart. Dragos, who created as many problems as he solved, and who loved her too, fiercely, so much so he had mated with her. Their lives had become inextricably entwined, and they had to work together for things now.

Which meant they needed to figure out how to be partners in more places than just the bedroom. (Because Pia was pretty damn sure they had nailed that part the first time they had made love.) And which also meant coming to an agreement about what they worked toward, even if reaching that agreement took months and sometimes felt like pulling giant, dragon-sized teeth.

The Wyr demesne and Dragos himself were facing too many challenges at once to deal with any one of them effectively. Dragos had broken several treaties with the Elves in his pursuit of Pia last May, and those treaties had not been repaired. Border strife continued with the Elven demesne, along with an ongoing trade embargo that had put several New York businesses under and was seriously hurting several more. Dragos’s multinational corporation, Cuelebre Enterprises, had bailed out several floundering companies and provided low-interest, long-term business loans to help out others, but they were all stopgap measures that didn’t really resolve the core issue.

In the meantime, Dragos’s corporation, along with the rest of the world, had taken its own hits in an ongoing global recession. Diversification, along with aggressive streamlining and retrenching, had kept the corporation leaner but running strong, but that had taken harder work and more top-heavy manpower at a time when Dragos could ill afford to expend the energy.

Then there was the problem of being critically short staffed. Dragos had lost two of his seven sentinels in quick succession last summer. The first one to go was his warlord sentinel, Tiago Black Eagle, who had mated with the new Dark Fae Queen, Niniane Lorelle. Then Dragos lost his First sentinel, Rune Ainissesthai, who had mated with the Vampyre sorceress Carling Severan. Dragos and Rune had parted badly, and Dragos still refused to talk about it. He had moved two people into sentinel positions as a temporary stopgap, but now he had to go through the process of setting new sentinels into place.

To top it all off, there was the amorphous Freaky Deaky Something that hung on the horizon, the strange voice that Dragos had heard through an impromptu prophesy given by the Oracle of Louisville, Grace Andreas. The Oracle and her family had since relocated to Miami, where Pia and Dragos had traveled to meet with her in a follow-up consultation last autumn. Unfortunately, Grace couldn’t add much to the original vision since, as she said, specific prophecies did not repeat themselves.

Grace did offer them a piece of advice, while they sat at her kitchen table and two young children played outside with, of all things, a very large, indulgent and good-looking Djinn. “The person or Power behind the voice from the vision is either already in your lives, or it will be,” Grace told Pia and Dragos. “Don’t let that knowledge weaken you. There’s no point in trying to avoid it, because the actions you take might actually cause you to come into contact with it sooner than you would otherwise. Act from your strengths, and live your lives in a state of readiness. You were lucky. You were given a warning. Most people don’t get that.”

The memory of that conversation played through Pia’s mind as she exited the bathroom stall and washed her hands. She also thought of all the other issues, along with the added stressor of having just left her mate. Eva’s antagonism shouldn’t even be on the list of challenges she had to face.

The psychos were a well-trained unit. They would have a strongly defined internal order she didn’t yet have a handle on, and that would be reinforced by the five canines’ pack instinct. Each one would be highly opinionated and would make up his or her own mind about Pia, but none of them would go against their alpha, and no doubt several of them would take their cue from how Eva and Pia’s relationship developed. Right now Pia was just an annoying, disliked outsider they had to bodyguard. She had to turn that around and establish a different working relationship with them now before Eva’s lack of respect became too entrenched.

The other two women had taken advantage of using the facilities too, first Andrea, then Eva, while one remained on guard at the door.

Pia dried her hands deliberately, then turned. Andrea guarded the door. Pia met the other woman’s gaze. She said, “Get out.”

Andrea’s blonde eyebrows rose. She glanced at the closed bathroom stall, which opened. Eva stalked out, her whole magnificent body flowing like gleaming black oil.

Pia said to Andrea, “Wrong response.”

Eva jerked her chin. “Go on.”

Andrea opened the door and backed out without a word.

Pia went to the door and flipped the lock. The snick sounded over-loud in the silent restroom. It wouldn’t keep anybody out who was determined to get in, of course, but it was a strongly symbolic barrier—and the sound would tell any sharp, listening Wyr ears to stay out of what happened next.

She turned, leaned back against the door and met Eva’s sardonic gaze. Pia said, “I thought briefly about just kicking your ass, but we would have to take that outside and I don’t feel like getting wet and muddy. Besides, you’re not worth it.”

Amusement sliced across Eva’s bold features, and her black eyes sparkled. “You’re sadly deluded if you think you could take me, princess.”

Pia didn’t smile, and her gaze remained level. “I can take the gryphons,” she said. Eva’s face froze. “For the past seven months, I’ve been sparring with Aryal almost daily. With the harpy, it’s more like fifty-fifty, since she doesn’t pull her punches. She doesn’t give a shit if I’m a female and Dragos’s mate. If anything it makes her hit harder, because she doesn’t like me much. So, you tell me, Eva. Can I take you?”

Okay, so some of that was bluffing. The other woman was a trained soldier and versed in battle, combat tactics and weaponry in a way Pia never would be. If they were in the wild and engaged in guerilla warfare, Pia was pretty sure that if she didn’t succeed in running away from a confrontation, Eva could wipe the forest floor with her. But they weren’t in the wild. On a training mat or in a McDonald’s parking lot, Pia didn’t have a doubt she could take the other woman. That was the certainty she let sit in her gaze.

“You have two choices,” Pia said. “You can either change your attitude completely right now, no second chances, or you can give me the car keys and make your own way back to New York, because I’m not going to put up with your shit. It’s pulling my mind off what I need to be thinking about, and not only that, it’s unprofessional—from the both of us. We don’t have to be girlfriends. We don’t have to like each other. Believe me, I’m pretty used to that by now. But if you choose to stay, you’ve got to come to terms with the fact that, for anything that doesn’t involve a combat situation, you’re not the alpha in this group. I am. If we’re ever facing a fight where you’re the clear expert, that’s a different story, but until then, you do as I say.”

She watched as fury and instinct warred in Eva’s face. The other woman was dominant, and she lived a violent life. Her Wyr side would be much closer to the surface than it was for others. It would be difficult to give up her alpha status without a fight, especially to someone who was an herbivore, not pack. If they were both purely animals, Eva would try to hunt Pia down for lunch.

Of course Wyr were much more than just their animal natures, but even still, some things bled through in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Predator Wyr often had a condescending attitude toward more peaceful herbivores. Usually that dynamic was nothing more than a social irritation, but in this situation, it added more tension.

But she would not want to be in Eva’s shoes if Eva chose to head back to New York. No doubt that was the deciding factor in Eva’s response, along with the fact that the other woman would never abandon her unit. Eva said expressionlessly, “Got it. For this trip, you’re alpha. We done?”

Pia sourly poked at her lower lip as she noted Eva’s specific wording. “No,” she said. “I’m not finished.” She raised her voice slightly for the benefit of whoever was listening on the other side of the door—which by that point, she reckoned, was all the others. “No doubt you all wanted to stay and watch the Games this week, and find out who wins the sentinel positions. And I get that you’re irritated, but you people need to change your attitude about this assignment. I don’t think you realize how important this trip is, or what an honor you’ve been given.”

“We get that you’re special, being Dragos’s mate and all,” Eva said.

“No, knucklehead,” she snapped. She might have to take Eva out into the parking lot and kick her ass after all—whatever the other woman said, Pia wasn’t sure Eva could really give up her alpha status without it, even if Eva honestly tried. “We’re not on some kind of pleasure jaunt or shopping trip, and I’m not just going to have tea and cookies and go shopping with Beluviel. We’re going to try to fix one of the biggest problems the Wyr demesne has right now, repair treaties and better our relationship with the Elven demesne. It’s something Dragos can’t do, since he’s the one who broke the treaties to begin with—the Elves have threatened war if he enters their demesne without permission again, and besides, he has to settle the sentinel issue, which means he has to stay in New York to preside over the Games.”

She could tell when Eva stopped sneering long enough to actually begin to think, and then the shift happened. Suddenly their trip south was no longer an unwelcome babysitting job for an unpopular mate but had become much more.

She continued, more quietly, “The outcome of our trip matters to a lot of people, Eva. I’m not going to risk failure because you and your idiots don’t know how to rein in your snark, or take orders from someone who is not pack and is nonmilitary. I get that your more usual assignment involves solving problems that are more the point-and-shoot kind. If you can’t handle this, say so. We’ll turn around right now and go home, and I’ll start over with another crew that can.”

“Okay,” Eva said after a moment, relaxing from her rigid stance. “I was told you were meeting with Beluviel and possibly the High Lord, but I wasn’t given details beyond our mission objective—to travel with you and keep you safe.”

“Well, I am special and all, being Dragos’s mate,” Pia said dryly. Eva snorted, a near-silent exhalation that sounded almost amused. “And by the way, we’re not taking a flight because Dragos thought we would have more survival capability on the ground. Incidences involving planes tend to have high fatality rates.” Plus only one in their group had a Wyr form with wings, which seemed to bother Dragos quite a bit. He couldn’t imagine flying high in the sky without having the capability to jump out of a plane and take flight if he had to. “Not,” she added, “that I plan on explaining every little decision to you in the future.”

“Fine,” Eva said with a scowl, evidently not liking the sound of that. Then her expression changed. “I would like to ask you just one thing, though.”

Pia studied the other woman. She would make more of an ally with Eva through cooperation than not. Maybe this could be a bloodless coup after all. They might never grow to like each other, but achieving a partnership before they reached South Carolina would be good enough for her. So she said, “Shoot.”

Eva ran her black gaze down Pia’s body as she sucked a tooth. Finally she looked up and met Pia’s stare. “You even pregnant?”

Pia’s eyebrows rose. She hadn’t realized people were beginning to gossip about that as well. “You can’t tell from my scent?”

“You have a strange scent,” Eva said. “None of us have smelled anything like you before, and we don’t know what to make of it.”

Her face twisted into a wry grimace. Fair enough. She beckoned with her fingers and said, “Come here.”

Eyes sparkling with curiosity, Eva stepped forward. Pia reached for her hand, and Eva allowed her to take it. Pia settled Eva’s flattened palm over the small bump of her stomach and waited. She watched Eva’s face transform into wonder.

The dampening spell that Pia used to camouflage the natural luminescence of her skin also seemed to mask the peanut’s presence from others, at least from a distance. The pregnancy didn’t remain hidden when someone actually came in contact with Pia’s body. Even though the peanut was still very small for twenty-eight weeks, the muted roar of Power at her midsection was unmistakable even for someone who was not medical personnel.

Wonder rounded Eva’s eyes. “Holy shit,” she whispered.

Pia rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. Yeah. Holy, as it were, shit.

“I’m confused,” Eva said, frowning. “It doesn’t seem very big but it’s carrying a helluva wallop.”

“I’m about twenty-eight weeks along,” Pia told her. She could see Eva doing the math.

Eva’s frown deepened. “Shouldn’t it be bigger?”

“Nobody knows,” Pia said with a tired sigh. “The doctor says he’s quite healthy, and that’s all that matters. Based on his current development, she’s estimating a gestation period between seven hundred thirty and seven hundred fifty days.” She watched the other woman do the math again.

Eva blanched. “You’re going to be pregnant for two years.”

“Seems likely,” Pia said between her teeth. “Did you know elephants have a gestation period of twenty-two months? Apparently dragon babies might be more complicated. And before you think to ask, no, I’m not laying an egg so he can gestate the rest of the way outside my body. No, no such luck. This baby’s going to be a live birth.”

Somehow.

Eva looked at her in poorly concealed horror. “Won’t he have . . . claws? And not cute tiny, puppy ones?”

“We’re a little concerned about that,” Pia said grimly. “And he hasn’t yet shown any sign of his human form.” Some Wyr babies were born in their animal form, and others were born in human form. Still others, if they were not already in the same form as their mother, shapeshifted while in utero, although that was more rare. “The doctor wants to plan a C-section.”

“I see.” Eva pulled her hand away and stepped back.

They had roused the baby. Pia felt an invisible presence settle around her neck and shoulders, a bright, fierce loving innocence. It was a waking version of what she dreamed so often these days, the peanut draping his graceful, delicate white body around her, his long, transparent wings tucked close to his body. Nobody else but her could sense when he did that, not even Dragos. She put a hand to the base of her neck with a small, private smile.

“Guess we better get you to Charleston,” Eva said. “You got a job to do.”

“I guess we’d better,” said Pia.

“I just want to know one more thing,” said Eva.

Pia turned to unlock the restroom door. “What’s that?”

Eva put her hand on the door and held it shut while she met Pia’s gaze pointedly. “Tell me we can change radio stations now.”

Pia bit back a chuckle. “Yes, please. Let’s get off the elevator.”

Eva took hold of the handle and pulled the door open. The other five in their group were hanging in the hallway, looking thoughtful, their arms piled high with food bags and drink carriers. Johnny was already eating a sandwich.

Reaching a détente with Eva was one hurdle down. Now all Pia wanted to do was reach their rented estate and settle in for the evening. She wouldn’t be meeting with any Elves until the next day.

She couldn’t wait for nightfall. She only hoped she wasn’t so excited that she couldn’t fall asleep, because that would seriously screw up everything.