Lord's Fall

FIVE

Blood sprayed crimson over the sand of the arena.

It was the pegasus’s blood. What was his name again? “Alexander somebody,” murmured Dragos.

“Alexander Elysias,” said Kristoff from behind him.

Dragos stood at the window of the supersuite, arms crossed, as he watched the latest contest. He could see his assistant’s reflection in the glass. Kris had never looked away from his computer screen. Kris probably knew by heart the names of all the four hundred and forty-eight original contestants.

Dragos glanced over the VIP boxes. Virtually every demesne in the United States had some representative in attendance. He noted that Jaggar, the kraken who represented the Wyr on the Elder tribunal, sat with the human witch Councillor, Archer Harrow. Jaggar was a dominant personality. One of the reasons why he and Dragos got along was that the kraken attended to his tribunal duties for the Wyr but otherwise spent most of his time offshore.

The Elven Councillor, Sidhiel, was also present, her pale blonde hair pulled into a classic chignon. Sidhiel was one of the ancient Elves, at least as old as Beluviel and Calondir and perhaps older. She watched the arena, her expression perfectly controlled and composed. She and Dragos loathed each other with the passion of those who remembered old grudges well. No doubt Sidhiel was staying at the Plaza, where the Elven demesne kept a suite. He wondered what she thought of Pia’s trip to Charleston.

He switched his attention back to the combatants. Elysias was limping badly as he turned to face his opponent of the day, one of the harpies. The pegasus was one of the most popular of the contestants, especially with the females. He had a kind of imperious beauty that somehow missed being feminine, and a ready, gleaming smile. His human form was lean and graceful, and his mahogany skin gleamed with sweat under the strong lights.

The gash in his thigh was long and deep, and it bled freely. His footing had slipped in the sand, which was an unfortunate mishap. The harpy had been all too quick to take advantage, and she struck at him hard and fast. The wound heralded the end to their battle. The harpy wouldn’t allow him any time to bind it, nor should she. Either Elysias would have to put the harpy down fast, or the bleeding would do him in.

The harpy wore a sharp, predatory grin. Since the contestants went into the arena without weapons, all they had to use in battle was what nature had given them, and nature had favored the predator Wyr prodigiously. She had shifted into her Wyr form, and her long sharp talons dripped with the pegasus’s blood. Her hair, wings and the short feathers on her powerful legs were a fiery red.

A harpy with a redhead’s temper. Dragos exhaled in a silent snort. Talk about overkill.

Legend said the skies tore when the harpies screamed into existence. He remembered that day well. The legends were correct.

The heavy, rich scent of blood tinged the air. Elysias wasn’t the first to have bled in the arena today. Many had sustained wounds of some sort, although thus far his five sentinels and Pia’s friend Quentin had remained unscathed.

Dragos breathed evenly. The dragon was close to the surface, angered that Pia was gone and constantly roused by the spectators from other demesnes or countries who were neither allies nor friends. It liked the blood and the violence, and it wanted to enter the arena, but it had no true opponent in this place. There would be no satisfactory battle for him to find here; he could only turn the arena into a slaughterhouse.

Once, the dragon would have enjoyed such a slaughter. Ancient memories moved deep in his thoughts like a subterranean tide. He was a more primitive creature without Pia. She had a clean decency that brought out the finer things in him. With her, he almost understood what it meant to be kind, and he had just barely begun to understand tenderness. As he had told her once, she was his best teacher.

In the arena, the harpy moved to make another strike, hands splayed wide with all ten talons extended like knives. They would be sharp enough to slice through metal. They could definitely cut through the pegasus’s bones if she struck him hard enough.

Elysias feinted, and when the harpy fell for the maneuver he surged forward on a burst of speed and power. With an immense leap he twisted and kicked out with his good leg. He threw the full weight of his body behind it, and as his heel connected, the crack of the harpy’s spine was sharply audible over the sound system. She shrieked in rage and pain. They both dropped to the ground.

Silence washed over the audience. When Elysias rolled to his knees and pushed to his feet, his struggle to get upright was evident. He must have torn his wound open even further with his last leap, for he couldn’t put any of his weight on that leg.

The harpy didn’t rise. Her back was broken, and she wouldn’t be able to stand upright for weeks. The fight was over. Elysias had pulled it out at the end and won.

The crowd roared, and medics ran out.

The door to the suite opened. Dragos turned away from the window as Graydon poked his head into the room. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”

“Yes, come in.” He said to Kris, “Take a break.”

“You got it,” said Kris, who shut his laptop, tucked it under his arm and left, no doubt to ignore what Dragos said and work elsewhere. His obsession for work was another reason Dragos paid him so well.

Graydon strolled in. He was the brawniest of the four gryphons, a good thirty pounds heavier than the others. In his human form he stood nearly six foot five, and all of it was hard, packed muscle. He took the ugly road to handsome, with a strong face that most often wore a good-natured expression, and rugged, slightly irregular features, sun-darkened skin and gray eyes. He kept his tawny hair no-nonsense short and his clothes plain, and somehow whenever drama plagued the occupants of Cuelebre Tower, he was nowhere to be found. That was a useful talent to have.

A couple of months ago, curious, Dragos had asked Pia, “Why do you have such a soft spot for Gray?”

She smiled, and the part of him that would always be selfish and acquisitive took jealous note of how her face softened whenever Graydon’s name was mentioned. “Because he’s got this bluff, gruff exterior, but underneath that he’s true, right down to the bottom of his soul.”

True, faithful. Loyal.

Unlike many other predator Wyr, including several of the other sentinels, Graydon often pulled his punches when he struck at someone else. He was well aware of his outsized strength. So far, Dragos had noticed, the gryphon was pulling his punches in the arena as well. With the intimacy of long acquaintance, he knew that Graydon would only hammer down when the occasion called for it.

Dragos frowned and turned toward the window again. Graydon joined him and looked out the window too. “I have every expectation that you will be one of the final seven again,” Dragos said. Graydon nodded without speaking, plain even in this. Dragos told him, “When Friday comes, I want to announce you as my First.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Graydon give him a quick look. After a few moments, Graydon said, “I suppose you know that Rune has been in the audience.”

He nodded.

“So you’ve talked?”

“No,” he said.

Graydon said, “I wish you both would get over this shit.”

That one sentence was the most any of the sentinels had said to him on the subject. He said, “Will you consider the position and let me know?”

The other male sighed. “When do you want me to get back to you?”

“Thursday evening would be fine.” Then, driven by an impulse he chose not to dissect, he said, “You keep in touch with Rune, don’t you? You all do.”

“Yep,” Graydon said. “Some of us are mad at him. Some are mad at you. Some of us are mad at both of you.”

Dragos rubbed his face. “Has he ever talked about what happened?”

“Nope. Far as I know, he hasn’t told anybody about it. Well, maybe he’s talked to his mate, Carling, but he hasn’t talked to any of us.”

There were different ways to manifest loyalty, Dragos thought. Maintaining silence was one of them.

As he considered the events of last summer, he thought he could see the cracks in Rune’s own behavior that had indicated the volatility of a Wyr in the early stages of mating. While Rune was known for his even temper, he had snarled at everyone when he had returned from Adriyel, even Dragos. Dragos remembered his own volatility when he was mating with Pia, and how he had nearly choked Rune to death over something that had been entirely innocuous.

How readily Rune had seen what was happening and forgiven him then. Fuck.

He gritted his teeth. Talking to Pia was so much easier.

He growled, “If you are inclined to take the position, you should consider. I was not easy on Rune. He bore the brunt of my temper often, and when he started to show strain, I did not take notice or change any part of what I did. When he asked for me to pause and listen to him, I did not. I issued orders.”

He had specifically ordered Rune to return to New York and abandon Carling, who had at that time been an ally to the Wyr. The Elder tribunal had put Carling under a kill order. While normally Dragos might have involved himself in the issue, last summer the Wyr demesne had been facing border tensions with the Elves, and had been too deeply entrenched in the Dark Fae problems for too long. Overextended, understaffed and short on political tolerance, he had decided, to use a fisherman’s term, to cut bait.

It had been the right decision, goddammit, and one Rune might have agreed with, if he hadn’t become so deeply invested in Carling. Hell, probably even Carling would have agreed with it. She knew the necessity of doing what was politically expedient in order to survive.

If Dragos had it to do all over with the same information he’d had at the time, he would make the same decision again. But it had been the right decision delivered badly, and he had not given Rune a chance to weigh in on the subject and change his mind. Then it had been Rune who had cut bait in favor of his mate.

Graydon’s thoughts must have followed in a similar vein, because he said, “You all went crazy when you mated. I may want a mate, but I don’t want to go crazy.”

Dragos smiled wryly. “I may remind you of that someday.”

“Yeah well.” Then the other male said, wistfully, “Don’t suppose you could tell Rune all this and apologize.”

“Things cannot return to what they were, Gray,” he said. “Even if I were to apologize—even if Rune apologized for his part in creating what happened—we cannot go back. Maybe we can find a new definition, but he will not ever be my First again. That time is done.”

“Well,” said Graydon. “Suppose I had to ask.” He sounded disappointed but not surprised. “Do you mind saying—why me?”

Dragos considered. “Because not only do I trust you but Pia does too. It matters to me that she loves you, and that you’re close to her. I want you to talk to her if you ever feel the need. I know she’s young, and she may not have experience with administrative shit, but she has more understanding and compassion for people than I will ever have. I think that may lend us a stability that Rune and I didn’t achieve in the end.” He smiled. “She won’t let me be too hard on you.”

His rugged face sober, Graydon said, “Thank you for telling me.”

Dragos nodded to him. “Let me know when you’ve decided.”

“I’ve decided,” Graydon told him. “I’ll do it.”

They talked for a few more moments, then the gryphon took his leave, and with that Dragos reached his limit on meaningful talks for the day. He needed out. Out of the crowded complex that was filled with so many vulnerable creatures and such a strong scent of blood. Out of the crowded city.

He left the building and launched into flight, and let the burn of the icy winter air take him until solitude gave him a measure of balance. He would stay in the air until darkness covered the land. Then he could hope to find peace with Pia, in a dream.

He supposed this was love. The thing of it was, he had seen examples of love that were twisted, small-minded and unhappy, so he wasn’t quite sure. The immensity of experience he had with Pia was so much more than that.

When they came together, he felt a deep knowledge in massive bones that were as old as the Earth. The knowing was a vibration that altered the fabric of his existence. It became the sound that mystics claimed was the absolute reality in the universe. Having never, ever embraced mysticism, he thought he must have gone more than a little mad.

She was his, his only true treasure and one possession, and part of what created that trueness was that she chose it too, and she claimed him, and he was hers. What existed between them was active and passionate and elemental, a hinge upon which everything else pivoted.

A Prime, indivisible. That pure, that strong, that essential.

Without this, he had nothing. Everything else might cease and pass away, but this one thing would never fail. And the rest of his life became as if seen through a glass, darkly.

Since he knew Pia’s true Name, bringing her into a dream was easy. Still, he took time with this one and worked to get the details right, brushing them into place with his mind like an artist putting the finishing touches on a painting. Then he cast it out, an invisible net woven with Power, and he went to sleep himself and waited.

Part of him marked the passing of time even as he drifted quietly. Then he felt her presence slide into the dream, and he came alert.

The setting was cool and quiet, and a light, delicate wind blew. He had recreated the subtle hues of night.

She was outside. The light, musical tinkle of bells danced through the air. “What the . . .” she said, sounding disoriented and puzzled. Then she laughed, and the sound was more beautiful than the bells.

He smiled, rose from the couch where he had been reclining and lifted the flap of the tent to look out.

Sand dunes rippled underneath the silvery cascade of moonlight. Several feet away from the tent a small oasis of water, little more than the size of a comfortably large hot tub, was surrounded by a collection of ferns and palm trees, which didn’t make any ecological sense, but still, the scene was pretty.

Pia stood on the path between the tent and the oasis, looking down at herself. Pleasure washed through Dragos. She was a symphony of the precious colors he loved the most, silver, ivory and gold, and those gorgeous sapphire eyes. Her loose hair rippled down her back, and the harem outfit he had devised for her to wear was skimpy in all the right places. Bracelets and anklets of tiny bells adorned her graceful wrists and ankles, and her slender, arched feet were bare.

She looked up, still laughing. “You made me look like a belly dancer . . . oh my. Oh, very much my.”

“What?” he said, strolling toward her with a slight smile. He was barefoot as well. He wore a simple linen robe that wrapped and belted at the waist, with thin cotton pants underneath. “The belly dancer outfit was my favorite part.”

“How very sheikh-ish you look.” Her face tilted up as he neared, and her midnight-colored eyes were wide.

He played with her jewelry, letting the dangling earrings slide over his fingers. The heavy, gold linked necklace at her neck was shamefully erotic. It highlighted the delicacy of her throat and collarbones, and evoked the concept of bondage. He said deeply, “You should wear jewelry more often.”

The bells at her wrist tinkled as she raised a hand and laid it at his chest where the robe parted. Her fingertips were cool on his bare skin, her hand unsteady, resting against him as light as a trembling butterfly. “It’s at times like this that I want to say something incredibly foolish,” she said. She sounded breathless.

He captured her fingers and brought them up to his lips. “Like what?”

She murmured, “Like I’ll wear anything you want me to, whenever you want.”

“I see nothing at all wrong with that statement.” He mouthed the words against her fingers.

She snickered. “Of course you don’t. And I’m not saying it. I’m only confessing to the impulse.”

He told her, “You should always tell me your foolish impulses so that I may take advantage of them.”

“That is not going to happen, your majesty,” she informed him. “The ones I do tell you are bad enough.” She looked down at herself and her voice grew mournful. “This outfit makes me look fat, doesn’t it?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he growled. He had started to bend down to her for a kiss, and he reared his head back to glare at her. Without a clever layering of clothing to hide it, her slender waist flowed gracefully out to a lightly rounded belly, and her breasts were lush and ripe, the creamy skin soft as a white peach. Everything inside him tightened at the sight. “You look utterly incredible.”

She swayed forward. He put an arm around her as she leaned against him, and his head came down over hers. He rested his cheek in her thick, soft hair, and for the first time that day the dragon’s constant, rogue urge to violence subsided. What it left behind was a deep, hungering ache. He wanted to drag her to the ground and ease his cock inside of her while she gripped him with her inner muscles and rocked him with her strong, supple body until he spilled everything he had into her. He was the hardiest of all creatures, but good gods, these dreams were going to kill him.

He slid a greedy, possessive hand down the front of her body to cup her rounded belly. A pang of disappointment lanced him as he realized the familiar, young bright spirit was absent. “I didn’t notice before,” he murmured. “The baby isn’t here.”

She tilted her head back, gaze darkening in ready sympathy. “I can sense him, but I guess he isn’t dreaming?”

He shook his head and shoved the disappointment away. “No.”

She rubbed his back. After a moment she asked, “How did . . . everything go today?”

He answered her real question. “Everybody is fine. All the sentinels and, yes, your friend have won through to the next round.”

“That’s good.” She searched his gaze. “Right?”

“Yes.” Suddenly the playful, pretty scene was no match for his darkening mood. Setting his teeth, he let go of her and turned away.

Silence fell between them. He gazed over the endless-seeming, empty desert with a scowl. When he heard tinkling and a splash, he looked over his shoulder. Pia sat by the edge of the oasis with her feet in the water, harem trousers rolled over her knees. She had taken off the anklets. She straightened one leg and lifted her pretty foot out, looked at it then let it fall with a splash back into the water.

Somehow she knew when not to push him. Yes, she was wiser sometimes than he would ever be. He walked over to ease down behind her until she sat between his legs, and when he put his arms around her again she leaned back with a sigh. The feel of her body in his arms felt maddeningly familiar and yet somehow incomplete. Damn these dreams, yet he would not go the week without them.

He said, “I asked Gray to be my First, and he said yes.”

She turned her head slightly. “That’s great news.”

He sighed. “We also talked a little about Rune and what happened last summer.”

She said gently, “That must have felt complicated.”

“It did.”

“I’m glad you finally talked to someone about it. Did it help?” She rubbed slender fingers soothingly along his forearms.

“Yes, actually, it did.” He pressed his mouth to the place where her neck met her shoulder. “How was your day?”

“Complicated too in its own way.” She reached behind her and cupped the back of his head, stroking his hair in a brief caress. “I like Beluviel, and she told me some things I didn’t know about my mom. That hurt, but it was kind of a good hurt, if that makes any sense. I think we really connected. She told me something interesting that may throw a monkey wrench into my visit. They’ve received word that an emissary from Numenlaur is coming to meet with them.”

Dragos raised his head. “Did they?”

She twisted to look over her shoulder, searching his expression. “Calondir has gone into Lirithriel Wood to get ready for their arrival. Have you ever heard of Numenlaurians visiting the U.S. before?”

“No.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “Are you sure that Beluviel said Calondir went into the Wood? She didn’t say that he crossed over to prepare for the emissary in their Other land?”

She frowned and scooted around until she could face him fully. “Yes, I’m sure. Why?”

“Do you remember how I once described Other lands like bodies of water, from small lakes to large oceans, with streams or rivers that sometimes linked them together?” She nodded, and he continued, “I know their Elven Other land is quite large, and I’ve suspected for some time that it has several connections, or crossovers, to Earth and to Other lands. I think they’ve had the ability to travel to and from places in Europe.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Stories of arrivals and departures,” he told her. “People disappearing and then reappearing in other places.”

She cocked her head. “Sometimes sudden appearances and disappearances can be explained when the Djinn are involved.”

“Yes, they can, but these accounts are different,” he told her. “Beluviel and Calondir were involved in rescuing Jews during World War Two. A few of the survivors described journeys that sounded like they traveled in an Other land until they suddenly arrived in America.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I’d like to learn more about that sometime, but what is the connection here?”

“I wonder how the emissary is traveling. I find it hard to imagine that members from an enclave community would travel from Europe on this side if they had any choice to travel in an Other land. If they are making the journey from the Other land, why would Calondir choose to host them in the Wood, here on this side? Why not host them on the other side of the crossover, where they would be more comfortable? The pieces don’t quite fit together in my mind.”

“Maybe I’ll get a chance to find out how they fit together,” Pia said. “Beluviel said that she and Calondir were originally from Numenlaur. I wonder why they left.”

“Do you remember, you also once asked me why Elves might not keep their word?” he asked. “You had said you’d never heard anything bad about their integrity.”

“Yes, we were just leaving Charleston after you got shot. You called my car a POS.” She frowned, thinking back. “You also said that every race has had its moments now and then, so I suppose that means the Elves had a moment.”

He played with her bracelet of bells. “They had more than their fair share of moments. They were responsible for one of the greatest wars in prehuman history.”

“Who did they fight?”

“Themselves. They fought until Elven blood ran over the land, and they finally drove themselves into a diaspora. Did you know that the Light Fae and the Dark Fae are children of the Elves?”

“I had no idea.” Pia watched him with a fascinated gaze. “I guess it makes sense since the similarities between the three races are pretty obvious. They’re all long lived, and magical in some way, and of course they all have the pointed ears. But there are some pretty obvious differences too.”

He said, “The Fae races came out of that original Elven diaspora. I believe their differences evolved because of their differences in environment. The Dark Fae are most often found in northern lands, with their pale skin, dark hair and affinity for metal. The Light Fae, with their brown skin, lighter hair, aversion to certain metals and a strong affinity to water, are most often found in more southern climates.”

“Then there are the Elves,” she said. “And they feel like no other creatures in the world. At least no other creatures that I’ve met.”

It was his turn to raise his eyebrows. For someone of her relative youth and inexperience, she had a remarkably refined sensitivity to creatures of Power. “Interesting. You sense a difference in how they feel?” She nodded. He told her, “You are correct. Their Power is different from any others. It’s elemental, literally.”

“What do you mean?”

“Their Power comes from the five elements—air, fire, water, wood and earth. Like the Wyr and many of the other Elder Races, the Elves grow in Power as they age. The ancient Elves can control weather, shift tides, cause landscapes to shift. In many ways the Earth was a different place before they warred with themselves.”

“That sounds terrifying,” she muttered.

“It was,” he said. “And I still have not forgiven them for it.”

A shudder ran through her, and she looked up at him. “Lirithriel Wood. Is it something they created?”

“I believe it is at least something they started,” he said. “It was born out of their Power and is combined with the magic of one of the strongest crossovers passageways in America. The Wood appears to have achieved a certain intelligence that is entirely wild and not necessarily safe.”

“I think it’s beautiful.”

“And I suppose it is that too.” He laced his fingers with hers.

She made a sudden moue. “That’s probably my segue into telling you that Beluviel invited me to their home in the Wood so that I can speak with Calondir.”

In an instant, his uneasy sense of peace and balance vaporized, and the dragon roared to the surface. He snapped, “Absolutely not.”

She froze, her mouth open, and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“I said no,” he growled. “You do not go deeper into the Elves’ territory. I have allowed you to go this far, but I will not allow that.”

She blinked several times. She said slowly, “So when Beluviel invited me, and since it is the only way I can speak to Calondir on this trip, I said yes. We leave first thing in the morning.”

“Pia, I said no, dammit!”

Her expression grew cold. “I heard what you dictated the first time,” she told him, shaping each word deliberately. “I chose not to respond right away so that you could have a moment to think about what you just said, and how you said it to me.”

He went nose to nose with her and hissed, “You will not disobey me on this. I forbid it. They are my enemy.”

She flinched but did not back away. “Yes, Dragos,” she said. “They are your enemy. They are not mine.”

He said between his teeth, “That is a foolish attitude. My enemies are yours. You are my mate—if you die, I die.”

“Just because our lives are linked together, I do not believe that makes the Elves my enemy too. When Beluviel made the invitation, she was clearly trying to help.” She pushed to her feet, and he rose too. She lifted her gaze, and the hurt, anger and disappointment in her eyes speared him. She said with quiet bite, “Now I am going to figure out how to wake myself up, and I’m going to turn off my phone. That should give you more time to think, because we have also had this conversation before. I am NOT your employee, NOR am I your servant, and I never promised to obey you. And what’s more, Dragos, you should not speak to your employees or your servants like that anyway. If what happened with Rune taught you anything, it should have taught you that.”

He sucked in a breath. Maybe to roar, or maybe to apologize. Not even he knew what he intended. Perhaps both. Whichever it was he was too late, for she turned away from him.

His mate turned away from him. As she did so, she faded from the dream.

The dragon woke up with a growl. He lunged to his feet, then glared at the bed.

It was so appallingly empty he took hold of one end and threw it against the wall.