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.