One look into Graydon’s darkened, sober gaze, and she could tell that he had already heard at least some version of what had happened.
She patted him on the chest in silent apology for rebuffing his hug, and he took her hand. He told her telepathically. Everyone else is downstairs, except for Alex, who drew the short straw, and Aryal, who went down to the construction site to try to find out how the accident occurred.
Unsurprised, she nodded. Whenever a situation was serious enough to call for the full strength of the sentinels, they always left one of them behind in New York to handle whatever might arise while the rest were gone.
The lawyers are here too?
His jaw tightened as he nodded. Them too. And I wasn’t sure what you meant by treasure, but I brought rough, uncut jewels and gold.
That’s fine, she said.
His rugged, weather-beaten face looked tight with worry. What do you need right now?
Steeling her spine, she told him, I need for the sentinels to find out where Dragos has gone. Just track him down. It’s important you keep your presence cloaked. Don’t approach him, and don’t try to talk to him. He took a blow to the head. He was bleeding profusely, and—and—Graydon, he’s not himself right now.
His hand tightened on hers. What do you mean? The stories we heard have been pretty confused. What really happened out there?
Cupping the back of Liam’s head, she met his gaze. I mean the only reason he didn’t kill me earlier was because Eva knocked me out of the way.
His eyes dilated in a quick reaction to her words. That’s impossible. He would die before he ever hurt you.
Of course he would, she snapped. Her mouth worked as she fought to keep her face from crumpling as Liam’s had earlier. If he remembered me, he would.
Graydon’s indrawn breath was sharp and audible. Okay, we’ll find him. I swear it.
Do it fast, she said tightly. There’s only so much I can heal. When Quentin and Aryal were so badly injured in the spring, I could help them, but only to a certain extent. Too much time had passed, and they both ended up scarred.
Also, much of her Wyr nature still remained a mystery to her. She had no idea if the healing properties in her blood would help Dragos’s mental state, or if she could only heal physical wounds.
That was assuming she could coax the dragon into letting her close enough to heal him. If Dragos had suffered some kind of traumatic amnesia, there was a possibility he might never recover his memories.
And he had snapped at her.
Snapped.
Closing her eyes, she tightened her jaw against the memory.
Wyr mated for life, but nobody fully understood why. It was a complicated process involving emotions, sexual attraction, timing and opportunity.
What if Dragos couldn’t remember that he was Lord of the Wyr? That she was his mate? What if he never remembered? Could he live as though he had never mated before?
The thought made her feel physically ill. Maybe he could. Maybe… theoretically, he could even fall in love and mate with someone else, but if that happened, where would that leave her?
That was the panic talking. Forcing herself to breathe evenly, she backed away from the hectic questions hurtling through her mind.
We won’t rest until we locate him, Graydon told her. He clenched her hand so hard, her fingers ached. If he’s that badly injured, he won’t have flown far.
I hope you’re right, she muttered.
As they fell silent, she pressed her lips against Liam’s forehead. If Dragos was her heart, this precious boy was her soul. She would do everything in her power to safeguard him, but she couldn’t protect him from what was happening to them now.
Keeping her voice calm and gentle, she said, “Peanut, my love, you have to be a big soldier now.”
Lifting his head from her shoulder, Liam looked at her with absolute trust in his eyes, and she thought, I cannot believe I am saying these horrible words to that small, sweet face. Swallowing the thought, she smiled at him. As he tried to smile back, the crazed animal inside of her wanted to howl and rip down the walls of the house.
Stroking Liam’s cheek, she told him, “You need to be good for Hugh and Eva, while I need to talk to some lawyers about some boring legal stuff.”
Boring things like power of attorney, and line of Wyr succession. Sorting out the legalities of inheritance had been high on their to-do list, but they had been so busy since Liam had been born in the spring, they hadn’t yet gotten to it, and immortality had a sneaky way of lulling one into a false sense of security.
If the absolute worst came to worst, Graydon would make an outstanding father and a steady regent in the Wyr demesne until Liam came of age.
But she had no intention of letting the worst happen.
“After I finish dealing with all of that,” she told Liam softly, “I’m going to go get Daddy back.”
Chapter Three
The dragon had a splitting headache, so he didn’t fly down immediately to kill the fool who approached from below. Instead he stretched out along a shelf of rock near the top of a low mountain and basked in the afternoon sunshine while he waited for the fool to hike to him.
After all, he could always slaughter the fool with a minimum of effort once she drew close enough.
He could tell she was female from the snatches of her scent that wafted toward him on the hot summer breeze.
He could tell she was a fool, because it had become clear some time ago that she climbed toward him, not by accident but with intent. She was a small, slender-looking creature, and alone, and he didn’t think she was armed with any weapons. And really, he couldn’t fathom why any lone person would approach him without weapons, so she had to be suicidal as well.
Her scent bothered him, and he shifted the bulk of his body restlessly as he drew in great breaths of air. Strange, feminine and evocative, it tugged at something deep inside. He could almost recall what kind of creature she was, almost grasp at a tantalizing something that lay just beyond his reach….
Each time he came close to it, the tantalizing something slipped away again.
She wasn’t Elven. He hated the Elves with a passion born of long-ago, shadowy memories of war. No Elf would approach him for any good reason, and if she had been Elven, blazing headache or no, he would have flown down from his perch and torn her to shreds for daring to encroach upon his space.
Flexing his talons at the murderous thoughts, he crawled forward to lap thirstily at the bubbling spring of cold water that ran down the steep mountainside beside his ledge. The spring was one of the reasons why he had chosen this place to rest. In this remote spot, the dragon had water, sunlight and a high vantage point to watch for enemies. He could rest here until his headache eased and his vision improved enough so he could hunt for food.
Windswept clouds danced overhead in the bright, aquamarine sky. It would almost be peaceful, except for the pain in his head and the nearing fool.
Who wasn’t Elven.
Who was, somehow, both like the dragon and yet dramatically unlike him at the same time.
As her scent grew nearer and stronger, it evoked images of cool, wild moonlight, a fantastic Power pouring over him like a benediction for the damned, and a sense of a unique treasure more precious than anything the dragon had ever seen before or comprehended.
So. That was more than reason enough to let the fool live for the moment. The dragon’s predatory thoughts wound like a serpent coiling on itself.