Light My Fire (11 page)

Rene stood with his hands on his hips as he surveyed
the wreckage of his taxi. A couple of nearby policemen
were directing traffic around it, while in the distance I
could see a tow truck making its way through the backup.
“The car is not important. My cousin will be angry, but
that is what the insurance is for, no? Do not derange your
self over it. You are certain you are not hurt?”

“Immortal, remember?” I said softly, calling out my
thanks to the serious young man as he and his lady friend
finished talking to another policeman. He and the girl walked over to matching motor scooters. “It takes more
than a little hit-and-run to do me in.”

“Oui,
but you can still be injured, as can Jim.”

Jim glared.

“Yes, you can talk,” I told the demon, “but keep it low.
I don’t need any more attention from the straight guys.”

“Meh. You worry too much about what other people
will think.” Jim ruined its disinterested tone by rubbing
its furry head on my leg. I knelt down and gave it a big hug, tears pricking my eyes in aftershock.

“Man, a little bang up, and she goes all girly,” Jim said,
giving my neck a quick swipe with its tongue. “I’ve seen
bunnies fiercer than you, oh mighty demon lord.”

“I’m sorry; I’m a girl. I’m strong, professional, and
capable of dealing with life on my own, but that doesn’t
mean I can’t indulge in a bit of happy tears now and
again. Do you think we can get another cab in this mess?
I’m late already, and Drake is going to kill me if I miss
this meeting.”

“It is important that you be there,” Rene said, spinning
around to examine the massive traffic jam. “Non. It is not possible here, but there”—he pointed to a pedestrian mall
that ran at right angles to us—“that is how you shall get
out. I will arrange for it.”

I have no idea what he said to get the serious young
motor-scooter guy and his friend to give Jim and me a lift,
but before I could think of any one of a thousand rational
reasons why I should not find myself perched on the back
of a scooter, Jim crushed between me and the driver as we
illegally zipped through a pedestrian-only area, we were
through it and on the road again.

“Thanks again,” I told the young man a few minutes
later, pushing a couple of pound coins into his hand. Jim shook itself, shot me a few looks to let me know it didn’t
appreciate the mode of transportation we’d been forced to take, marched over to a nearby shrub in a big cement urn,
and peed on it.

I waved off the couple with more thanks, smiled at a
doorman helping an elderly woman out of a taxi, and
sailed through the revolving door to the lobby of Lon
don’s famed Putnam Hotel just as if I wasn’t bloody, bat
tered, wrinkled, and missing one sandal.

“You are late,” a man’s voice growled at me as I limped up to the reception desk.

“Hello, Istvan. Nice to see you again. How’s life been
treating you?”

The red-haired dragon who was one of Drake’s two
ever-present bodyguards looked me over from the top of
my head down to my one bare foot.

“Better than you. You are hurt?”

“No, this isn’t my blood.”

Istvan nodded and turned to Jim. He said something in
a language I didn’t understand. Jim bared its teeth in an
swer. Without another word, Istvan turned and walked to
ward the elevators.

I smiled brightly at the people nearest us, all of whom
were gawking with unabashed curiosity.

“I’m a professional,” I muttered under my breath as we
followed Istvan to the bank of elevators. “I am a Guardian,
and a wyvern’s mate, and a demon lord. What other people think of me walking into a nice hotel covered in dirt,
blood, and powdered glass is immaterial.”

“Maybe, but I bet you’re turning a few eyes with the
tear up the back of your dress. Hot pink undies, eh?” Jim
said from behind me.

I hastily grabbed at the back of my dress, whirling
around so my butt was toward the elevators. Which, of
course, meant that I was staring out across the packed
lobby.

Everyone was staring back.

“Why can’t I ever go anywhere without being embarrassed, attacked, or confronted?” I asked as I backed into the
elevator.

Istvan shrugged as he punched a button. The couple next to him took one look at Jim and me and hastily
bailed out of the elevator.

“You are different from all others,” Istvan said, folding
his arms over his chest as he gave me a dark look. “You
should be happy you are wyvern’s mate.”

“I would be happier if I were a wyvern’s mate who
didn’t have a torn dress and a bunch of imps out for my
blood,” I answered, closing my eyes and trying to get
ahold of myself. I had to face Drake, and that took immense energy, even when we were in agreement about
life.

“What?” Istvan asked.

“Nothing.”

We were almost to the meeting area when Istvan let it
slip that Drake had brought along clothing for me (why, I
wasn’t ready to consider yet). Rather than make a fuss
over him pulling his usual arrogant crap, I allowed Istvan
to take me to Drake’s suite, quickly picked a new dress from the collection that hung in one of the closets, and
even sent a little mental thank-you that I wouldn’t have to
go before the entire sept grubby, disheveled, and torn.

The dragons had evidently booked a small theater for
their sept meeting. I had expected a few key players to
show up, but I was stunned by the mass of people milling
around, most streaming up and down the aisles looking for seats. At the bottom of the theater was a stage set up
with two tables, each with three microphones, flanking a
center podium.

“Good god. How many people are here?” I asked
Istvan as we stood in the doorway at the top of the the
ater. Long rows of steps led down to the stage. Most of
the lower seats had been filled and more and more people
pushed past us, some of whom stopped to look at us
briefly before they found seats.

“There are more than two hundred here today,” Istvan
said, giving me a none-too-gentle shove toward the steps
down. “You sit at bottom.”

“Hmm. Just how many green dragons are there altogether?” I asked, squeezing through clumps of people
clogging the aisle.

“Two hundred and thirty-one.”

“Wow. So few. I thought there would be thousands of
you. So almost everyone came to this meeting? Is it that
big of a deal?”

“Yes,” Istvan said, snarling something at a group of
people that had their backs to us. They hurriedly parted
and allowed us through.

“I wonder if Drake needs an MC,” Jim said, marching
beside me as I made my way down the stairs. “I used to do roasts for one of my previous masters, and everyone
had a great time. I was particularly known for my bril
liance in mimicry. Oh, look, there’s Pal.”

I waved at the second (and much friendlier) of Drake’s
two bodyguards, pausing to look at Jim. “One of your previous masters? You had a demon lord other than Amaymon?”

“Huh? Where’d you get that idea?”

Jim marched on, ignoring my obvious curiosity.

“From—pardon me, sir, I didn’t see your elbow—
from you, you annoying little demon. You just said you used to do roasts for one of your previous masters. Who
was your other demon lord?”

Jim didn’t answer, just kept hopping down the steps. I
grabbed its collar right before we were at the bottom.
“Jim, I order you to answer me—who else was your
demon lord?”

“No one,” it answered, its eyes avoiding mine. “You
going to stand there choking me until I hack up a hairball like a cat, or are we going to go get one of the good seats
up front, next to the podium?”

“No, you’re going to . ..” The words dried up on my
lips as Drake emerged from behind the curtained wings.
He stepped out onto the stage and with a typically Drake
possessive manner, began to scan the crowd. By the time
his attention had focused on my side of the room—and
me specifically—all thoughts of threatening Jim had
melted away.

“Say what you will about the man, he has a hell of a
presence,” I whispered to Jim.

“Yeah. And an ass you could bounce bricks off of,”
Jim whispered back. When I widened my eyes at him, he
coughed and added, “Well, that’s what you said before
you dumped him for the umpteenth time!”

“Remind me to order you to wipe your memory each
night.” I watched as Drake walked across the stage to the small flight of stairs that led to the theater floor. The way
he walked should be outlawed—all sinuous, sleek power,
more like he was a panther than a dragon. Yes, it helped that I knew well just how fabulous his human form was, but even fully clothed he was gorgeous. Today he wore
black—or what I thought was black until he got close enough for me to see the material of his shirt and pants.
The shirt he wore opened at the collar, a beautiful silky
creation that had my hands twitching with the need to
touch it.

“Mate,” he said, stopping in front of me, nodding
briefly to Istvan. “You wore the clothing I bought for
you.”

“She was in accident,” Istvan said, surprising me. It
wasn’t like him to make an excuse for me. “She was very
dirty and bloody.”

Drake’s green-eyed gaze narrowed on me as he exam
ined me. “I see no injuries. You were not hurt?”

“The idiot driver didn’t hurt us, no,” I said, carefully
skirting the issue of the incident in Paris. I needed time to
mull over exactly what had happened before I decided what steps to take. Unable to stop myself, I touched the
material of his shirt sleeve. “That’s a lovely shirt. I
thought it was black, but it’s a shadowed pattern of very
dark green, isn’t it? Oh. It’s
...
is that moving?”

I watched in disbelief as the vaguely discernable pat
tern in the shirt seemed to shift and rearrange itself within
the cloth.

“Yes. It is dragonweave. It is worn by only the most
powerful members of the sept. I have a dress made from
it for you. You’re late, but if you were in an accident, I
will allow the insult to pass without punishment.”

“Thanks; it wasn’t exactly my choice of ways to start
the day, either,” I said, hackling up a bit at his high
handed attitude. Why had I ever thought Drake could
change? It was obvious he was set in an unyielding mind
set of arrogance, dominance, and all-purpose dragon-
knows-best. To expect him to compromise in a relationship
was .. . well, it just wasn’t awfully realistic.

“Hi, Drake. I’m here, too, in case you didn’t notice. I
wasn’t hurt in the accident, either, although Rene was for
a bit, but then he healed himself. Can I have a collar made
of dragonweave?”

“No,” Drake said, waving a hand toward the stage.

I sighed an inner sigh at having to take my place on the
stage, where more than two hundred dragons would have
me in their sights, but reminded myself that I had agreed
to be his mate, and that meant I had to take my place at
his side for formal functions such as this.