Dragos’s eyelids lowered over his hot gold gaze, hiding their expression. “I’ll take that drink after all,” he said suddenly. “While you tell me why you’re here.”
“We’re looking to relocate,” Sid said, while Morgan fought a battle with his temper. “I’m no longer human since I’ve been kidnapped, Morgan’s no longer bound to Isabeau, and we have… how many is it now? Eighteen lycanthropes who used to be Isabeau’s Hounds who need jobs and homes. This is my old apartment. It won’t do—we’re not all going to fit…”
Her lame attempt at a joke went over like a lead balloon as the two men glared at each other. Taking the scotch bottle, Dragos tipped it over the empty glass waiting on the table. Taking the glass, he drained it and set it back down.
He said to Morgan, “You endangered my mate and unborn son back in Hollywood.”
“Under Isabeau’s compulsion,” Morgan replied tightly.
“Yes, I saw that was the truth.” Dragos crossed his arms, and his stance relaxed. “Okay, I’ll let it go.”
Morgan shot a look at Sid that still sparked with temper, but, she saw, it was less than it had been before. He gave the Wyr Lord a nod. “That’s good to know.”
Dragos considered them, gold eyes narrowed. “Tell me why I should let lycanthropy into my back yard. It’s a communicable disease.”
“Yes, it is.” Morgan nodded. “But it’s a treatable one, if the victim who was bitten gets medical treatment right away. My Hounds are decent men. You can interview each one, if you like, and I’ll personally vouch for every one of them. And none of us go into a mindless frenzy at the full moon. I can’t say we won’t defend ourselves if we’re attacked for some reason, but we’ll take full responsibility for cleaning the situation up—and we won’t spread the lycanthropy virus. I give you my word.”
Sid’s new truthsense was just a baby bud on the vine, but even she heard the rock-solid sincerity in Morgan’s voice. She smiled to herself. That sincerity had gotten her through the darkest time in her life.
“Say I accept your word on that particular issue,” Dragos said as he considered each of them. “You’re not Wyr, but you shapeshift, and you’re very dangerous. You can live in my demesne if you swear fealty to me and live by Wyr laws. The same goes for any of your Hounds that wish to relocate. Those are my terms.”
Sid felt compelled to speak up. “We owe fealty to one of the gods. Will that interfere?”
Dragos shook his head. “As long as your god doesn’t cause you to break any civil laws, your fealty is no different from a dozen different religious practices scattered throughout New York.”
She exchanged a glance with Morgan, who gave her a slight, private smile. He turned his attention to Dragos. “Agreed. We’ll accept your terms.”
A corner of Dragos’s ruthless mouth lifted. “I think it could be very useful to have a sorcerer of your Power and skill owe me fealty.”
Morgan narrowed his eyes and smiled. He countered, “I think it might be useful to have a dragon owe me a favor or two.”
Dragos inclined his head and strode for the door. Just before exiting the apartment, he stopped and turned back. In that brusque manner of his, he said, “I visited at Isabeau’s court a long time ago. It was before you were there.”
“Yes, she spoke of it once or twice,” Morgan replied with a frown.
Dragos tilted his head. “I’m curious, what did she say? Did she ever tell you why I was there?”
Raising his eyebrows, Morgan replied readily enough. “She was convinced you wanted a Powerful artifact she had in her possession, called Azrael’s Athame. She later used it to cast her geas on me. She said she always kept it hidden the times you were at court, but I don’t know where. She would never reveal her hiding places to me. By the time she captured me, she had become obsessed with the fear of losing it, or it being stolen, so she ordered me to make a gold chain that was unbreakable. Whenever I was at court, she wore the Athame on the chain. I don’t know what she did with it when I was absent.”
Dragos’s eyelids lowered, hiding the expression in his gaze. “Whatever happened to that artifact, do you know?”
Morgan smile held a wealth of satisfaction. “It has gone back to its original owner.”
“I see.”
With that, the Wyr Lord nodded to Sid and let himself out.
It was as if a fierce desert sun had gone behind clouds. The apartment seemed much cooler and bigger than it had before.
Morgan swung around to face her, his expression filling with concern. “If I’d had any idea he would pull that stunt, I would never have met with him near you.”
“Forget it,” she muttered absently, her mind already on other things. “He was rude and invasive, but if you had done something that endangered his mate and baby, I’m not sure I blame him. He went straight for the weak spot in the room—me—and took what he needed to make sure you were on the up and up. Besides, you stopped him quickly enough.” She frowned. “This might sound odd, Morgan, but I… I think he looks…”
His expression had eased as he listened to her. Rubbing her arms, he asked, “You think he looks, what?”
“I think he looks a lot like Azrael,” she muttered. “It’s hard to remember exactly. But he has gold eyes, of course, and Azrael has green.”
“It’s not so hard for me to imagine the dragon and Death might be connected,” Morgan said dryly. “In any case, I’m glad to have that meeting behind me. Behind us.”
She stepped closer so she could lean against him and tuck her nose in her favorite spot, at the hollow where his neck met his shoulder. “Mmm,” she said. “What do you want to do now?”
He pressed his lips to her temple. She could hear the smile in his voice as he murmured, “There’s so much beauty in the world. What do you think about doing a little sightseeing?”
Breathing deeply, she took in his scent while delight at their future unfurled inside her like a flower. “I think that sounds absolutely perfect.”