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?So how often are the kings supposed to report to the council?”
“Daily, but the Jamieson clique is somewhat remiss. Your king hasn’t done enough to warrant a reprimand, but he skirts the edge.”
“But that doesn’t explain why the council wouldn’t know the full truth about us draman.”
His smile was cold—though its harshness was not aimed at me. “Your king wouldn’t tell the council about the draman gaining full dragon powers simply because it is against council edicts to produce too many draman.”
“But if the council was watching the clique, they surely would have been aware of our numbers. Why not make a ruling that draman were not to be produced until numbers fell?” After all, in the air-dragon world, it was the male dragons who decided whether a female got pregnant or not. If they didn’t want all of us little half-breeds hanging about, then it was simply a matter of choosing not to be fertile with their human lovers.
When I actually thought about it, this suggested our king was breeding draman deliberately. But why, when he supposedly hated us?
“As I said, I doubt the council is aware of the true extent of draman numbers, although they know that the number of full dragons being born in the seaside cliques is falling. Maybe there’s a correlation.” He hesitated, then added, “But draman are answerable to the kings and council. Humans are not. Maybe they deemed it safer to allow higher draman numbers than human.”
If he thought humans weren’t answerable to the kings, then he hadn’t been to our clique. There wasn’t one human living there who would look sideways at our king without fearing some sort of reprisal, although most of them—my mother included—had been with the clique so long they saw nothing wrong with this. We stopped at a set of lights and I punched the button with more force than necessary. “So what is the council considering doing about the draman in the seaside cliques?”
He hesitated. “It’s an abnormality that should be explored—”
“And destroyed? Isn’t that the council’s usual modus operandi when it comes to anything threatening dragon culture?”
“Draman are a part of that culture—”
“We’ve never been a part of the culture,” I spat back. “And it’s people like you who have enforced it.”
The walk light flashed. I strode out ahead of him, suddenly not wanting to be near him. My fury was just too great—and while it wasn’t particularly aimed at him, he was a part of the mentality that had made growing up such hell for me.
The roar of an engine broke through the anger. It was loud and close. Too close. My heart skipped a beat and my breathing was momentarily frozen as I looked up. I saw the white car and the man inside. A man with blue eyes and an almost dreamy smile touching his thin lips.
And I knew, without a doubt, that he had recognized me—despite the skirt and the wig.
We hadn’t lost him. We’d just given him time to find a weapon.
And he was driving it right at me.
Chapter Seven
A hand wrapped around my waist and dragged me backward, into a body that was hard, strong, and burning with heat.
The car roared past inches from my toes, the tires squealing as the driver hit the gas, sending debris thudding into my bare legs and leaving a thick cloud of black fumes in his wake. The white car quickly disappeared into the traffic, leaving me shaking in shock and disbelief.
“Move,” Damon said, his grip sliding down to my elbow as he hustled me away.
He didn’t give me time to think or recover, but simply forced me forward, off the street and onto the sidewalk. Three seconds later, we were in a cab and heading God knows where. Which didn’t mean he hadn’t given the driver a destination, just that I’d been too shaken to hear it.
“Thank you,” I said, when I actually found enough air to speak.
He didn’t say anything—particularly not “I told you so”—but the anger practically rolled off him in waves. Oddly enough, it didn’t really feel as if that anger was aimed at me—which may have been wishful thinking on my part. And I was quite happy to continue the silence. It gave me a chance to settle my nerves and catch my breath more fully.
Eventually the cab stopped, and I realized we were back at the multistory garage where he kept his car.
“How do you think he recognized me?” I said as the cab zoomed off.
“I don’t know.” He glanced at me then. “Did he ever get close enough to smell you?”
“He was on the other side of the street—”
“Not then,” he said impatiently, grabbing my elbow again and hurrying me inside the garage. “In the house.”
I remembered Angus carrying me in; remembered the guard touching my hair and drawing in that breath before he’d yanked my head up. “Yes.”
