TDWP: The Lady and Her Dragons Ch. 7
Cruella had been around animals, but only in certain circumstances. As a young girl, she enjoyed riding horses, had visited zoos and museums. She had even gone camping once or twice as part of that common ritual of growing up that everyone had. She had contemplated big game hunting, but was not enamored of the outdoors enough to spend weeks at the task.
She had never, however, been to an award function involving animals. She did not see the point. Nor did she know what to expect. Despite intentions to research the matter, time had flown by and the details of her life, which had grown infinitely more interesting than worrying about dogs and their show, had taken over. She had, however, dressed specifically for the occasion.
She had chosen red, a bright, potent pure essence of the color shaded towards cherry rather than orange, as her main theme. She had intended to wear the power suit, a crisp bolero jacket and pencil skirt that clung to her hips, to a later event, but thought it might boost her mood while she faced this new thing. The jacket's shoulders were sharp and pointed at the edge, as if she wore a soft form of armor. The cuffs ended mid-forearm. The red was lined and accentuated with midnight black; black silk low-cut blouse, which emphasized ample attributes without revealing them, shiny black belt with a silver buckle, black buttons, black and red 4 inch heels. Her earrings and the necklace shaped with sharp triangles reminiscent of animal teeth were white gold and ruby. She eschewed rings, in favor of red gloves tipped by silver claws. The final touch was the coat, a form hugging red and black long hair faux-fur that dropped all the way down to her ankles. It swished sensually with every movement and was deliciously comfortable in the winter chill. She had debated what to do with her hair, knowing that it was a signature look by color alone. She had been tempted to flatten and roll it, but opted to let it fan out for an appearance of natural wildness that complimented the look. She chose a luscious ruby lipstick and an accentuating color for her eyes, going dark with the liner. She almost did not need the color, as she had coloration that was favorable to the hue.
During the car ride she had opened and closed her cell phone in rapid clicks, telling herself that she did not need to call Andy until after the show. They already had a standing appointment for later that night. She let her mind flicker over the thought that Miranda might be there too, and her heart skipped beats. It had only been a day since their conversation and Cruella's whole reality had changed. She did not worry if Miranda would keep her promise. She worried what the "need" to talk might portend and that the other Dragon might choose to continue to deny the bond. If that was an option for Miranda, life would become excruciating for Cruella. It was already hard enough with the daily torments; flashes of eroticism that threatened to toss her over the edge completely. She held on, however, clinging to the inner strength which had helped her to build her own small empire. She was willing to deal with the pain, if it meant that she could hear the editor's voice again. That she knew all too well.
The car glided to a stop and Ben got out of the car. She did not know which Ben it was, as both drivers responded to the name and she had not been given another one to call them by. She had finally figured out which species they were and, upon that realization, had come to the conclusion that they must be very young. Either that, or midgets. Most of their kind were gargantuan and prone to staying in one place for long spans of time.
The stone giant carefully opened her door. Cruella swiveled in her seat, placed both feet on the ground, stood and began pacing towards her destination. They were early, as required, but she was impressed with the crowd that lined the street waiting to get into the stadium, and she was at a back entrance, one used for the incoming contestants and the guests of the show. She heard cheers and saw flashes of cameras, not directed at herself, but at the owners and their animals that trotted in and out of the entryway. It was odd and pleasant, so she allowed herself to take in the ambiance of it with genteel curiosity.
It was also ordered chaos when she finally entered. She heard gasps of recognition, but no one assaulted her. Since she was not the center of attention, she had freedom of movement to observe. The dogs were surprisingly well mannered, even with the excitement. The people were perhaps a little less so, as the aura of anxiety and hope permeated what Cruella immediately thought of as the dressing area. She had not ever thought she'd witness so many hair dryers and decorative accoutrement's outside of a fashion show. As she walked through the aisles, she was treated with a distant and distracted respect. It wasn't just the effect of Ben's presence. She was expected and a guest and they treated her as such. The more she observed, the more she was aware that these people needed room to work. It was very fascinating and unexpected.
A man dressed in a tuxedo hurried in her direction, not quite bowing and scraping, but anxious to assist. She was reminded that she was scheduled to participate in the opening ceremonies. The thought made her anxious, but only in a normal kind of way. She was used to giving speeches, except they were more often of a fashion bent. He smiled at her nervously and made an offer that she felt she should not refuse. "Would you be willing to take a photo with last year's winner? We are preparing a very short session now and your arrival is timely."
She allowed a smile to grace her lips, "Of course." She did not mention that the PR representative had strongly encouraged her to cooperate with just that sort of detail. As Cruella glanced with practiced ease around the dressing area, she considered that she might have done it anyway.
She took off her outer coat as the man led her to a small dais, handing it to Ben, who took it with surprising grace and folded it over his massive forearm. She stepped onto the platform and awaited direction. She glanced briefly at the owner of a well groomed spaniel. The owner managed to pull their attention away and focus on their dog, who appeared to be waiting with a great stillness. The photographer then began the choreography. This was something Cruella had some familiarity with, and she settled into easy motions of required press smiles and invasion of space.
It wasn't until the photographer wished her to a position nearer to the ground and the dog that Cruella hesitated. "Are you very sure?"
The owner was gracious, "You are probably aware that most dogs like an introduction first," he began. Cruella did not correct him, merely listened. "Daelyn is very used to strangers touching her. She won't bite or growl."
"Does it take very long to introduce someone?"
The gentleman offered his first sincere smile. "No. Would you like to meet Daelyn Grace Kelly?"
"Yes, please."
"If you'll extend your hand, palm forward, just under her nose. Dogs get to know people by scent, more than anything. They can't see certain colors. For instance, the red you're wearing, which by the way is spectacular, translates as grey."
"She's color blind? Poor thing." Cruella extended her hand carefully, but without undo trepidation. She was, after all, a dragon and much higher up the chain of predators.
"For them, scent is their color."
"Remarkable."
Daelyn sniffed Cruella's hand, then partially buried her nose in the woman's palm. She then looked expectantly at her owner. "She's open to the idea of you petting her, if you'd like."
"Petting," Cruella murmured. Then, very carefully, she stroked the dog's snout, then ear and neck. The animal leaned into the touch. "Charming."
"She can be." Daelyn's friend said. "She's a very good girl."
Daelyn spoke, a playful yip of pleasure that wasn't too high, nor too loud.
Cruella then took the position that the photographer had asked for. Daelyn, now a little more comfortable with the scenario, pressed in closely and licked the surprised fashionista on the cheek. That was the first shot the photographer got. Then he took a few more and, eyes sparkling, asked if Cruella was open to a few shots with another kind of dog.
Bearing in mind the PR lecture, and not feeling quite as displaced as she expected, the designer said, "Of course." Then she thanked both Daelyn and the owner, who looked remarkably pleased with Cruella.
Cruella waited patiently, while the photographer had the tuxedoed man find suitable animals. This gave her time to observe her surroundings more. Outside of this small photography space, the room was large, somewhat industrial in scope and appearance, and bustling with people. She eyed both animals and people, remembering the adage that some owners looked like their animal. She did not find that necessarily to be true. She did note how very well groomed and dressed the competitors were. Everyone, save perhaps for harried assistants and companions, were in their highest form. Cruella experienced a deep appreciation in that. She was reminded the secret few knew, which was that one could not truly love fur without first admiring and understanding the animals that wore them.
It did not take very long for volunteers to arrive at the photography staging area. Exhibitors and their dogs waited patiently for their turn. Cruella insisted on being introduced properly to every animal she met, even the more excitable ones. It was, she found, a winning strategy.
In this way she got to know several animals, including an Afghan hound, a Terrier, a Bulldog, and a Chinese crested, which she found quite remarkable for its near hairlessness. It was like a tiny entertaining bald man, only hairier. She felt herself to be doing quite well because of the successes so far.
Then she realized the photographer's plot, as a dalmatian was escorted up the small step by a tiny, smiling woman. "I hope you don't mind," she said. "But frankly, Nero and I couldn't resist. He loves your song."
"He does?" The designer forced herself to remain pleasant, as she knew only one song that was at all aimed at herself.
"Oh yes. Watch." The woman hummed a few bars of the song from the game, and Cruella's eyes widened as the dalmatian started to "sing" along. It left her somewhat speechless.
The tiny woman caught her consternation, "Oh, he doesn't mean anything by it, of course. It's the tune."
Cruella's brows were raised, "I understand that Dalmatians are a very... playful breed." She might not have done a lot of research on the dog show, but she had looked up dalmatians. Once. As an act of survival. She had never thought to meet one in person, however.
The tiny woman smiled indulgently. "They sure are. Would you care to be introduced?"
The fashion designer considered, then smiled, a little more warmly than she might have a half-hour earlier, and said, "Of course."
"Nero, this is De Vil."
Cruella extended her hand and the dog leaned in and gave her a good whiff. He spent some time doing so, and she imagined it must be partly because of all the other dogs she'd gotten to know. She realized she was somewhat glad to have her gloves on, now that she thought about it. Then, the dalmatian sat back on its haunches and lolled his tongue at her in a doggy grin.
Credentials established, Cruella cocked her head at the photographer who gave her a cheerful grin, a thumbs up and a verbal prompt. In this, she was more than willing to be directed. In fact, it was essential.
Still, as she knelt and felt the Dalmatian's friendly kiss on her ear, she couldn't help the toothy grin in return. Andy, she thought to herself, had been right. She was having much more fun than she expected. The photographer's flash caught that Draconian smile perfectly.
-TDWP-
Cruella had not been sure what to expect when she got up onto the judge's stage. She half-thought that there might be balloons of paint lobbed in her direction. She had not predicted the great, forceful cheer of enthusiasm from the audience. She had raised her hand in an astonished wave, only to receive more adulation. It was exhilarating and utterly confusing.
Still, she managed to say her few graceful words of welcome to those who were attending and then gave way to the those who would be doing the majority of the announcing. She took a comfortable seat on the dais, crossed her legs elegantly, and raptly watched as trainers and dogs were put through their paces, judges made arcane assessments, and audiences cheered on their favorites. She rooted for those she had made acquaintance with, but found herself enjoying the process much more than she ever would have guessed.
-TDWP-
She couldn't wait for Andrea's call. Cruella had too much to share. As soon as it was over and she was safely bundled in the car, she rang.
The young woman was, as always, prompt. She picked up after only two rings. "Hey. I thought I might hear from you." Andrea sounded pleased and happy.
"Andy, I have so many ideas!" Cruella enthused, dropping into the conversation as if they'd been having it all along. "The show was invigorating." Cruella settled comfortably into her seat and started sharing the details with the American with warm enthusiasm, including the photography session. Andy listened intently, now and then prompting with a question, until the excited designer wound down. "Afghans alone provide brilliant inspirations for a coat. Gorgeous sheen and cut. Of course, maintenance would be a high calling, but I can see their beauty."
Then the young woman said, "Sounds like you can hardly wait to get to the drawing board."
"True enough, darling. Now I wish I'd thought to bring a sketchbook with me. I am so out of the habit these days. There was a time I never left home without one."
"Did you ever draw things that weren't clothing?"
"Of course, darling. How else does one learn how fabric falls, or what would make a good bone button, or what colors to use? A designer must always pay attention to the details." Even though it was dark and the car was gliding along smoothly, the Dragon had the sense of something being off.
"Ben, take a different road." The giant, obedient to the command, eased onto a new street. Cruella chanced a glance behind. She spotted a sleek black sport vehicle. It seemed familiar. "How interesting."
"What is?" The journalist inquired. "The only problem with these calls, is that one can't see anything on the other side."
"True enough, Andy." Cruella said as she glanced back, again, "I think I'm being followed."
"That does it, I'm getting an iPhone. Cruella, don't get off this line."
"I have no intention of doing so. However, I also have no desire to chased around town either. It's much too late to play that kind of game. Ben, pull over at that pub, if you would please. We'll be going in."
"I'd feel better if you were pulling over at a police station."
"Where would be the fun in that? Besides, I know who it is. Reginald." Cruella's exhale was filled with long suffering.
"Who is Reginald?"
"Is that jealousy?"
"What? No. Of course not. I don't... It's concern, that's all."
Cruella hummed, then explained. "He is Lord Buckley and a thorn in my side. He wants to... get to know me better. That's a euphemism." She did not say that his intentions were far less savory.
"Don't hang up." Cruella felt a pulse of concern radiate from the journalist.
"I shan't. Ben is opening my door, however, and I need to get situated. Hold on."
As promised, it only took a few moments. She chose not to stand by the car, even though she was very aware that the other vehicle had also stopped and parked, and walked straight into the pub.
It was lit, but not overly so. She was aware of heads turning to look and then look again, before going back about their business. She put on her sternest glare and assumed a haughty stance. She waited until a barmaid drew close. "Something visible and facing the door, if you don't mind."
Soon she was seated, waiting. She lifted the phone to her ear. "Are you still with me, Andy?"
"She is nearby. This is Miranda."
Cruella's breath caught. "Oh. How unexpected."
"I thought perhaps you might need... back up."
Cruella considered and watched the door. She sucked in a breath when the Dragon Lord stepped into the pub. "Oh, he is smelling unusually good." Her gaze narrowed. "He's ... glowing."
"Glowing?"
"I don't have another word for it. Glamor, I think. It's," Cruella felt her mouth begin to water, "surprisingly potent. He's... very pretty right now."
"Is he?" Miranda's voice was stern, as if she were thinking quickly. "Focus on my voice, Cruella. Is any other female responding to his presence as you are?"
The designer found it difficult to tear her gaze away from the Lord's stunning presence. He hadn't spotted her yet, which was fortunate and gave her some strength. She glanced around. The answer, at its most basic, was yes. Almost every female and a couple of the males, had turned to see the entrance of Reginald.
The barmaid when up to greet him, suddenly all smiles. "Miranda," she shivered. "They can't take their eyes off of him. I see two other dragons and they're both...responding. The scent of him ...I should have told you, when we talked. I didn't expect him to play this dirty. He was going to wait for the ball, I thought."
"Told me what, Cruella?"
"I am not a virgin." It was a non-sequitor, but not really. "But I have never flown." A Dragon would know what that means.
"My god." There was a growl behind the words. "I should never have left you alone so long."
"And when, exactly, would you have been able to come get me?" Cruella snapped. Her fingers tugged at a button of her blouse, played with it. Undid it, allowing her blouse to flare a little more. She felt wanton urges flowering within and tried to resist them. "I am well aware that there have been, and still are, circumstances that must be taken into consideration."
"None of them your fault."
"I am aware. Damn it." She hissed a breath. Her hands trailed to the next button. She forced her hand down, onto the table. Dug her gloved hands, claws in, to keep it there. "She's leading him here."
"Do you have a headset for your cellphone, Cruella?" Miranda asked. "Preferably wireless?"
"Yes." Cruella answered. "It is already in my other ear actually. I usually prefer to speak to Andy directly. I was just in a hurry earlier and hadn't switched over yet."
"Good, switch to the headset. Be obvious about closing the phone. Try to avoid answering me directly as much as possible. We do not want him to 'suggest' for you to continue our conversation later."
Once more, Cruella tore her senses away from the approaching Lord. She focused on unobtrusively bringing her hand up to activate the bluetooth headset in her other ear, then placed her phone inside the pocket of her coat.
"Stay seated. Don't take anything from him, Cruella."
"Easy to say no, now, Miranda." Cruella snapped through gritted teeth as Reginald drew closer and the effect of whatever spell or glamour he was using became stronger. She gripped the edge of the table with both hands, so tightly that she felt the wood giving way beneath her claws. "Ben, stand in front of me. Don't let me go anywhere."
"Good call. Ben is not affected?"
"He's a giant," the designer offered in explanation. Just to confirm, though, Cruella snuck a glance up at her driver. He was stone-faced. His arms creaked as he folded them together in a classic bodyguard's pose. He blocked her way out, and due to his size, he blocked the other seat too. If she'd been able, she would have sighed in relief.
The barmaid led Reginald directly to Cruella's table and looked up at Ben, briefly, with a puzzled gaze. "Your guest is here," the woman said.
Reginald's smile was that of a predator. "Thank you, miss. You may go."
His temporary escort made a sound of disappointment. She looked as if she might linger, but he pushed her away. She didn't even cry out as she stumbled. Her gaze stayed on him the whole time she backed away.
Cruella tried not to breathe through her nose. It didn't help. Her vision was swimming. Then she heard, "Is he there?"
Miranda had carefully pitched her tone in a way that would ensnare the younger Dragon's confused senses, as only a mate or a potential mate that was another Dragon could. It pierced the fog of arousal that was beginning to surround Cruella and because she actually wanted the editor as a potential suitor, her words provided counterbalance to Reginald's undue influence. Cruella was able to answer her, in a roundabout way. "Lord Buckley. What brings you here?"
"Keep talking. Andy has made a call. Help is on the way."
"I saw you walking into this," he glanced about and looked unimpressed. "...establishment and couldn't resist following. I thought, there must be something special here. And look, here you are."
"Charming."
He glanced meaningfully at Ben. "Aren't you going to invite me to sit."
"Yes." The word slipped out without volition. "Shit."
"Now, that's not nice." The grin turned vulpine. "I'm sure we'll have plenty to talk about." He glanced up at her guard. "Move."
Ben did not. In fact, he took a step into Reginald's space. The Lord backed up. "Cruella, call off this... thing."
"I can't." She wasn't sure if she was talking to Miranda or Reginald.
"It is okay to say no to him. Even if he smells good," Miranda's voice was gentle, cajoling. "He has no right to you." The growl came out again and tied to a warm space in Cruella's belly.
"Why didn't you ever call?" She knew the answer. She had always known the answer.
Since he could not sit down, Reginald leaned against the seat, gave her a cocky smile. "Oh. You're right. I should have called first. I was simply afraid that you wouldn't answer. After all, we did not part on the best of terms, did we?"
"I couldn't," Miranda was replying. "I wanted to. So often. You have no idea."
A phone rang. Cruella was dimly aware of it. She found herself replying. "I'm afraid I was already in a very bad mood when you arrived Reginald." She couldn't stop her voice from flirting with his name. She shivered against it, tried to think of something that would break the compelling. A mere flick of the fingers would not do it. He had come into the pub fully armed.
-TDWP-
"Ben? Ben, this is Andy. You've heard of me, right. Alonzo patched me through. I hope that's okay. He's getting help. Where are you?"
"Gaffney Pub, Miss." The giant replied.
"Listen carefully. Cruella can't fend for herself right now. She's... under some kind of influence. You have to help her. Keep her safe. The guy who is there is bad news. I don't know him, but he's got her wound up wrong. Protect her at all costs. Don't let her go with him. She may try to hurt you. Don't let it stop you. If it comes to it, carry her out. But if you can, just keep her there until help arrives."
"I will."
"Good. I'd make you stay on the line, but you have a job to do. Protect Cruella."
"Yes."
"Good man."
-TDWP-
The double conversation was becoming confusing, but she managed it. What Reginald oozed in conversation, Miranda would balance either with calmness, an eroticism of her own, or a remark that cut Reginald's apart. Cruella could see that Lord Buckley was growing tired of the verbal interplay and her own ability to stream her thoughts into coherent replies was waning. She knew that time was running out and he was waiting for the right moment to strike.
"Where is your drink, Cruella?" Reginald finally asked. "Surely they would have brought it now."
If she had thought to order, they might have. The serving girl swung by four times, but Reginald kept sending her away. The other affected Dragons had already made their escape. She had known it was not easy for them and could not blame them in the least.
She felt hot, warm enough that she had wanted to take off her coat, but Miranda had stayed her hand with a few words. She had already unbuttoned two more buttons on her blouse, to alleviate the heat. Reginald had made no bones about ogling.
"I'm afraid I haven't had a chance to order," she replied breathlessly. A part of her wanted to crawl upon the table and curl around the male in front of her, but the giant had put his large forearm in front of her. His palm had made a huge indentation, where it had settled abruptly and firmly.
"Oh, forgive me. I should have realized." Reginald's smile broadened and Cruella felt her stomach fall. "Perhaps, if you don't think I am too bold..."
"Look for a clock, Cruella." Miranda spoke very firmly, there was a push at her back, as if the Dragon were really there. "Just look. You don't have to say anything yet."
Looking meant pulling her gaze away from the beauty in front of her. It cost her terribly, and it took forever for her to even slide her gaze up and towards a wall somewhere; any wall. No clock on that wall. She slid her gaze around the room in desperate slowness, but it kept returning to Reginald. She hummed.
"It's okay," The editor said, "Just say what I tell you to. Forgive me for interrupting, Reginald..."
Cruella forced the words out of her mouth and it came out sounding choppy and strange, "Forgive me for interrupting, Reginald. I only meant for this to be a short stop. I have an appointment."
"An appointment?"
"With the editor from Runway, London? You have heard of it? It's very important that I go see her." She was starting to sound more normal, more confident.
"You could reschedule."
"I could reschedule?"
"Of course you can. Everyone understands the need to reschedule."
"This meeting is at the behest of the editor of Runway, America. No one reschedules on Miranda Priestly unless they themselves are already dead."
"Oh surely not," Reginald scoffed. "No one is that important." He smiled again, eyes gleaming. "She's not that important," he said very softly. His hand moved in a wave. "She is not the one you want to be with."
Even with that sharp and dreadful compulsion, he could not even begin to compete with twenty plus years of longing and need. He could not force her to utter the lie or concede the point. Her lips firmed over clenched teeth. Her amber gaze flickered like a fire catching spark.
He took her silence as proof and pressed. "Cancel the appointment. I can fill your time much better than she can."
Miranda huffed, "Doubtful. Then again, it's not a matter of filling your time better, is it? Tell me Cruella, what would you do if I told you that failure to meet with the editor meant banishment from the industry? I would do it, dear Dragon, to save you. I would cut you out in a heartbeat."
Cruella puffed a laugh, despite herself. Somehow Miranda had managed to make that dire threat sound like the most erotic promise ever. But it shored her up, brought her back to what was important to her. "It's not a matter of filling my time better. We are speaking of what I do for a living. Failure to make the meeting means failure to be published, not just for tomorrow, but always. In every possible fashion magazine except maybe some poor sap's web blog."
He blinked owlishly at her, "Beg pardon?"
"The answer, therefore..." Cruella said, as she brushed her fingernails lightly across her chest and appeared to be musing, "... must inevitably be, whether one likes it or not, No."
"Excuse me?"
"I can not cancel. I can not go with you. Succinctly put, No."
Reginald's expression turned ugly. "You are denying me? You can't do that. I won't let..." He started to lunge forward and was grabbed by the collar and dragged back.
He snarled, "Unhand me at once!" The demand was directed at Ben until he realized that the bodyguard's hands were both where he could see them. Though one was now clenched in a fist and held as if ready to strike.
"'Fraid, sir, I can not do that. I'm under very strict orders, understand, to see to Ms. De Vil's best interests. You fail to meet the criteria." Jasper still hadn't let go of the back of the Lord's shirt and was holding him up by the collar so that his shoulders looked a bit off. "If you will please accompany the constable."
"What?" Lord Buckley fairly screamed.
"Two things, sir," Horace said. "First, your vehicle has suffered a tragic mishap, which you perhaps would like to see to. Second, a complaint has been made by several persons about your unusual appearance and behavior." Then the portly man stepped aside to let a blue uniformed individual step into the space.
The constable looked at Cruella and then at Reginald and his eyes narrowed. "Ma'am, did this individual give you anything to drink?"
Before Cruella could reply, Ben spoke. "It is possible sir. But I don't know that she would remember it."
"I see." Now the constable's expression turned frankly unfriendly and he returned his attention to Reginald. "If you'll come with me please."
Reginald forced himself to smile. "I don't need to go with you," he tried.
"Oh, but I insist," Jasper said and he slapped his hand on Reginald's chest, hard enough to make the Lord gasp for breath. Light flared briefly under the bodyguard's palm, then faded. The glow, which non-humans saw very clearly around Reginald, disappeared and the overpoweringly delicious scent eased in the air to something almost normal. "I'm afraid I must inform you that you are no longer welcome in the presence of Ms. De Vil. The lawyers will be contacting you and should you ignore all the niceties, so will we. Now go with the kind constable sir. You have much to see to."
Jasper pushed him towards Horace, who pushed Reginald towards the Constable. The constable grabbed the young Lord by the arm, just has he was finally able to catch his breath. "Do you know," he gasped out, "who I am?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to take that up with someone higher up the chain than me, sir. My job is fairly cut and dried regardless of name or rank. I will warn you that I am armed with both club and taser."
"You wouldn't?"
The constable glanced back at Cruella, who now lounged against her seat. Her gaze was heavy-lidded and a hand had drifted under her shirt to linger over a breast. The constable's teeth clenched. "Oh, sir, I absolutely would." He nodded at Ben, Jasper and Horace. "Take care of her. If she experiences memory loss, report it to the station. You have my number?"
"Yes sir," Horace replied. "We certainly do."
-TDWP-
"You may be sure, Ms. Andy, that we will have Ms. De Vil comfortably home within the hour. I do not know if she will be able to call, but shall let her know of your availability."
"Thank you, Horace. We had quite a scare here for her. Take care of her." Andy paused. "She's very important to me." She glanced at her brooding mate. "To us."
"We shall."
The phone finally clicked off. Andrea dropped her hands and stared at the black and silver phone for a moment before laying it on the end table. She shivered in reaction to the evening's events. It wasn't that late for them, but it was touching on midnight for Cruella and she had, Andrea thought, a longer way to go.
The young woman stood up. She had been pacing for much of the event, but she still felt the need to be doing something, anything. It was just leftover energy.
She glanced over at Miranda, who had taken position by a window. The silver-haired woman was staring out onto the darkened landscape, looking at who knew what. Probably nothing.
Andrea watched her for a few seconds, pausing in her own unsteady motion to try to gain an understanding of the previous events. She had been so glad she'd gotten to know Alonzo even a little bit. She had been so glad for Jasper and Horace. She had been so glad for Miranda, who had stepped in, like a miracle, to handle something that was far beyond Andrea's normal ken.
One thing had become very clear, though. "You know her. Or rather," she said without heat, "You knew her." She was too tired for more drama. This was merely fact gathering, clarification.
"Not really," Miranda replied distantly. "We had one moment of contact. One. She was... she was a child at the time. A baby." Miranda turned, pressing a hand to her neck before dropping it down in her lap. "A Dragon kit. Younger than the twins."
"You kept track of her though, didn't you? Because, that's who you are."
"Keeping track is not the same as staying in touch."
Andrea stepped forward, hesitated, then put her hand on Miranda's shoulder. "That wasn't an accusation."
She felt the shiver under her palm and knew that Miranda was much more affected than appearances revealed. She whispered, with some amusement, "I've been struggling and struggling to think of how to tell you about what I was beginning, just beginning to realize..."
Miranda turned only enough to look at Andrea. "I thought, at first, that it was impossible. After all, it was so early to meet. And she was so young. She was also stubborn and precocious." She smiled slightly. "For months, in dreams, she would come to me. I kept sending her away. I doubt she even remembers."
"Miranda. That's called denial."
"I had to stop her, you see. It was so dangerous." If it had been anyone other than her mate, she wouldn't be explaining. "They would have found her and I could not let that happen to her." She sighed. "Nature protects us some, in the beginning. As silver hair is the clue for who the White-Gold Dragon is, amber eyes are the clue as to who the Black-Gold Dragon might be. When a White-Gold Dragon is born, there is only ever one of us. We stick out like a banner waving; look world and heavens, change is upon you. When the Black-Gold Dragon is born, however, several Black Dragon kits either will be born or have been born around the same time; all with amber in their eyes and all of them shade darker, like the color of night. Black dragons are the only ones that do not gain their true aspect until later, when several criteria are met, the least of which, is their first mating."
"So if, say, the royal house wants to get rid of the potential heir, they go after the obvious one."
Miranda nodded sharply, almost painfully. "It is a logical, if dangerous play."
Andrea dropped her hand and tried to face the grief in Miranda's eyes. "And if that doesn't work?"
"In the middle ages, the human history books say that black cats were killed for fear's sake. That is somewhat true, but it is an oblique reference to the event that led to the dark ages. The ruling family at that time, could not get to the White-Gold Dragon. So they did the next best thing. They swore to eradicate any kit with a hint of amber or black in their aspect. So many dragon kits were killed that there was a revolt, by all the dragons and their Houses. The ruling House fell, but they'd succeeded in their endeavor. The Black-Gold Dragon never rose during her or his mating flight. With Houses in ruin and no heirs to take over the reins, everything came apart. Trust had been destroyed between the Houses. It was a time of the Broken Bond. The dragons whose houses remained somewhat intact came together maybe once, when the humans started trying to take advantage of the discord."
"The dragon hunts."
"Yes. It was a very bad time, I am told. I, of course, was not alive then."
Andrea laughed a little. "I admit, a part of me was wondering."
Miranda's glare was piercing and teasing. Then she sighed, "Years ago, at the ball where Cruella and I encountered one another, I had just returned to the world. I was in college when the invitation came."
"Fashion?"
"Journalism."
"Really?"
"Mm. Yes. I was working at a fashion house though." Miranda looked away from Andrea and back out the window. "It was not my first ball, but it was a fateful one. I had been dating a young man and had made the mistake of inviting him along with me. He did not take the discovery half as well as you, my Andrea."
"He fainted too?"
"Ran out of the building. Out of my life." Miranda shrugged. "I was very sad, but that wasn't what broke my heart. I had put in for a House acknowledgment by the Council. I can't argue their decision now, but then... it was awful and left me vulnerable. I had to take a mate and the selection was not ..." Miranda shrugged at a loss for words. "Cruella had a much older cousin, a prince in his clan. Their House used to be an ally, but time and the..." Miranda's lips pursed together tightly in displeasure, "... weakness of my House, had weakened their connection and willingness to step forward. I had thought, perhaps I could live with it, if it meant shoring up what was left. But... frankly... He is and was an ass. He was vulgar in his so called attempt to woo me. Not that he tried very hard. I couldn't let it pass."
"You cut him down?"
Now Miranda smiled and it was a frigid thing. "Like grass." Then she looked rueful, "And given the time and location, it was a very public event."
"The Ball?"
"The Masquerade, a time of choosing, if one wills to. I was supposed to choose Drakon, for political reasons. I chose Jeffrey. It was not a politic decision, but it was a good one."
"Well, you did get the girls out of it."
Miranda's smile was a thing of true beauty, "Yes. Quite worth it. And he remains a doting father. It is possible we would still be together, were it not for the fact he could not keep up with my advancement in life. Being a Green Dragon, he prefers a quieter lifestyle."
"Why did you marry Steven? He's not a Dragon."
"That would be why I married him. I thought it might be easier and I have lived as human for a long time."
"Ah. So, let's see if I have this right, the House De Vil used to be an ally, but this guy fucks it up for everyone. They blame you, because you don't like being treated like meat. I'd call that one their bad. Because you can't get a major House to back you, the council shoots you down. Then you meet Cruella?"
Miranda turned and gazed at Andrea. She lifted her hand and brushed a brunette lock of hair gently. "I have mentioned before how impressed I am with you."
"I like hearing it. Again and again. It's a vanity thing."
"Quite." The Dragon leaned in and kissed her mate softly. "But to answer your question more fully, imagine the timing of it if I'd met Cruella before Drakon."
"You still would have had to deny her."
"Only much more publicly. As it was, our meeting, as brief as it might have been, was actually one of the more fortuitous things to happen at that damnable ball."
"Do masquerades only happen at Balls? You mentioned that you lost Jeffrey to one in a previous conversation."
"No. They happen at other times. Dragons like to get together now and then. It was time to move on anyhow. Halloween makes a convenient time for those kinds of gatherings."
"Ah, I get it. So. Miranda. About Cruella."
"Yes?"
"Are we going to go get her now?"
"I'm thinking about it. But it's impractical and would leave her vulnerable."
"Miranda, she's already vulnerable. And in danger. You heard. They're... they're... Some one is trying to get her."
"They are trying, but out of ignorance. No one knows of any connection, besides professional, between us. And even then it is a tenuous thing, as I have been very careful not to engage in any sort of social interaction with her. For a long time we did not even take submissions from her Fashion House, but," Miranda sighed and looked pleased, "... their work has remained consistently excellent. It could not be ignored. Even so, it was a great risk for her to even allow mention of Runway to this Reginald person."
"Maybe, maybe not." Andrea put up her hand when Miranda opened her mouth to comment. "But that's not the point. It might not even have anything to do with you at all. From everything that I've learned, Cruella is from an influential House. From what we just overheard, this person's attentions are unwanted, and he's pressing the issue, using foul means, not just fair. That is a danger that we can't just ignore, even if she wasn't already for us. From both a personal and political perspective, we had to do something. It was the right thing to do. What would have happened if we hadn't been on the phone with her just then?"
Miranda recalled the way Cruella had been beginning to sound, sensual and provocative. And that startling revelation regarding her level of sexual experience. Miranda's shudder was involuntary and a moment passed before she replied. "I don't know." She shook her head, trying to clear the momentary fear. "But Ben was there."
"Yeah. He was. And then Jasper and Horace. I think I may really like them," Andy said, thoughtfully.
"I think I may too." Miranda said.
"Cruella did have the foresight to tell him to stay." Andrea nodded, thinking back.
Miranda's smile was tight, "One can not say she lacks intelligence or the ability to plot ahead. Though I question her choice to even get out of the damn car."
"It's her. I think. She doesn't like waiting if she doesn't have to."
Miranda digested that, "Which tells us both what she would say to an effort to swoop in and interfere."
"Miranda," Andrea sighed, "I know that you had valid reasons for denying the bond when she was just a kid. But she's an adult now, with her own power. She's able to make her own decisions. I'm in more danger than she is, because I still don't know all of the rules to this world I've suddenly been thrust into. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I'll do anything that I have to do, to be with and stay with you. She's grown up in it, though. At this point, she's probably been more involved in the Dragon world than you have."
"Andrea..."
"No, Miranda." Andrea stopped her again. "It's time you guys talked. Really talked. Lay it out for her. Give her all the facts. Let her make her own decision."
"I will think about it."
Andrea smiled. "That's all I can ask." Hearing the front door open, which signaled the arrival of Marie Angela with the Book, Andrea kissed the top of her Dragon's head. "Don't stay up too late."
-TDWP-
Alone in her room, Cruella writhed upon her bed. Spiraling, dizzying emotional vertigo forced her to clutch the bedding. Her fingernails, which had ruptured into claws during Reginald's untimely visit, punctured through the cloth, tore at the fabric. The glamor was gone, but its effects upon her continued to run a long course. Her eyes glowed. Her body sang and ached. She needed and hungered, sharply and deeply. She ached for them and they were so far away.
More than mere desire spun through her. She could still hear Miranda and Andy in her head, each phrase ever uttered to her returned to her verbatim, took on the echo of seduction and charm. If Reginald had hoped his spell would take in the aftermath, the seed died and withered under the their combined sun. The need for them hurt so much she broke into a cacophony of crazed laughter. It scattered and broke through the bounds of the door, the halls, filled the whole mansion with a noise forlorn, awful and amused.
Somewhere in that long mad moment, a thought stung her, wriggled past torment into meaning and straight into a decision. She would let them know how much she needed them. She would make them feel her as much as she, who had never had the comfort of their arms, felt them. It would take a touch of magery, an actual incantation to make a full effect, since they were not yet mates. But she needed them to know this, to feel what they had wrought in her.
She sought and spun the threads within, sought and found those eternal, but much too tenuous, ties. They shimmered in her grip, sizzling blue and scorching white-gold. Her pair, who seemed so damned oblivious, ignoring that which was most important and hers by right.
"Andy," she purred, looking at the blue one hand. Then she gazed at the other. "Miranda." She twirled the tendrils, warping and wrapping them so the tendrils covered both index and middle fingers as completely as their short lengths allowed. "You are going to feel my need. Suffer my want."
Without a better canvas or paint, she dipped into desire's well, touching herself with both hands. Then, still using both her hands, she wrote their names upon her body, cutting them upon her skin with her claws. The blood rose and pooled darkly as she chanted ancient, arcane, chained words. They began echoing in her ears, in the room, filled her thoughts and blended with Andrea and Miranda's voices, which she could not escape and only wanted more of. The names she marked on her body began to move and caress her, as if they were the hands she so desired. Pleasure and pain scrolled across her skin. She pushed it, caressing herself to the time of her writhing, unable to help herself and knowing only one cure. She stroked her belly, her thighs, brought her hands back to dip and stir, thrumming her fingertips in delicate, dangerous motion. She plunged into herself, two fingers and deep, brought herself close and closer still and just at the cusp and over. She withdrew her touch and then, drew her bond-tendril wrapped fingers through the marks of blood and threw her hands out, spreading them wide with a howling scream.
-TDWP-
Andrea first felt it as a buzz, starting at her ear and firing down along her skin. It was so intense it woke her. "Cruella," she whispered. Midwestern practicality would not allow Andrea to ignore the surge of arousal or its origination and her first intention was simply to respond. But the sensation matured and intensified before she had the chance. "Whoa." It was utterly different than anything she knew and was not the summons or tease that she and Miranda sometimes played with. She felt the essence of Cruella and something more, felt it as heat and fear and need and want and a hundred potent, overwhelming things.
She sat up in the bed, grasping the sheet that had covered her with both hands. Moisture filled her eyes and pooled between her thighs. "Cruella," she panted. She looked around for her cell phone, intending at first to call, then intuited that it would be moot. This was not about what could be said or not said. This was not about how Andrea could comfort. It was just short of an invitation, more of a revelation. She was not being summoned to act, but to hear, to see, to feel.
"My Dragon," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Oh. Cruella."
-TDWP-
Miranda leaned against the wall, just before the stairwell. She needed the support.
"No. This is wrong," she murmured. It should have been over by now. Cruella should not be suffering so.
Unless, Reginald had done something more. She panted through the next rolling dose of sensation, willed her legs to support her as her mind frantically pursued the thought and came to the necessary conclusion.
Her phone was closest, on the charger. The Book, which had been dropped to the floor, was undignified in its splay and she still managed to find something sexual in it. "That bastard," she uttered, filled with anger and contempt. She staggered back, grasped her phone and manipulated it until she had the number she wanted.
Once again she found herself counting the number of rings. The forth ring brought contact. "H-hell Hall. H-house of De Vil."
"You. Alonzo. Tell... tell them to check the car. He left something. She can't rest till it's gone. That's all." She snapped the phone shut and let it drop to the floor. She ran carelessly up the steps. She tried to remember if the girls were home, realized they were with their father so they could go Christmas shopping. She felt a welling of relief that was so deep it temporarily overwhelmed the onslaught of Cruella's aching send.
Miranda leaned against the door frame and used that relief, spoke it into being and sent it, trying to soothe what burned her Dragon.
-TDWP-
Andrea had been in the process of stripping out of a nightgown when Miranda entered. She finished undressing and let the silky cloth drop to the floor. "I couldn't stand it on my skin any more," she whispered. "Hurts."
Wordlessly, Miranda, still completely dressed, even down to her heels, strode forward and grasped Andrea's face in her hands. She kissed her deeply, twining her tongue around her lover's. She pulled back. "We can not be gentle this time," she whispered. "She needs to feel it. To feel us. I can not fly fast enough to get to her and this is the only way."
"Too bad you can't teleport," Andrea joked weakly. She began pulling at Miranda's clothes.
"I'm not old enough."
The seriousness of the reply caught the young woman off guard. "Come again."
"Age has its advantages in the Dragon world, Andrea. The longer one lives..."
"The more powerful you become." Andrea nodded, lifted Miranda's shirt off, even as the other woman kicked off her heels. They were moving fast. Andrea was trying to be careful, but Miranda had ceased to be. She ripped out of her bra as her mate dragged off her pants and underwear.
"I will try not to hurt you," Miranda said, as she raised Andrea back up.
"I already hurt." Tears leaked out the sides of the brunette's eyes. "She hurts so much, Miranda."
The Dragon growled and once again captured Andrea in a kiss. She pushed her back onto the bed and they fell to it together. "We will connect fully with her, understand? She must know we heard and felt her. She must not believe herself to be alone in this."
"Yes. I'll follow where you lead."
Miranda's grin was a terrible, beautiful thing. She lifted her hand, palm forward, showing it to Andrea. Brown eyes widened as the perfectly manicured fingernails lengthened and sharpened. They were, as she recalled, already very sharp, but these were something completely different and curved just slightly to a point. She inhaled, feeling just the hint of fear and awe. "You're just going to keep surprising me all my life, aren't you?"
The silver-haired woman, leaned in and pressed her lips against the bridge of Andrea's neck and shoulder. She brushed a kiss there, then caught it between her sharp teeth, pressing without exactly biting. Andrea, in instinctive animal awareness, held very still. Miranda released her, and whispered in the younger woman's ear. "One may hope so. Just wait until you see my wings and tail." She didn't even have to look to see the girl's eyes widen, which only added to her sultry grin. "Now, my Lady, you will sing for me, but not yet. We have a spell to weave and I must be the one to speak it. If you want to see it working, open your Dragon's eyes. If you just want to feel it..." She caught Andrea's ear with her teeth next, again there was pressure, but not a pure bite. She tugged and then suckled lightly, smiling as Andrea wriggled. She grasped her mate by the hips, pressing in just enough for the younger woman to feel her claws but, as with her teeth, not enough to draw blood.
She began to speak, in words that Andrea did not not understand at all, except that they seemed to flow into her and under her skin with increasing sensual heat. Her body felt as if she were opening to Miranda's call. The moan she uttered barely avoided sliding into a whine of need, but her legs parted more and she pressed up with her hips. Her heart and center pulsed with Miranda's sensual chant, taking on the beat and cadence of it. Her Dragon's hands slid along her skin, sides, breasts, belly. She felt the bite of the nails, but without sting or piercing. Then her lover's fingers were searching, and stirring, sliding in Andrea's silky, liquid need. Miranda's mouth also trailed sensual fire, drifting from long, breathless kisses, to owning each breast in turn. Andrea's eyes had caught blue fire, though she could not see it.
Miranda, whose eyes also blazed, did see it and knew it was time. She pressed into Andrea, very carefully. She wanted to plunge in, to seize the moment, to claim her mate, but that would come soon enough.
The tendrils of their bond were already tied to one hand, it was the the other that she called now, the bond that belonged to herself and Cruella, and Cruella and Andrea. She pulled the "strings" of both, dragging her claw along Andrea's cheek, scoring it just a tiny bit so droplets of blood peaked, but the wound would not scar. The tendril flowed to her hand, circled in her palm as she brought forth the link from within herself.
She withdrew her other hand from Andrea who growled a resistance and was silenced with a blistering kiss. Her lips bruised and split, bled. They both tasted the copper and salt of it. Miranda clasped both her hands together, pressing, and pulled them apart, claws down. She then moved until Andrea was between her legs while she knelt. She brought her hands down on the younger woman's belly, drew sigils and names, again scoring Andrea's skin so very carefully. And then she scored her own salt water and blood in intimate ritual upon herself.
Having been silenced so effectively, Andrea watched all this with rapt attention. Her hands clasped Miranda's thighs. She held to her mate, kneading like a cat.
Miranda's chant did not cease. The light that was always in them, always moving curled through and around them. The silver-haired Dragon, found Andrea's core again, slid into her with one perfect motion. With the other hand, she drew one of Andrea's hands down, clasping their palms together briefly, before guiding her mate to her own.
They began moving together then, sliding. Andrea's utterances, long gone post-verbal counterpointed Miranda's incantation. The Dragon grabbed long, brunette tresses in her hand and crushed them, pulling Andrea's head in the direction she wanted, until the young woman was staring into her eyes.
The chant gained paced. Andrea, leaned forward, needing the full contact of Miranda's body to her own. She wrapped her free arm around Miranda's back, to press them even closer, until she could feel the rise and fall of Miranda's tightened nipples scrape sensually along her skin. She kissed Miranda's neck, felt the pulse of life under her lips. She sucked, pulling the skin tight, wanting to mark the Dragon as her own in a way that she knew how.
Light sparked all around them, gathered like a storm waiting to happen. Sweet, delirious pressure started to spill into small shivers of urgent pleasure. Miranda's heightened chant escalated and approached climax. Her voice, normally always modulated to a specific tone and strength, became stronger and more powerful. She tugged Andrea closer, pressed her mouth to her Lady's, practically shouting as the tension wound tighter. It was an unavoidable cascade, a breaking of some wall within, as that pressure which had built pushed through the cracks and poured thunderously through them both. Andrea and Miranda screamed as both pleasure and pain scoured through them, burst into light outside of them. Miranda threw her head back, and cast her hand, palm up, towards the ceiling. A thick column of blue and white light, wrapped in violet exploded from her palm and out, cracking the ceiling with the force of the spell. The air around them began to tremble and shake.
They clung to each other, rocking gently, breathing deeply as Miranda pressed her lips against Andrea's temple. The she said, as if she were continuing a conversation, "I replied, you see, to the cry. I offered an invitation. She can reject it. If she does, all we will know is that this was how she felt, this was her need. If she accepts it, then we share in it, we take all that was thrust upon her together. If it is what I think it was, the urgency will come again and again and again, Andrea, harder each time. But we will ride the storm of it together and she will know that we know she is ours and she will know that we know we are hers. But there will be consequences, my Lady. There always are and I can't tell you what the end result will be."
The brunette lifted her lips to Miranda's; offered her devotion and unconditional surrender. "I understand."
-TDWP-
The satiation lasted much too short a time before Cruella was caught in the fire again. The respite had only been minutes before she felt as if she were swimming in a haze of want and need. She had hoped...
She had hoped.
Angry and needful, she pressed her hands to her body, magic still swirled under her skin, in her eyes, through her fingertips. She could do it all over again, raise the roof with her want. But she'd already shouted out to them. She had made her bid.
She contemplated turning over and touching herself that way. The truth is, she found many positions favorable and enjoyed them all. Normally. She did not like this burning, this twisting of what usually pleased her. She might try a toy, but she wasn't ready to go that route yet. She wanted... what she wanted.
The same as it was and had been.
She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the first driving pulse, trying to pretend she would not give in. She held off, counting her breath, making a score for each minute she could.
Then she heard the wind, or something like it, a whistle in the air, a tremor. She opened her eyes wondering what was going to afflict her now. She just happened to be looking up and saw tornado of light magic, swirling in an arrow point above her. It hovered dangerously above her, as if waiting.
"What's this? What's this?" She shouted in shock and wariness, the memory of Reginald's attempt was still very firm in her mind. But as she watched the storm of magic above her, she was oddly soothed. As her breathing calmed, the arrow of light unfurled and unwrapped like a flower. Swirling lines of light reached down and fluttered about her, just out of reach. Then, she realized, the ribbons of magic whirling above her, were colors she knew, including her own most unique signature. She snatched at them, to try and get a feel for what it was, and they would jerk away, just before she could touch them.
"Oh!" She suddenly understood, suddenly realized what was necessary and why the storm had gentled above her. It was the answer she had been waiting for. She grinned maniacally and shouted, "Yes! Yes! Yes!"
That affirmation was all it took. The result was the opening of a floodgate. The flower expanded, exploded and light spilled down from the center of it, in a powerful rush. She reached to catch it, but it slipped through her fingers, washing over like water and then spinning together again so fast she could hardly track it. Magical energy clapped against her body and belly with a sound like a sonic boom, snapping the air around her, and causing her to gasp as it balled and curled in before expanding and covering her head to toe. The force of the magic swirling around her physically lifted her up and threw her back onto the bed, but she held on and this time, when she clenched her fists, she captured what she sought and laughed in glee and power. She held one fist up, "Andy!" and then the other, "Miranda!" and pulled her fists back in to cover her heart. "Mine!"
The rush of desire, which had momentarily been set back in her attention, surged violently and claimed her with the ferocity of a tiger. This time, however, she was fortified. With feral exhilaration, she claimed it back.
-TDWP-
They knew the moment Cruella said yes, because that brief respite was shaken from the foundation right on through them. Andrea's smile went gorgeous and wide. "She said yes!" Then she pushed forward onto Miranda and kissed her with wild abandon.
What followed was, as Miranda had warned her, a night of tumult and wantonness that rolled in waves through them all; starting rough, like a thunderstorm, but ending like soft rain. And, as promised, they shared the experience; not as one consciousness or as a completed Bond, but they were as completely together in the knowing and feeling across the span of an ocean as might otherwise be possible. They "spoke," to one another across the forged line and knew and felt.
As the original push of energy that Reginald had used to spike Cruella's punch decreased, the mystical momentum of their need for one another increased. What would have naturally taken time between personal encounters, wound thick between them and tied them. The magic that Reginald used to manipulate his chances, to try to force Cruella's acceptance, scarred the young Dragon, heart and soul, but the defense they used to combat it healed her. It also changed them, however, and bound them together in potent chains different from the mate bond that would later be forged. By the time it was finished, what had been meant to harm had been tamed, ridden through in all its wildness, and then soothed, between them. The mighty fire was theirs to use and only added to their power, to their knowing. The blaze between them had become a live thing.