"I guess not. So that's what's going on tonight? You're taking me to be punished by your sept? The people who obey every single command you give them?"

"I seldom issue commands, mate."

I scooted off his lap, sure not only that whatever it was that was planned for the evening was not going to be fun but that Drake would do nothing to stop it.

"You know, just when I think things are just about as horrible as they can get, something like a dragon gang punishment happens. OK. I'm resigned. I made the challenge, I accepted the terms, even though I'd like to remind you that I set the whole thing up so you would be cleared and the real murderer revealed. How am I going to be punished?"

He shrugged, taking my hand.

I tried to pull it back. "I don't want you holding my hand."

"I know you don't." He didn't release my hand, though. He just stroked my fingers until they uncurled against his.

"I don't want to be punished, Drake. Punishment is never fun, and right now I have an awful lot of non-fun stuff on my plate. Is there any way you can order your dragons to not punish me?"

"Yes."

I looked at him, hope burgeoning within me.

"But I won't"

Hope fled. I wished I could go with it.

He turned to face me, my hand caught between his. "Understand me, Aisling—I could command my sept to disregard the punishment due you, but to do so would undermine my leadership. It would leave me open to another challenge, a serious challenge from a dragon who wished to take control of the sept. Such a challenge would divide the green dragons and result in much suffering for everyone before it was resolved. As much as I dislike the thought of you receiving punishment, I will not sacrifice the welfare of my clan for this."

"I understand," I said, more than a little bit surprised because I really did understand. Although I doubted Drake about many things, I never once questioned that he put himself second to the welfare of his sept. He was a born leader, and even in human form, he wore the mantle of responsibility well. I accepted that when I accepted him—but that didn't make it rankle any less. "You didn't answer my question about how I'm to be punished."

"I cannot. No, don't look daggers at me. I am not being evasive. It is not me who decides your punishment—that is left up to a convocation drawn for that purpose. Members of my sept have flown in from many countries to consider the type and extent of your punishment."

"Convocation? They've flown in?" I had a horrible feeling my mouth was hanging open. "People have flown here to discuss me? Good god, Drake! This doesn't sound like a simple failed-a-challenge punishment. This sounds serious."

His thumb stroked a circle on my bare arm. "It is serious. I told you that last month, when you challenged me."

"You didn't say I was likely to die over it!"

"You will not die. At least... no. You will not. For all intents and purposes, you are immortal now, Aisling. Your body can withstand much more abuse than when it was mortal."

Abuse? Good lord!

"Your reassurance technique totally sucks," I said, jerking away from him, scooting over to sit in the corner, my arms crossed over my chest. "Just don't tell me any more. You're not making me feel any better."

Drake didn't try to follow me, or soothe me, or tell me that whatever inventive punishment his sept had come up with wouldn't actually kill me. He just sat there and looked out the window, as if it didn't matter to him in the least that he was taking me to a group of people whose sole purpose was figuring out ways to punish my newly immortal self. What if the immortal thing hadn't had time to take effect yet? What if they went to whip me, or use red-hot pokers, or any of the other Savaronella-esque Inquisition tortures that suddenly popped into my mind with startlingly clear detail? What if I hadn't been an official mate long enough for my body to convert wholly to one that could withstand dragon punishment?

Might serve him right if I did die. Jim had told me once that dragons mate for life, which meant that if for some reason I died, Drake would end up grieving himself into the grave, too. I peeked at him from under my eyelashes. He might irritate me with his arrogance and unbending nature, and he might drive me nuts with all the rules and laws of the dragons, but I didn't want him to die. I wasn't willing to admit to being head over heels in love with him—that seemed like such an uncomfortable thing—but I certainly wasn't uncaring. There was a lot of emotion tied up with Drake—I just didn't want to look at it too closely, lest something happen.

Something like I get tortured to death. Gah!

Fortunately for my sanity, I didn't have long to wait before we arrived at our destination. I glanced at the bright blue-and-purple neon sign above the door and turned to Drake. "You must have paid Flavia for her floor."

He gestured toward the door. A doorman held it open, Pal and Istvan flanking either side. I licked my lips, nerves making my stomach turn somersaults. "Do we have to do this in public? It can't be good for the negotiations if Gabriel and Fiat and Chuan Ren see me being humiliated in front of everyone."

"This is a matter for the green dragons, not the other septs. No one is present but members of this clan."

"Oh. Good. I think. Although come to think of it, maybe we should call them all up and see how they feel about me being destroyed—"

Drake didn't lay a finger on me, he just gave me another slitty-irised look.

I stopped stalling and marched past him, pausing long enough to say, "I am not going to forget this, Drake Vireo. Assuming I survive, I'm going to remember this for a very ... long ... time."

I swept into the club with my head held high, clutching the ragged talters of my pride, telling myself that although I wanted to be furious with Drake, I really had put myself in this situation, That didn't mean I couldn't glare at him a lot, though, which I did. At every possible moment. He didn't try to avoid my glares, either. He just stood watching me, impassive as the group of fifty or so people, all dressed to the nines, held a court. I was offered a chair. I refused it, figuring the pain of my feet stuffed into unaccustomed stilettos might possibly distract me from the red-hot pokers.

As if.

Other than Istvan and him, I didn't recognize a single person there. They looked just as human as Drake and his bodyguards, but I wasn't fooled, not when I found out who was leading the team to pick a punishment.