“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 theater. 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 brilliance 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 examined 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 pattern 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 highhanded attitude. Why had I ever thought Drake could change? It was obvious he was set in an unyielding mindset 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.

“What exactly is going on here today?” I asked quietly as I took a seat at the end of one of the tables. Istvan, Pal, and a couple of other dragons filled the other spaces. Drake stood between me and the podium, his arms crossed as he watched the audience. A potent silence fell. The last couple of people who had been standing in the aisles greeting one another and chatting hurriedly took their seats.