Dragon Actually (13 page)

Lorcan rubbed his head. “Am I asking too much to want the little bitch dead?
Am I?
” It seemed Hefaidd-Hen learned long ago not to answer certain questions. “All I want is for her to suffer a painful, horrifying death. And for her head to be on a spike in front of my castle. That’s all I want.”

“We can still achieve that.”

“Go up against a dragon . . . or two? I think not, Hefaidd-Hen. I’d rather my last memory not be of flames.”

“Trust me, lord. I can find a way to get your sister and all that you desire.”

“How?”

“By doing what I do best.”

Lorcan looked at his advisor, a brutal chill running down his spine. Those cold blue eyes stared back, telling him nothing about the man behind them. But Hefaidd-Hen had proven himself time and time again in the past. As much as his very presence disturbed Lorcan, he could not deny that the man was a powerful ally.

“You have three days. After that, Hefaidd-Hen, I start to get angry.”

“I understand.” Hefaidd-Hen gave Lorcan the oddest smile before he bowed low and quietly left.

Morfyd needed to go to the village. A woman in her care would give birth in the next few days and all the signs told her it would not be an easy delivery. She’d already warned Fearghus she might be gone off and on for a bit, but Annwyl’s body healed well. She no longer needed Morfyd’s care.

As she walked out of the cave she passed Annwyl walking in. The girl had her swords in one hand. The other hand held her ripped shirt and bindings over her ample breasts. Her brows angled down into a dark frown and she wouldn’t even look at Morfyd as she passed.

 “How did that talk go then?” Morfyd called over her shoulder.

“Shut. Up.”

Morfyd laughed as she advanced into the glen toward the clearing where she could take off. She rounded a corner and came upon her brother, his chainmail shirt and sword in his big hand, heading toward the hidden entrance of his cave. She watched him as he passed and she noticed the long scratches across his back.

“How did that talk go then?” Morfyd called over her shoulder.

“Shut. Up.”

Morfyd shook her head. If love always made you this pathetic, she wanted nothing to do with it.

Brastias tugged the hood of his cloak over his face. Again he wondered how much longer they had before Lorcan made his move. He could feel it. Feel it coming. Even before his spies told him to start getting his men ready, he knew that something had changed. Lorcan’s troops were readying for battle at Garbhán Isle. And he sensed that a strike would be coming from Lorcan himself, but he wasn’t sure when or how.

He wished he could see Annwyl. Discuss it with her. She knew her brother better than anyone else. She’d know exactly how and when Lorcan’s forces would strike. Instead, all he could do now was wait for more information to come their way and hope they’d have time to react.

The door to the busy pub smashed open and again he turned to see who entered. Already he’d lost three hours waiting. Waiting to see her.

Danelin brought him over another ale and sat across from him. “How much longer?”

“Until she gets here.”

Brastias didn’t mean to be so abrupt but he didn’t like being out in the open any more than Danelin. He’d rather be back at the camp, safe, with a lot of troops surrounding him. But he had to know how Annwyl fared. It had been days since the witch called Morfyd came to see him that first and only time. He hoped she would bring more messages from Annwyl. But she never returned. So, when he heard she was in the village visiting one of the women about to have a baby, he decided to go to her himself. He heard she always stopped at the pub for food or drink later in the evenings. So he waited and worried. Not about her or even about Annwyl. But about the rebellion.

He could tell the rebellion would soon come to an end. Tension grew daily. Many of the local villages emptied out. All except this one. Many of the rebellion’s families lived here. Their wives and children. He debated whether to give the order to move them all into the Citadel of Ó Donnchadha where they would hopefully be safest. He knew the women would never willingly leave their mates.

As he wondered about the logic of this move, he saw her. How could he miss her? She stood taller than Annwyl and almost the same height as him. A grey cloak covered her witch’s robes. She found a table in the back and ordered food. After the bar wench left, Brastias walked over to her table.

“Remember me?”

Glittering blue eyes turned to look at him. Her eyes were almond shaped, almost like a cat’s. “How could I forget? You’re so compelling.”

Brastias smiled as he sat down opposite her. “How is she doing?”

“Better. Stronger every day.”

“How much longer before she returns to us?”

The witch blinked. “Not sure really.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“What exactly do you think I mean?”

The witch’s vagueness caused the hairs on his neck to rise. He didn’t like this one bit. “Is she safe?”

The witch hissed at the insult. “Of course she is. Safer than if she were with you.”

Brastias glared at the witch. “Really? And how is that possible when you are here and she is wherever you left her? Alone.”

Perhaps it was the look in the witch’s blue eyes or the way she didn’t answer him, but it suddenly became clear.

“She’s not alone, is she?” When the witch didn’t answer, he grabbed her hand. She snatched it away as if he were on fire. She stood quickly. “Be well assured that she is safe. And soon she will return to you. You’ll be able to find me at the village from time to time should you need to get an
actual
message to her.” She tossed a few copper coins on the table and stormed out.

“What the hell happened?”

Brastias looked up at Danelin. He shook his head. “I don’t know. But something’s going on.”

Danelin sat down as the barmaid left the witch’s food on the table and scooped up the coins she left. “What?”

“I don’t think the witch is taking care of her. It’s somebody else.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think she’s safe?”

Brastias thought about it a minute, listened to his gut. “Yes. I think she is.”

Danelin seemed surprised by that. “Then why do you have that look on your face?”

“Did you see the way she ran out of here? Like I had the plague or something.”

“Who? The witch?”

“Aye.”

“And this bothers you because . . .”

“Well . . . it’s rude.”

“Uh huh.”

Brastias growled at his second in command. “Shut up.”

* * *

Fearghus turned the page of his book with one of his talons. He never bothered to read the story about his grandfather, Ailean, before. But Ailean spent most of his life as human. And lately, Fearghus began to wonder what that was like.

Completely engrossed in the chapter about Ailean and three bar wenches, he didn’t know Annwyl sat down beside him until she pushed herself up against his side, near his wing. She brought wine, cheese, bread, and a book. She didn’t say a word, just began reading and occasionally drinking or eating.

Fearghus watched her. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“No talking tonight?”

She smiled softly. “No. Not tonight.”

“Good.”   

Tonight he didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to read his book and enjoy Annwyl being beside him.

He didn’t know when he fell in love with her. It might have been when he first saw her outside his cave, fighting for her life. Or when she yanked his tail. Or possibly when she swam naked in his lake. In the end it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter when he fell in love with her. All he knew was that he loved her now. And would love her until his ancestors called him home.

He thought of the too-short life span of the humans. Or, at least of his Annwyl. Even if she survived the Sibling War she still wouldn’t survive as long as Fearghus. The thought of living without her cut him like a lance through his heart. A very selfish part of him wished he could walk away from her. Leave her to live her human life with some human male. But when he looked at her, he realized that wasn’t possible. She dipped her forefinger in the chalice of wine, leaned her head back, and let the wine drip into her open mouth. He shook his head at the woman’s overt silliness. Still, he couldn’t help but think about that mouth of hers exploring his entire body. That finger running over his shaft and wiping the fluid off its head.

Annwyl put her finger in her mouth and sucked it clean. Without meaning to, he gave a little moan and she turned to look at him. Oblivious, she winked at him and went back to her book.

There was one thing he could do, but it risked too much and could lose him everything. He shook his head again. No. The queen would be his last resort. She was
always
his last resort.

The air shifted in front of her as the blade slashed by her throat. With a laugh, she danced back several steps and brandished her two swords. He attacked and she blocked the move while she swung out her leg, aiming for his groin. He stopped her, catching hold of her ankle, then flipping her up and over. She landed face down but forced her body up and moving before he could get his hands on her.

Annwyl really did have herself to blame for this. Throwing out “If you can take me, you can have me” before their swords clashed was, in retrospect, probably a bad idea. She really should stop challenging the man but she had to admit that she did enjoy a good fight.

Her father always accused her of making everything difficult.  Perhaps he was right. If she wanted the knight, she could have easily taken him. From the time she walked up to him that morning, he had been more than ready. She knew it and he never said a word to her. But she realized now that she liked the challenge. She liked making him work for it. And work he did.

He knocked one of her swords out of her hand, so she backhanded him, causing the big ox to stagger away from her. She tried to charge past him, but he reached out that long arm and grabbed her. She struggled to get away from him, but his ironlike grip held fast. He pulled her struggling body into his chest with one arm. With the other he twisted her wrist until she dropped her sword.

“Seems, my lady, that I’ve got you.”

“Bastard!”

“Now I guess I can have you.”

“Let me go!”

“You made a bargain, my lady.”

Annwyl growled in frustration, loving the feel of his arm around her, his hard body pushing into her back.

He forced her up against a tree, her back still to him. He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “I’d hate to think the future ruler of Dark Plains would not keep her promises.”

Then he ripped her leggings off.

Hours he spent creating the spell that would drag Annwyl from her protective cocoon with the dragons right to
his
lair. Days he spent gathering all the necessary ingredients. He even had to sacrifice one of his favorite acolytes who, tragically for him, was a virgin.

But the virgin blood opened the doorway between space and time. And that’s when he saw her. Stark naked and astride some male. She rode him as if he were a favored stallion, her hips grinding against the man’s body. Hefaidd-Hen’s view took in her back and he could see her muscles flexing as she came closer and closer to release. He could see the sheen of sweat on her tanned skin, the sweat drenched hair draping across her rippling muscles. He could hear her moans and cries of pleasure. Hefaidd-Hen’s fingers neared her, about to touch her flesh. She was nearly his. But Lorcan burst in. Stormed in, actually. Pushing about his acolytes, demanding Hefaidd-Hen’s immediate response to his presence.

With his concentration broken, the doorway slammed shut and the girl slipped his grasp. He roared in anger.

And Hefaidd-Hen turned all his fury toward the Butcher of Garbhán Isle.

* * *

Fearghus snatched Annwyl’s naked, sweaty body protectively to him and sat up.

“Wait. Don’t stop.” He’d never gotten the stubborn, demanding, insatiable wench that close to begging before, but he had to ignore her. Something wasn’t right.

The energy surrounded him. A presence. Not quite human. He looked around him and sniffed the air.

“What? What is it?” She reached for her sword, but he stopped her.

They were alone in his glen again. But a dark sense of foreboding invaded his very soul at that moment. Things were about to change. Forever.

He looked at Annwyl. She stared at him, a small smile on her lips. “Everything all right, knight?”

He didn’t answer her. Instead he kissed her collarbone and stretched back out, his hard, demanding cock still inside her. “Finish what you started, woman.”

Her smile grew wide. “My pleasure, knight.”

Lorcan slowly opened his eyes. The brutal pain in his head made him wish for death. Just the dim light from a close-by pit fire caused a moan to escape. He couldn’t remember what happened. Not clearly. But he knew from the sound of loud breathing in the room that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

“Ah, my lord. I am so glad to see that you are finally coming around.” The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. He tried to push himself up with his arms, but something powerful and large slapped flat across his back, forcing him back to the ground.

“No. No. Stay down. I want you to rest before you try getting up.” The voice sighed heavily. “I am so sorry, my lord, that it was necessary to be so harsh with you. But I think that it is time we made some things clear, mhmm?”

Lorcan didn’t try to rise again. Whatever pushed him down still rested against his back, holding him in place. But he slowly swiveled his head around to see what spoke to him.

On sight of it he immediately tried to pull away, but it wouldn’t let him go. “Now. Now. There is no reason to fear me. I am your ally. Just like I have always been.” Lorcan retched and his meal from several hours ago burst across the floor.