About a Dragon (Dragon Kin #2)(54)
Author: G.A. Aiken

Picking her up, he dropped her on his back. “Get comfortable, my love.”

“I hate you.”

“Keep that feeling, sweet Talaith. You’ll need it when I get you back to my den and take you again and again and again.”

“Just so we’re clear, dragon. You are one of my least favorite beings.”

He turned and looked at her over his shoulder. “But you do love me? Right, Talaith?”

She rewarded him with a warm, beautiful smile. And it was a reward. “Of course I love you. You mean the world to me, Briec.”

He smirked. “Well, of course I do. I’m Briec the Mighty.”

She snorted a laugh as she got comfortable on his back. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Aye, my sweet Talaith. You most certainly did. Like a brutal ambush on a snowy mountaintop.”

She cleared her throat. “You’ve actually done that, haven’t you?”

“Oh, I have. Want me to tell you about it?” Briec asked as he took to the skies.

“No!”

“Fine. You don’t have to be nasty about it. Are you going to be like this when we get home?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I am. I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

“What makes you think you haven’t already?”

“Maybe the way you moan my name, O’ Arrogant One.”

He soared by trees and Talaith didn’t even notice she was so busy arguing with him. Good. By the time he got her home, she’d be so wet and ready for him, they probably wouldn’t even make it to the bed.

“That’s not a moan, little witch. It’s more of a complaint.”

“Ha! You only dream of having control in this relationship, my love.”

“We’ll see who has control when I get you back and tie you to the bed.”

“You’ll have to catch me first, dragon. And I’m quite stealthy. It’s one of my skills.”

“I thought complaining and getting lost were your skills…ow! Don’t pull my hair.”

“Then you best make sure you don’t make me angry, Briec the Arrogant.”

Briec laughed. “And where would the fun be in that, my love?”

Epilogue

Gwenvael sighed in overwhelming boredom, his talons scraping along the rocky, snow-covered ground.

There were a thousand things he’d rather be involved in. But Annwyl had asked this favor of him and he couldn’t turn her down. Well, normally he could and would turn her down, but the woman had become a viper the longer her current “state” went on. Large with her Demon Twins, as Briec so eloquently put it, the past seven months had not been easy on any of them. Morfyd received the worst of it and Fearghus learned that there actually was too much f**king to be had. Apparently the human female had become absolutely insatiable and Fearghus was no longer safe walking down the blasted castle hallways or hunting in the surrounding forests. The woman stalked the poor dragon like an elk at High Season.

Gwenvael offered to assist Fearghus with his current “burden” and nearly lost his head in the process. Gods, his family never knew how to take a joke and until Annwyl birthed whatever grew in her belly she too would no longer be any fun.

So, when Gwenvael really thought about it, this was all probably for the best. A nice trek up to the Northlands and away from the Blood Queen.

True, he’d been into the Northlands many times before in the last few months, but never this far into the Mountains of Despair or this close to the Ocean of Death and the Sea of Pain and Suffering. Ah, yes, these barbarians had such pithy names for their landmarks.

Gwenvael could smell the fresh ocean air and he longed to dive in and swim far, far away from this place.

The Reinholdt Fortress. A dank, depressing place if he’d ever seen one, but the Northland barbarians weren’t known for their elegance. Even the local dragons—all descendents of the lightning gods and at one time his kinds’ mortal enemies—fought hard and lived harder.

It seemed to be the way of this cold, forsaken land and those who lived within it.

To stop the flow of depression threatening to overtake him, Gwenvael reminded himself he could be back at Garbhán Isles dodging another sword thrown at his head for some inconsequential thing he said.

Instead, he was here to meet the legedary Sigmar Reinholdt and his thirteen strong sons, one of whom everyone referred to as The Beast. According to local gossip, The Beast was the scariest thing on two legs and had built quite a name for himself. As Gwenvael traveled through the Northlands these many months, he often heard the name mumbled in whispers and even the women he bed with for the night refused to discuss the man—even when Gwenvael was at his most persuasive.

But that no longer mattered, because now he stood in front of the fortress, a line of Reinholdt troops the only thing between him and the gates inside the compound.

Gwenvael sighed again and barked, “I grow tired of waiting.”

“Dragons ain’t much for patience, is they?”

“No, they isn’t,” Gwenvael mocked back. Normally he tolerated humans—especially Annwyl—better than any of his kin, but he was tired, extremely hungry and bored. Bored being the worst of it. As his mother always said, “A bored Gwenvael is an entire town destroyed accidently.”

Many more minutes passed, until Gwenvael considered mowing them all down with his flames just to see them burn when a short, but powerfully built man pushed past the men guarding the entrance. Gods, the man had no neck to speak of. He went from head straight into his shoulders.

“I be Sigmar,” the human said as a form of greeting and Gwenvael worked hard not to laugh out loud. These Northerners made his father seem downright warm and cuddly.

“King Sigmar.” Gwenvael dipped his head, the most a human could ever expect from a dragon in way of respect—unless the human was female. Gwenvael had been known to roll on his back like a dog for the right female.

“I be no king, dragon. There are no kings in the Northlands. I’m The Reinholdt and clan leader of these lands.”

Whatever. “So you asked for me, Reinholdt.”

“No. I asked for your Annwyl.”

“Well, she’s indisposed at the moment, so she sent me as her emissary.”

“A dragon emissary for a human?”

One more second of this and Gwenvael had every intention of killing them all. “Aye.”

Reinholdt shrugged but said nothing else, preventing the potential carnage. The only problem was Reinholdt stopped speaking all together.

It took all of Gwenvael’s strength not to roll his eyes in annoyance. He wanted this over with so he could get some food, ale and a female or two to warm his bed for the night. Standing out in the cold was annoying him and the snow was freezing his scales. He hated that.

“Again, Reinholdt, you wanted to see me or someone from Dark Plains?”

“Nay. Not me, dragon. The Beast made that request.”

Patience, Gwenvael. You’re known for your patience. “And may I meet The Beast?”

Reinholdt passed glances among the other men before looking back at Gwenvael. “You sure about that, dragon?”

“Yes,” Gwenvael hissed. “I am.”

Reinholdt nodded and looked at the men lined up in front of the gates. As one, they separated into two lines and Gwenvael’s eyes widened as “The Beast” stepped forward from the throng of men and walked up to him.

Gwenvael stared down at the sight for several long seconds and then, unable to stop himself, he burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it.

This? This was The Beast? Terrifying scourge of the Northlands? Battle Lord and Destroyer? This?

“Something amuses you, dragon?”

Round pieces of glass held between a wire frame rested upon The Beast’s small nose and cold grey eyes stared at him. The pieces of glass slipped down a bit only to be pushed back by a well-placed finger.

“You?” Gwenvael managed between bouts of laughter. “You are The Beast?”

“That is what they call me.”

Gwenvael stared down at the tiny woman before him. Smaller than even Briec’s Talaith, there was nothing about this female that said warrior or assassin or witch or anything of any threat whatsoever. She wore a painfully plain, long-sleeved grey dress and fur boots. She had a small eating dagger attached to the girdle on her h*ps and waist-length brown hair tied into a plait.

The woman couldn’t be more plain or boring or uninteresting if she actually put effort into it. And Gwenvael couldn’t help it but he laughed harder. So hard he finally laid out on his back and rolled around for a bit, his dragon limbs flailing.

For months he’d heard about this female as a male and he didn’t half expect another Hamish or Annwyl’s brother, Lorcan. Or, at the very least, his mother.

Something dangerous and blood-covered. This woman looked like she never left the library.

After several minutes, Gwenvael somehow got himself under control. He stopped laughing but didn’t get back up because she stood right beside him. That impressed him. Most humans went out of their way to avoid him when he was in dragonform.

She stared down at him with those cold grey eyes made larger by the glass over each one. He did find those interesting. He’d never seen anything like that before. He wondered why she wore them.

“Are you done?” she asked coldly.

“Sorry, uh…Beast.” He snorted out another laugh, but choked it back.

“Dagmar will do. Dagmar Reinholdt. Thirteenth child of The Reinholdt and his only female.”

Northerners mostly breeded males, often forced to steal their females from the south. Even the lightning dragons mostly hatched males. It was as if the land was too cold and desolate for females to be born here.

“I asked your queen here because I have news that may save her life and the lives of her unborn whelps.”

Gwenvael frowned, not appreciating anyone referring to his brother’s little bastards as “whelps”.

“Tell me, sweet Dagmar,” he mocked. “And I’ll tell her.”

The female blinked. Once. “No.”

Gwenvael pushed himself up a bit so that his snout was barely inches from her nose. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, you’ve insulted me. You’ve insulted my kin. And you’ve insulted The Reinholdt. So you can return to your bitch queen and you can watch her die.”

With that, Dagmar Reinholdt turned on her heel and walked away from him. She stopped after a few feet, glancing at him over her shoulder, and said, “Now that, dragon…that’s funny.”

She walked back into the fortress and the soldiers closed rank. Gwenvael scrambled to his feet and stared at Sigmar Reinholdt, but the no-neck clan leader only shook his head.

“You are a bit of a dumb bastard, aren’t ya, dragon?” he said without a bit of pity. “We don’ call her The Beast cause we’re bored, ya know? She’ll tell ya nothin’ now.”

With a resigned sigh, the man followed after his daughter and his sons followed after him.

The soldiers closed up ranks with their weapons drawn. They now blocked the gates and Gwenvael knew they’d never willingly let him enter.