About a Dragon

by G. A. Aiken

  “I know where there are more books.” Éibhear jumped up and was out of the cavern in seconds.

  “But I already have a book,” she said to no one in particular.

  “I guess he feels you need more.”

  Her eyes locked on Briec. “What I need is to be let go.”

  “Why would I do that? Have you somehow fulfilled your blood debt to me without my knowledge?”

  “I never asked for you to save me.”

  “Most likely because of that rope choking the life from you.”

  “Oh!” She stood. “I hate you. Perhaps you should go fly in the rain and lightning will strike you dead!”

  Grabbing her book and ignoring her growling stomach, she turned and stormed from the cavern.

  Gwenvael leaned back in his chair, his hand under his shirt so he could scratch his chest. The other hand rubbed his forehead where the fruit had made a rather unpleasant temporary dent. “So what is your obsession over this human female, brother?”

  “She’s…” Briec struggled for words.

  “Strange?”

  Briec frowned. “Compared to what?”

  His brother had a point. No one in the dragon world ever referred to the Gwalchmai fab Gwyar kin as normal.

  “She doesn’t trust me,” Briec added.

  “That one trusts no one.”

  “Fearghus’ mate trusts him.”

  So that’s what this is about. He’d wondered about Briec’s sudden interest in a human female. Now he knew. He wanted what Fearghus had. But what Fearghus had with Annwyl was special. Very, very special. “That’s different, Briec. Annwyl is…well…Annwyl. And would you start using her name.”

  “Why? She’s of no consequence to me.”

  More like Briec still hadn’t forgiven her for backhanding him during one of her rages. As far as Briec was concerned—the most powerful human queen known to this world in the last ten thousand years didn’t exist for him.

  “But you still want what Fearghus has.”

  Briec looked up from the bowl of fruit in front of him, horror written all over his face. “Good gods! I’d rather remove my eyes than spend a minute in that woman’s bed.”

  Gods, his family could be literal.

  “I don’t mean you want Annwyl, idiot. I mean you want the kind of relationship Fearghus has with Annwyl.”

  Briec shrugged and went back to his fruit. He chose two. “He does seem…”

  “Happy?”

  “As much as Fearghus can be.” True. No one referred to Fearghus the Destroyer as the life of anyone’s party. Their grandfather, Ailean, still held that title. Even Gwenvael hadn’t quite managed to pass that old bastard’s excesses. Of course all that was before Ailean met their grandmother—Shalin, Tamer of Ailean. A title well earned and held until her final days.

  “Look, Briec, if you want anything close to what Fearghus has, you’ll have to change some…things.”

  “But she hasn’t even seen my den yet.” Briec grabbed a hunk of cheese and bread. “She might like it.”

  Gwenvael struggled not to slap his older brother in the back of the head. Although he and Briec were close—no matter how much they fought—he still found him frustrating. Mostly because his arrogance could fill up an entire city.

  “I meant you’ll need to change some things about you.”

  “Me? Change? For her?” Now Briec leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Why would I change for a human? Any human?”

  “If you want to be between her legs without her crying and praying for death, you better change.”

  “What am I doing wrong?”

  “Everything.”

  “Specifics, brother.”

  “Telling her she belongs to you when you haven’t even bed her yet is always a bad idea.”

  “Why? She does belong to me by dragon law.”

  Silently, Gwenvael sighed. This would take longer than he thought. Briec could be so stubborn. Almost as bad as their father.

  “Dragon law only works, brother, if you want her as your slave. If that’s what you want, then throw our laws in her face at every opportunity. But if you ever hope to have her bed you willingly the way Annwyl does Fearghus—and from what I’ve been able to figure out, she drains his cock dry—then I suggest you take another tack.”

  “Are you saying I have to seduce her?”

  Gwenvael stared at his older brother. “What did you think? She’d be so grateful for your rescue; she’d drop to her knees to service you?”

  Briec fell silent for a moment, then he answered honestly. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I was expecting that.”

  Gwenvael shook his head. “It amazes me we have the same blood.”

  Returning to the fruit and cheese in front of him, Briec muttered, “It amazes me I didn’t strangle you at birth. And why am I eating fruit? Where’s that horse?”

  Arzhela stared down at the bowed golden head of her favorite loyal servant. Unlike that bitch, Talaith, Hamish of Madron came to her of his own free will. He wanted power and she could provide it…as long as he remained loyal to her.

  As always, and like a good dog, he came when called.

  “The time has come, my son.”

  As was proper, he did not raise his eyes to look upon her. So she couldn’t see his face, but she could sense his smile, she made sure he understood—with her victory would come his power and ascension. “But there is much to be done. Is all prepared?”

  “Nearly, my goddess. My best warriors have been dispatched to track down that peasant. And my army is nearly assembled. A few more details and we’ll be ready for your command.”

  “Good.” She reached down and like her favorite hunting hound, she petted his head. “I know you will not fail me.”

  “Never. My life is yours, m’lady. It has always been yours.”

  She grinned and she knew he couldn’t see her fangs. “I know, child. I know.”

  Another set of books dropped at Talaith’s feet. She cringed. “Éibhear!”

  He stopped. “What?”

  “I think I have enough books.”

  “You sure?”

  Talaith glanced around at the piles and piles of books that now surrounded her. Perhaps thirty books altogether. “I’m sure.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.” He stared at the books, a deep frown on his handsome face. Clearly he didn’t feel confident she had enough to entertain her. Exactly how long did he think she’d be staying?

  “Mind if I join you then?”

  “Uh—” was all she managed before Éibhear, grinning, grabbed one of the books and sat on the floor, leaning against her chair.

  “It’s nice that you’re here, Lady Talaith.”

  Talaith barely stifled her laugh at the title he’d given her, knowing the blue dragon was being sincere. “Thank you, Éibhear.”

  “Are you very miserable?”

  Truth be told, she wasn’t miserable at all. Uncomfortable, yes. A tad wary, absolutely. And the sounds of Briec and Gwenvael constantly fighting had begun to seriously wear on her frayed nerves. But, other than that, she was hardly miserable.

  Some might actually interpret her current feelings as rather…contented. Although that made no sense to her. Trapped in a cave with three human-eating dragons—she should be terrified beyond all reason.

  But she wasn’t.

  “Lady Talaith?”

  Smiling, she reached over the arm of the chair and patted one of Éibhear’s enormous shoulders. “I’m not miserable, Éibhear. And you don’t have to call me lady. I’m not, actually.”

  “Aren’t Nolwenn witches royalty?”

  Now she did laugh. “Hardly. We’re very political, that’s true. We’ve been the advisors of many kings and queens over the centuries. But no Nolwenn witch born has been of royal blood.”

  “Ah. Well, you still seem like royalty to me.”

  “You’re very sweet.”

  “I know.” He leaned his head back so he could look at her
, his blue hair falling across her arm and legs. “I’m the nice one.”

  “Are you now? And Gwenvael? Which one is he?”

  “He’s the whore.”

  Enjoying the conversation immensely, Talaith relaxed back in her chair, her legs tucked up under her. The wool dress she wore had been waiting for her on a chair beside her bed when she woke up that morning. She didn’t know which brother left it for her, and she wasn’t about to ask…but even she had to admit it looked wonderful on her. “And Briec?”

  “The warrior.”

  Unable to stop herself, she snorted. “Is he? Really?”

  Éibhear eagerly turned around so he could rest his arms on Talaith’s lap and lean in close. By the Dark Gods of Fire, she’d never seen arms that large before. “Really. He’s fought great battles for many years.”

  “And who did Briec battle? Some of my poor fellow humans?”

  Solemnly, Éibhear answered, “To be honest, Briec doesn’t consider fights with humans as battles. I think he sees that more as hunting. Or a snack that runs.”

  “What a lovely thought.”

  “My brother’s battled other dragons. Those who would dare challenge our mother’s throne. And he’s never been defeated. Not once. They’ve written songs about his conquests and…uh, Talaith that really hurts.”

  Talaith looked down to see she’d reached over and gripped a handful of Éibhear’s hair. “Oh. Sorry.” She released him, absently petting his head. “Did you say your mother’s throne?”

  “Aye.”

  “Your mother is, um, the Dragon Queen?” One of the most brutal and powerful killers in the known world and Talaith somehow ended up in her children’s laps. Good one, Talaith.

  “Aye. Queen Rhiannon of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar. First Born Daughter of Queen Addiena. First Born White…”

  “So,” she cut him off before the litany of his mother’s titles forced her to stab herself in the neck, “you’re actually Prince Éibhear.”

  “I guess.” He rested his head on her lap and instinctively Talaith dragged her hands through his blue hair, which no longer seemed that strange a thing to do.

  “And Briec is Prince Briec?”

  “Aye.” He snuggled in closer, his eyes drifting shut. “Now don’t you feel special, Lady Talaith? You’ve been kidnapped by royalty.”

  Chuckling, Talaith continued to stroke Éibhear’s hair. “Oh, aye. This entire kidnapping takes on a whole new meaning, my friend.”

  Éibhear sighed, relaxing into her. “My mother used to do that.”

  “Do what? Be sarcastic?”

  “No, no. No one does that quite like you. I mean—” He yawned. A big one. “She used to stroke my head like you’re doing.”

  “She doesn’t anymore?”

  “No. She says I’m too old.” His voice began to fade.

  “Perhaps, but that’s no worry to me, now is it?”

  He didn’t respond and she leaned over to see Éibhear had fallen dead asleep.

  Smiling, she relaxed back and started to again read her book while gently stroking Éibhear’s head.

  At first he’d felt nothing but intense jealousy while he stayed back in the shadows and watched the pair. Especially when his little witch began petting his baby brother’s head like that. But Éibhear’s words humbled him. He didn’t know his little brother thought so highly of him. Or bragged about him so. And, of course, seeing Talaith’s face when she found out they were royalty…well, one really couldn’t put a price on that.

  Still, it was the way she stroked Éibhear’s head that fascinated him. Nothing lusty about it at all. In fact, it was very maternal and sweet and warmed his heart as nothing ever had before. Too often he and Gwenvael had to hurt those who would take advantage of Éibhear’s good nature. Or mock him for being kind. But Talaith, she let him be as kind as he wanted and never made fun of him for it or tried to take advantage.

  Now the question became, how did he get Talaith this comfortable with him but without her feeling maternal? There had to be a way to get her to soften toward him. But the only time she seemed unafraid of him was when they were fighting. Gods, but the woman did love to fight.

  Of course, when Briec thought about it, so did he.

  If he were remotely human, he’d never see or hear her heading toward one of the lower exits out of his cave.

  He should let her go. It wasn’t wrong Briec took her from that village because he was truly rescuing her. But not to let her go once he got her to safety—only Briec would think that was perfectly acceptable.

  Still, leaving without letting any of them know bothered him. And Éibhear was so fond of her, too. Plus, Gwenvael truly enjoyed the way she tortured his older brother. He’d pay her to stay if she would keep that up.

  Her body melded into the shadows—she’d changed into all black—and she moved silently. Yes, her skills truly did impress him and now Gwenvael understood why Briec seemed to constantly question her.

  This woman was no mere peasant.

  She stood a stone’s throw from the mouth of the cave, but she wouldn’t move. Her eyes scanned around. She sensed him. Very impressive. He waited, wondering how long before she caught sight of him. For another minute or so, she continued to search the area with her eyes. She knew he was there, she just didn’t know where.

  Finally, she stood up straight and her head fell back so she looked up at the ceiling—and him.

  “Talaith.”

  Even though he kept his voice calm, because he felt no anger at her escape attempt—she wasn’t his female—she still screamed. Like a banshee.

  She ran, too. Right toward the exit and the ongoing storm outside. But he ran along the ceiling until he passed her, then he dropped down in front of her, shaking the cave walls and blocking her way out.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” He sat back on his haunches and stared at her.

  She quickly crouched before him, a dagger drawn, and inched back step by step. This was a woman who knew how to protect herself. He liked that. Weak females bored his kind, so Briec had chosen well.

  “Move, dragon.”

  He fought his urge to laugh at her order. What exactly did she expect to do with that tiny blade? Especially with her usually powerful voice sounding shaky from fear.

  “I can’t. My brother would have my head.”

  “I don’t belong to him.”

  “No, but you’ll have to fight that fight yourself, beautiful. Now,” he motioned in the opposite direction with the tip of his tail, “go back to Briec.”

  “I’m not a dog. And what is wrong with your tail?” She frowned. “It’s missing something.”

  Unwilling to discuss the betrayal of his kin and the day those bastard brothers of his cut off the tip, Gwenvael brought his tail up so he could wrap it around her waist and carry her back to his brother. But she latched onto it with one hand and used the other to plant her blade between her teeth. While Gwenvael was still trying to understand what the hell she may be up to, he raised his tail, allowing her to jump from it to his forearm. Next thing he knew, she climbed onto his snout and over the top of his head.

  “What in bloody—”

  Then he saw her dagger. How could he miss it? She aimed it straight at his eye. He swatted at her with his claw. He didn’t knock her off, but it startled her enough she stabbed his head scant inches from her original target.

  “Aaaaaaarrrrrrrggggggggggghhh! You mad cow!”

  He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had no choice. Especially when she yanked her blade back and took aim again.

  Using his tail, he slammed her from behind, sending Talaith flying. She hit the ground with a grunt, but smartly rolled with the landing.

  She ended up on her back, the dagger still clenched in her hand. He didn’t wait for her to get up. He wrapped his tail around her, making sure her arms were pinned at her sides and headed back into his cave.

  Morfyd the White, Dragonwitch of House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, First-born Daughter of Dr
agon Queen Rhiannon, Vassal to Queen Annwyl of Garbhán Isle, and Supreme Battle Mage to the armies of Dark Plains, picked herself up off the ground, unable to look any of the men in the eye who’d watched her trip over her own two big feet. After all these years, she thought she would have mastered her human body a little better.

  Unfortunately…

  “Are you all right?”

  She winced at the humor-filled voice she now so easily recognized.

  “Aye, Brastias.” She took the hand of Queen Annwyl’s general and second-in-command, allowing the man to help her up.

  “Those feet of yours just came out of nowhere and attacked again, huh?”

  She glared into his smiling face. “Keep that up, and I’ll let the next battle wound you get go septic.”

  She brushed off the front of her white robes and desperately tried to ignore those strong hands of Brastias’ brushing off the rear. With every pass over her ass, she practically purred.

  “Honestly, Morfyd,” he said with all sincerity, “are you sure everything is all right?”

  “Aye. Just one of my brothers.” She had felt a sudden and extreme pain in her head that ended just as suddenly. Not good, especially when it caused her to trip over her own two feet, but her brother still lived. That she knew.

  Brastias frowned in concern. “Are they all right? Gods, it’s not Fearghus is it?”

  She shook her head, but couldn’t help but smile. No one wanted to have that particular conversation with the queen should her mate be in distress.

  Brastias took her arm and headed toward her tent. “Which brother then?”

  She knew he could care less, but he always liked to find a reason to take her hand or arm and to escort her to her tent. Morfyd had to admit, Brastias did make going to war an almost pleasurable event.

  She concentrated for a moment, feeling for those tendrils of Magick that kept the entire Gwalchmai fab Gwyar family continually connected. They could shut each other out at will and usually did—unless they were surprised. Clearly, something blindsided her kin. “Gwenvael, I think.”

  “Gwenvael? Really? Shocking,” he said flatly.

  Morfyd laughed. Brastias had been around her kin long enough now to know if there was trouble, Gwenvael would most likely fall head first into its lap. “I know. Unbelievably shocking.”