by G. A. Aiken
Her tongue invaded his mouth and her hands pulled at his clothes. This wasn’t what Vigholf had expected when he’d stood there staring at her ten minutes ago. Maybe another kiss he’d hoped for. A kiss that perhaps she’d return this time. One that she actually responded to. But this . . . this was even better. And completely surprising. Especially since this was not how things were done in the north. In the north it was kissing first, fucking later. Sometimes much later. The females of their Hordes were so protected that for them to have more than one or two lovers before their Claiming was rare. For many of the males it meant finding human pets to entertain them until they found the She-dragon they would mate with for life. But the courting process was relatively simple with actual physical contact not made until commitments had been sworn to. Even then, if there was more than one male interested—and often there was—then an event referred to as The Honour would take place. A battle until the death—or at least till a single dragon had beaten all the others into unconsciousness—so that the final dragon could claim the prize. Although since the death of Vigholf’s father, The Honour rarely took place these days among the Olgeirsson Horde.
Still, all these were long and complex steps that one must take to secure themselves a dragoness. An average, everyday, run-of-the-mill dragoness.
Then the Cadwaladr females had come along and that all seemed to change. Since taking their place beside the Northlanders to fight the Irons, the Clan females had been known to fuck whom they liked, when they liked. After a particularly rousing battle, a Cadwaladr female might simply grab the tail of some unsuspecting Northland male and drag him off to a quiet alcove somewhere. None of this the Northland males minded in the least. But it was what happened afterward that they did not favor.
For once done with males, the She-dragons wanted nothing more to do with them. Although, if the male made a good impression, she may tell her kin and the male may find himself busy nearly every night between battles. Which would be fine . . . if the Horde males didn’t have a tendency to get attached to females. Nothing was worse for them than to get lost in the scales of a female, only to find out the next morning the She-dragon wouldn’t even talk to him. Sometimes wouldn’t even acknowledge him. And gods forbid a male got a little pushy. A little demanding. The She-dragons, Vigholf had quickly learned, watched out for each other. A dragon became a little too pushy or demanding and he’d find himself on the wrong side of a Cadwaladr She-dragon attack. A “Tea and Kick Party” they all affectionately called it. It was never pretty and it was hard for the male to ever get his reputation back among his own kin.
Vigholf had seen Rhona dish out quite a few of those attacks in the name of one of her cousins or sisters. She didn’t like pushy males, which was why Vigholf had never been pushy. Or at least not very pushy. Not extremely pushy, anyway. Just . . . sort of pushy. But only to keep Rhona safe.
The question for Vigholf, though, was what did he do now, with Rhona in his arms, her human body pressed into his? Did he hold off, wait to see if what she was feeling went beyond the mere physical?
Or perhaps he should shut up and let her grip his cock the way she was doing now.
Vigholf closed his eyes, let out a breath while Rhona kissed a line across his jaw until she stopped and pressed her forehead against it.
Yes, all good intentions would have to wait. At least for a little while.
His eyes closed, his breathing shallow, Vigholf’s whole body tensed when she gripped his cock. All those muscles going rigid. Taut, as if just one thing, one touch, one move would have him snapping like a tightly coiled line.
Rhona squeezed and air rushed out of him. Then his hands were on her, lifting her up, turning, and shoving her back into the closest tree. He pinned her there with his body, his mouth searching out hers and finding it.
Rhona returned his kiss, enjoying that desperation she’d never seen from him before. Because he was a Northland warrior dragon, desperation was the last thing one ever saw from Vigholf the Abhorrent. Unless, of course, it was the desperation to kill you. Never a good situation to be in.
And yet, even with his desperation, she could tell he was holding back. Afraid of what? Scaring her off? She had no desire to stop him from what he was doing, to push him away as she’d been doing for the last five years when she’d just thought he was being a pest. An annoying pest who had an unhealthy obsession with her spear. But that was yesterday, last week, last month. And this was now.
Knowing and understanding Vigholf’s strength of will, Rhona knew she had to make what she wanted clear to the dragon. Yet she’d never been one for a lot of words. Especially during fucking. So she gripped his hand—marveling at the size of the fingers tangling with her own—and led that hand under her leggings and between her thighs. She pressed his fingers against her and released him, leaving the rest to him. Praying he wasn’t as oblivious as some of his kin could be. As sometimes he could be—especially when it came to horses.
His hand relaxed and for a moment she thought he was going to pull away. But his fingers curled, teasing, gently scraping, and then he pressed his middle finger against her clit, making small circles against it.
With her legs wrapped around Vigholf and his other arm holding her up, Rhona was free to grip the tree behind her. She dug her fingers into the bark while Vigholf stroked her. Making her wet and squirm. He took her mouth again, silencing what had become persistent whimpers. When she moved her hands from the tree and wrapped her arms around his neck, he pressed hard against her clit, still making those damn little circles.
She ended up screaming into their kiss, her legs tightening around him, and her body shaking as Vigholf made her come with those ridiculously large fingers of his.
Before she even finished, her leggings were torn from her and before she could say a word, think about anything but how long it had been since she’d come like that, she felt his cock pressing against her, then in her.
She gasped, her arms tightening around his neck. Never before could she remember being so grateful to have a cock inside her, ramming its way through still-pulsating-and-grasping muscle. The entire time he never stopped kissing her. That demanding, desperate, and oddly sweet kiss that had her knees shaking.
His hands slid under her now bare ass and gripped her tight, holding her steady while he dragged his cock slowly out of her, both of them groaning at the feel of it.
Then Vigholf was plunging back in, Rhona unable to stop the little squeal that came out from him filling her up, nearly stretching her out. Gods, was it her imagination or had a cock never felt so good before? It was true, it had been a while, but the gods be damned, this felt so good.
And Vigholf’s inordinately large body keeping her pinned to that blasted tree . . . aye, that felt really good too.
She held him so tight with her arms and legs and yet that was nothing when compared to the viselike grip she had on his cock. Did she train her muscles to do that? Whether she did or didn’t, he knew he’d been right. This tail belonged to him. But how he would keep the one making his eyes cross and his knees weak was a thought for another day. Right now, right here—he had all he needed. Rhona in his arms, her hot wet pussy wrapped around his cock, and her breath in his ear as she panted and made this delightful little squeal every time he thrust into her. Gods of fire and death, he could listen to that sound until the end of time.
But when she squeaked rather than squealed, he knew she was about to come. Her arms and legs tightening even more, her body shaking and twisting in his arms. He sought out her mouth again, pressed his tongue inside and licked and sucked his way to paradise. He finally came when she squeaked one more time, the sound dragging him over the edge. And he was glad that she was right there with him. Unable to imagine anyone else but Rhona ever being there again.
He leaned his head back and found her peering at him, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. He nearly laughed, realizing that they’d been so busy ripping at each other’s clothes, they didn’t even think
about or discuss whether to shift back. But that was something they could save for another time since he enjoyed taking her as human so much.
Rhona took in a breath, about to say something when that large and round fruit slammed into the back of Vigholf’s head, turning Rhona’s words into a fit of laughter.
Vigholf glared over his shoulder at the stallion standing a few feet away.
“Jealous bastard,” he sneered before he had to drop both him and Rhona to the ground, another piece of fruit winging its way right toward them.
Chapter 20
They were supposed to be sleeping. Mommy wouldn’t be happy if they weren’t sleeping. But it was all so fun! Like a picnic . . . in the dungeon! So how could they sleep? Instead they stayed awake and talked. Not out loud, though. Mommy wouldn’t like it if they were chattering away. That’s what she called it when others did it. Chattering.
So they talked to each other just by thinking. They did it all the time. It was fun!
They were so busy chattering and thinking and having fun that they almost didn’t notice. But her cousin Tally did. Tally noticed everything first. “She’s your first line of defense,” their friend said about her. They had lots of friends. Friends Mommy and the others could never see. Except Auntie Dagmar, but she was never around when their friends visited. Not since that first time one of their friends had come to see her and Tally and Talan. She’d still been in her crib then. Not in her big-girl bed. And Auntie Dagmar had been so angry at their friend, he never came back while she was around. None of their friends did. They were afraid of Auntie Dagmar—but they pretended they weren’t. But when they did come, they were all pretty and shiny, glowing like bright lights in the dark. Sometimes she had to look away, it burned her eyes.
But those creeping in through the back door, they weren’t pretty and shiny. They were bad. They hurt the two guards watching the door while the witches had gone to investigate noises in the other hallway. With all the fighting outside the castle walls, the witches didn’t think there was any real danger inside. But there was. There was danger and there would be until Daddy was home. Daddy and the others.
Tally got to her knees. Tally hated outsiders. Even worse, she’d liked those guarding the door. They were pretty too, but without the glowing. Tally liked pretty. But she didn’t like these men creeping in. She didn’t like them at all. And if she didn’t like them, Talan wouldn’t like them either.
These bad men would move fast and quiet, not even waking the dogs, sacrificing themselves to hurt her and Tally and Talan. She didn’t know why. What had she ever done? What had Tally and Talan ever done?
Tally, as always, moved first. Without a sound, she charged forward. The men didn’t see her coming. They didn’t expect her. She was too little, they’d say. Just a little girl. But Tally landed on the back of one of the sleeping dogs that they played with every day, and launched herself up, spun, and rammed her sword into the chest of the first bad man. Tally released her grip on her sword and dropped to the ground, and the man fell back into his friend. That’s when Talan threw his own sword, hitting the second man in his open mouth with it. Good thing, too, he was about to wake everyone up. Then Mommy would be upset. She’d cry and they’d have to go far away.
The men weren’t moving now. None of them were. Not the bad men or the nice soldiers who made her smile and let Tally hit their shields with her sword.
She didn’t want to see this anymore. She didn’t want Mommy upset. When Mommy was upset, it made her sad. So she opened what Pretty-Ren called a “doorway” and sent the bad men back to their friends outside the castle gates and the nice men back to the nice soldiers who would take care of them. It wasn’t a hard thing to do. Opening two doorways at the same time and making them all go away so no one would be sad. She wasn’t sure why it wasn’t hard for her because Pretty-Ren always acted like it was so hard.
But then her cousins turned and glared at her.
Our swords? Tally snapped inside her head.
Even though she wanted to cry, she knew Tally hated criers. So she did what Mommy always did when she passed some of the witches. Raised two fingers and flipped them up in the air.
“Are you three up?” Ebba asked. She’d also been asleep in the room. She could sleep while standing. Just like real horses!
Rhian wished she had four legs and hooves, too. Then she could run with the big horses and play in the sun all day.
“Back to sleep, little ones, before Talaith has my head.” Ebba smiled at them and put them back to bed. Ebba was always so nice, even when she was angry.
Once she had them down, Ebba went back to the other side of the room and all her books. Ebba loved to read. Once she was gone, Tally snapped, Now what are we going to do without our swords? What if we’re attacked again? You’re hopeless!
That made Rhian mad so she punched her cousin right in the arm, which only made Tally roll her eyes and turn over, pulling the blanket over her head. And Talan was already asleep. He could sleep through pretty much anything.
But now that no one was speaking to her anymore, Rhian was able to get some sleep too.
The commander of the mighty Horsemen of the Western Mountains discussed with his men their next plan of attack. He wanted this place pulled down stone by stone in the name of their horse god. If the Southland queen ever came back here—and that was doubtful—he wanted to make sure she found nothing but rubble and the bodies of her friends and family.
He was debating with his men about a possible weakness on the south wall when a bright flash lit up behind him. He and his men lifted their heads and, slowly, turned.
The two assassins—two of his best—whom he’d sent in to find and kill Annwyl’s demon children only a few hours before, were now lying in a heap behind them.
His next in command walked over to the bodies and pulled the small-sized weapons out of the assassins’ bodies. He held them up. They were clearly swords rather than daggers, which led his next in command to ask, “They’ve got centaurs and dwarves in there?”
Chapter 21
Rhona was impressed when Vigholf ended up eating the fruit rather than chucking it back at the horse.
Those two would never be friends, but what was the point of wasting food?
And, as she’d feared, Vigholf was one of those who was always hungry after fucking. Like feeding an empty pit.
He handed her a piece of bread, and Rhona was at least grateful he was good about sharing.
“We need to do something about our hair,” Vigholf suddenly announced. It seemed an odd thing to say with the pair of them sitting on the bedroll, naked.
“What?”
“We’ve got warrior braids in. Sovereign soldiers’ hair may be too short for that, but they’ll notice it on others.”
He had a point.
Rhona shoved the last bit of bread into her mouth and wiped one hand against the other. “I’ll do yours first,” she said while she crawled around behind him. Resting on her knees, she grabbed a plait in her hand and began to unbraid it. As she finished more and more of them, she ran her hands through his hair, enjoying the way Vigholf relaxed against her each time she did.
It took some time, but it was a smarter way to go if they hoped to be even remotely ignored as they moved farther along the road and neared the Provinces.
“Your turn,” Vigholf said, pulling her around and placing her in front of him.
To her surprise, he managed to unbraid her hair without any help. To be honest, she wasn’t sure his fingers were nimble enough, but she was learning his fingers were quite . . . adept.
She laughed a little, and Vigholf asked, “What?”
“Nothing.” Rhona rested her arms on Vigholf’s knees, but his legs were so long that when he bent them her arms were too high, so she stretched them out wide and placed them on either side of his hips. It felt kind of decadent, lounging around like this while in the lap of her once sworn enemy. She liked it. She liked being a bit decadent.
Rhona patiently waited for the Northlander to finish with her hair, noticing how what he was doing felt more intimate than what he’d done to and with her body.
“Do you ever let your hair grow past your shoulders?” he asked.
“Not really. When it’s too long, it’s too easy to turn my own hair against me during a close-in fight. But I can’t keep it as short as my Aunt Ghleanna’s, though. She has the face for that, I don’t.” She patted her cheeks. “No sharp cheekbones like her.”
“But you have dimples.”
“Quiet.”
“You do.”
“I know, but be quiet anyway.”
He chuckled, his fingers brushing against her throat as he picked up each braid. When he was done, he ran his hands through her hair and Rhona let out a deep sigh.
“You all right?” he asked while gently massaging her head. Something no one had ever done for her before.
“I’m what one might call . . . perfect. At the moment.”
He kissed her throat. “Good.”
Rhona closed her eyes, already planning their day tomorrow. So much travel, in dangerous enemy territory, in search of a mad queen. Not exactly what she’d consider a fun time for anyone. And yet . . .
“I’m glad you came with me.” She looked at Vigholf over her shoulder. “It’s nice someone’s watching my back for a change.”
“I do have your back. You don’t have to worry about that.”
She reached up, slid her hand into his hair, and gripped the strands tight. She pulled him closer and said, “Good. But don’t get in my way.”
“With you constantly trying to impale me with that bloody spear? Not a chance.”
She grinned and kissed him hard.
Aye. She was very glad he’d come with her.
