Feel the Burn

by G. A. Aiken

  “The Chramnesind cult has sent these slaughter groups to temples and monasteries all across my lands,” Annwyl said. “And they’ve been going in and”—she sighed, deeply—“purifying the worshippers and destroying the temples.”

  “But you don’t think that’s simply in the name of their god.”

  “No. Everyone else does, but I can’t help but think they’re after something. Now they’ve taken you . . . thinking you had something.” She leaned forward a bit, stared into his eyes. “Whatever they’re trying to find, Gaius, we need to find the bloody thing first.”

  And he knew, in his bones, that she was absolutely right.

  With his arm slung around his daughter’s shoulders, Fearghus the Destroyer walked into the Great Hall of the place he lived in with his mate. It wasn’t his home. That was his cave in Dark Plains. There, he could be his true self. A happy, relaxed black dragon with a mate and daughter he adored and a male offspring he greatly tolerated.

  But when he was here, when he was in Garbhán Isle, he was Prince Fearghus, First Born Son of the Dragonwitch Queen Rhiannon and Direct Heir to her throne.

  A position he could honestly not care less about. Annwyl was the true leader. She loved her people. Risked everything for their care, for their protection. And because of her loyalty to her people—and his undying love of her willingness to cut off the head of anyone who threatened those she protected—Fearghus put up with living among so many bloody people . . . and kin. Gods . . . so damn many of his kin.

  It was a never-ending nightmare. They never seemed to leave. And even if they did . . . more came to replace them. The Cadwaladrs, his father’s side of the family . . . an endless supply of annoying dragon kin to pluck his last black dragon nerve.

  “Father!” his male heir greeted him, arms thrown wide. Instinctually, Fearghus reared back.

  “No hugs?” his son asked, appearing as annoying as Fearghus’s brother Gwenvael, who watched from the stairs, one of his six daughters planted on his shoulders, her small hands resting on her father’s head, the pair smiling together as they viewed the family reunion before them.

  “Why do you torture me so?” Fearghus asked. “I let you live. Wasn’t that enough?”

  “Fine. No hug. How about a kiss?”

  When Fearghus sighed, his daughter stepped in.

  “Leave off.”

  “Is it wrong for a son to want some affection from his own father?”

  “You don’t want affection. You probably made some bet with that one.” She pointed at Gwenvael, who gasped in horror, pressing his hand against his chest.

  “But, niece! How can you say such a thing to a beloved uncle? Do you not adore me?”

  Talwyn let out a sigh, glanced off, and muttered, “I am so afraid I’m truly about to hurt your feelings, Uncle Gwenvael.”

  Aye. This was his girl! Fearghus couldn’t be prouder.

  “Be nice to Uncle Gwenvael,” the boy chastised. “He’s the only male of the family who didn’t assume I was replaced at birth with someone else’s more annoying offspring.”

  “I’m still not sure,” Talwyn snarled, and her brother’s eyes narrowed.

  Fearghus took a step back once they had each other in a headlock and quickly moved over to his niece Rhi. She stood by her father, Briec, tall and regal and astoundingly beautiful.

  Fearghus hugged her. “Welcome home, little one,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

  Her arms were tight around him, her hugs always as strong as her nature was soft. His sweet niece didn’t like fights. Didn’t like anger. She wanted everyone to love everyone else.

  Unfortunately, she had been born into the wrong family for that sort of life outlook.

  “I’m so glad to be back, Uncle Fearghus. But I don’t know how long we can stay.”

  “Why are you here now? I thought you were trapped with that old bit—”

  “Uncle Fearghus,” she cut in, one silver eyebrow raised. “She’s not that bad.”

  “Oh, sweet child . . .” He hugged her again. Because only his sweet niece could see the best in the evilest of She-dragons, Brigida the Foul. That took some deep understanding, which the rest of them were incapable of.

  “By the by, brother,” Gwenvael suddenly stated as he swung his giggling daughter off his shoulders and tossed her casually in the air. “The good King Gaius is here as well. Came with the Riders.”

  Fearghus stated the obvious. “I don’t care.”

  The days of war with the Irons was over, so what did he care if that one-eyed prick came to—

  “He’s with Annwyl. In the war room. Alone.”

  Again, Fearghus shrugged. So the prick lost his head to Annwyl’s blade. He wouldn’t be the first nor the—

  “She remembered his name.”

  Fearghus blinked, surprised by that. “What?”

  His brother shrugged, trying to appear innocent. “She remembered his name. And . . . what did you say, little one?” he asked his daughter. But she’d disappeared. While the twins continued to fight, the rest of them glanced around, trying to find the child.

  Then, smoke swirled around Gwenvael and his daughter was back on his shoulders.

  He squinted up at her. “I thought I told you only to do that when we’re alone.”

  “Sorry, Daddy. I forgot.”

  Fearghus glanced at Briec. The brothers had noticed the growing powers of Gwenvael’s Five, and they didn’t know what to say about it. It wasn’t like either of them could judge. Not after Fearghus’s twins had shown a willingness to kill from a few days after their birth and Briec’s sweet Rhi had been able to throw grown adults out of a room with a mere wave of her hand.

  But what was missing from Gwenvael’s Five was something that had meant so much to Fearghus when his twins were growing up. The balance that Rhi provided them. The three together were powerful, but their energies combined kept them from being something he would eventually have to destroy.

  The Five . . . they didn’t balance each other out. Instead, they seemed to work as one, and that created a power that concerned both Fearghus and Briec. Two dragons who rarely agreed on much of anything.

  “Auntie Annwyl took the Rebel King gently by the hand and led him down the hall to her private chambers . . . while knowing his name,” Gwenvael’s daughter said.

  Talwyn abruptly pulled away from her brother and glared down at Gwenvael as Rhi “tsk-tsk’d.”

  “I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that. Her mother taught her to be so observant.”

  “But Auntie Dagmar uses her knowledge for the right reasons,” Talwyn argued. “Not just to fuck with family members.”

  “Oooooh,” the little girl chastised. “I’m telling Mummy you said a bad word.”

  Talwyn took a step forward, tossing her hair off her face with a rough shake of her head.

  “Do you know who I am?” Talwyn asked the child.

  “Yes,” the little girl replied. “You’re the one my sister Arlais is going to kill one day so she can take your throne.”

  Rhi and Talan exploded into laughter, but they also quickly turned away from Talwyn’s withering glare.

  Talwyn swung back toward her young cousin, her roar shaking the castle walls.

  The little girl squealed at whatever she saw in her cousin’s face or heard in that terrifying roar and disappeared in a flash of smoke.

  Grinning, Gwenvael leaned forward and kissed Talwyn on the forehead. “Welcome home, little niece.”

  Gaius stood beside the queen, both gazing down at one of the world maps she had spread across the thick wood table, in deep discussion about who might or might not be aligning themselves—and their armies—with Duke Salebiri.

  He was just leaning over, pointing out a little-known kingdom behind Salebiri’s territory, when the door was thrown open.

  Annwyl’s hand was on her sword before Gaius could blink—he hadn’t realized exactly how fast she was, especially for a human—but she quickly relaxed when she s
aw her mate standing there.

  “Oh. Fearghus,” she said, before refocusing her attention on the map.

  The black dragon’s dark eyes locked on Gaius, and that’s when Gaius noticed Fearghus’s two idiot brothers standing behind him.

  Instigators.

  True, it had only been Gaius and his sister when he was growing up, and they’d worked with each other, not against. But he’d had enough cousins who’d wanted him dead or, at the very least, truly annoyed, to immediately know what was going on here.

  He could have been the bigger dragon. His sister would expect that of him. She was very big on etiquette, his Aggie, which explained why she was so annoyed by Annwyl and her queendom. Annwyl the Bloody had absolutely no etiquette outside the battlefield. She’d be the first to rattle off the rules of war. No killing of the innocent. No rape. No unnecessary destruction. How she had gone on and on before their first and only battle against his Uncle Thracius. But etiquette here? In her home? That was more limited and, to Gaius’s secret delight, much more flexible.

  So he leaned into her a bit—she didn’t even notice, so focused on the map in front of her—placing his arm on the other side of her so that he had her caged in next to him.

  The black dragon’s head lowered, a fang flashed, and smoke eased from his nostrils while, behind him, his brothers grinned. Even the cranky Silver who never seemed to smile about anything except his daughters.

  “Annwyl!” the dragon snapped and, again, Annwyl moved so very fast, pulling her swords from the sheaths strapped to her back and assuming a combat-ready pose before Gaius had a chance to take his next breath.

  “What?” she demanded, eyes searching the room. “What is it?”

  With his brothers watching him, the Black searched for a response. “Uh . . .” He found one. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  “Introduce you? To who?”

  The prince’s eyes narrowed and he gestured at Gaius. Annwyl glanced back and shrugged. “Don’t you already know him? We took down Overlord Thracius together and he’s stayed here several times.” She blinked, glanced down at the floor, then asked Gaius, “Right?”

  Gaius nodded. “Right.”

  “Oh, good. Thought I was confusing you with someone else.”

  “No, no. That was me,” Gaius replied before gently putting an arm around her shoulders. So very casual. So very comfortable. He could never explain how he knew he had nothing to fear. At least nothing from Annwyl. Perhaps because when it came to off-the-battlefield etiquette, she truly didn’t care. They had an enemy to squelch and as long as Gaius wasn’t grabbing a breast, Annwyl just didn’t notice. Already she’d let her gaze drift back to the map, in search of more information on the kingdom Gaius had just mentioned to her.

  But the black dragon prince . . . ? Ah, that was another story altogether.

  It was as if he planned to shift right there, in the middle of the human castle, into his full dragon form just so he could tear Gaius limb from limb. But before he did any of that, Prince Gwenvael’s head was snatched back, his yelp startling his silver-haired brother beside him.

  “What was that for?” Gwenvael whined seconds before Dagmar Reinholdt marched into the room.

  “King Gaius,” she greeted, “I wanted to make sure you had everything you need.”

  “I’m more than . . . satisfied, my lady.”

  Gwenvael and Briec snorted at that, but before Fearghus could direct his anger at them, The Beast did. She locked eyes with both—such cold eyes behind boring round pieces of glass—and pointed.

  “Go,” she ordered.

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  Gwenvael immediately skulked off, but Briec attempted to resist.

  “I don’t take orders from—” he began and Dagmar’s cold eyes narrowed behind those pieces of glass and her head tilted to the side. It was a small gesture, but apparently enough for the arrogant bastard.

  Throwing his hands up, he said, “No need to get hysterical.” Then he, too, was gone.

  “Now,” she said, turning to Gaius and Annwyl, “what are we discussing?” With a casual air and extremely gentle hands, she grabbed Gaius’s forefinger and removed his arm from Annwyl’s shoulders. Then she stepped between them and stared at the map as well.

  With a snarl, Fearghus turned on his heel and left.

  While Annwyl leaned in to study the map, amazingly oblivious to everything going on around her, Dagmar gently whispered, “Stop that.”

  “Stop what?” Gaius asked.

  She briefly glared at him. “You know what. And I can only protect you from that one for so long. He’s not like his brothers. He’s much smarter and meaner than they are.” She jerked her head toward Annwyl—who was still oblivious. “That’s why he likes her so much. They’re mean together.”

  “But the males of that clan make it so easy.”

  Dagmar sighed. “Don’t you think I already know that?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Kachka sat on the front steps that led into the Great Hall and watched her sister speak with her husband, Celyn.

  Her walking out on him with his cock still hard and unsatisfied seemed to have been forgotten and now they talked softly to each other, Elina grinning at some joke he’d made.

  Something large dropped down next to Kachka on the stairs and she glanced over to see the Rebel King casually sitting beside her.

  “It’s too easy, you know,” he said.

  “What is?”

  “Toying with the Southlander dragons. At least the males. It’s simply too easy.”

  “I have noticed that as well. Like cat toying with mouse.”

  “Exactly.”

  Kachka motioned to her sister across the courtyard. “She seems happy, yes?”

  The king studied Elina for a moment, then nodded. “Very.”

  “Good. I always wanted her to be happy. She never was, you know? When she lived with our tribe.”

  “It was my understanding your mother didn’t make it easy for either of you.”

  “Glebovicha Shestakova made it easy for no one. Though she tolerated me well enough.”

  “Because you’re not afraid to kill.”

  “Do not be fooled. Elina is not afraid to kill. But she is just more . . . defense fighter. When you come at her, she will do what she has to in order to survive. But me . . .” She smiled at the dragon. “I am offensive. I need little reason to do what I feel is necessary.”

  “Yes. I’ve noticed that about you.”

  “You, peasant,” a young voice said from the bottom of the stairs. “Remove yourself from my way.”

  Kachka and the king smirked at each other before Kachka turned and stared down at Dagmar Reinholdt’s eldest daughter, Princess Arlais. She wished she could say Arlais treated her this way because she sensed her mother’s intense dislike of Kachka, but no. Arlais treated anyone she deemed beneath her this way—which was pretty much everyone.

  The nine-year-old waved at Kachka. “Move!”

  “You have plenty of space. Go around, demon child.”

  “Isn’t it bad enough we have you barbarians here? My aunt allows it, but you don’t need to be sitting there in front of our home, making the rest of us look bad.”

  “And one day,” Kachka replied, “the peasants here will rise up . . . and destroy you. And I will laugh.”

  “Damn, Kachka,” Gaius laughed.

  “What? Should I lie?”

  “She’s a child!”

  “She is spoiled brat who is lucky no one has put pillow over head while she sleeps.”

  “Do you think you frighten me?” the girl demanded. “Have you met my mother?”

  “I quote your mother.”

  A large shadow fell over the girl and wide gold eyes stared up at a battered and bruised—but somehow still smiling—Zoya Kolesova.

  “So they managed to keep you alive, Zoya Kolesova,” Kachka noted, but the disappointment in her voice had the dragon tapping her thigh.
>
  “Be nice,” he muttered to her.

  After rolling her eyes, Kachka lifted her hands, wiggled her fingers, and cheered, “Yay, you are better! We are all so happy you are not dead.”

  Zoya nodded, pleased with that ridiculous display.

  “You are huge!” the little princess exclaimed after making her way up the stairs. Now she walked around Zoya like a side of beef. “Look at her,” she said to Gaius, who she probably felt was on her level. “She is peasant perfection!”

  “Princess Arlais,” the Iron dragon gently chastised. “It is never polite to—”

  “You will be my bodyguard,” Arlais ordered a grinning Zoya. “You will do my bidding and protect me from all dangers.”

  Zoya stared down at the little girl until she finally exclaimed, “Look at her, Kachka Shestakova! Look at this tiny person.” She leaned down so that she could look the girl in her face. “How old is she? Three? Four?”

  “I am nine.”

  “Nine?” Zoya gasped. “How tiny you are! My girls at nine are ten times your size!” That’s when Zoya, who had never understood the word “boundaries,” suddenly grasped the child around the waist and lifted her up. “She is like toy! I shall take her back to one of my young granddaughters. She will be her tiny playmate!”

  “Put me down, you oaf! You vicious beast! Unhand me!”

  Gaius bumped Kachka’s leg with the back of his fist and jerked his head at the tiny Southland royal struggling with Kachka’s giant comrade.

  Kachka sighed. Loudly. “Must I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Zoya, put her down.”

  “But my granddaughters will love her!”

  “She is princess here and although I am sure her mother will happily give her over to you—”

  “Oy!”

  “—her father, a dragon, will definitely not. He seems to like her, though none of us can understand why.”

  “Vicious cow,” the little girl hissed at Kachka.

  “Keep that up and I will let Zoya’s granddaughters chain you like stray dog in street. Now, Zoya, put her down!”

  Zoya dropped the girl to the ground and they all watched her tumble down the stairs, rolling head over ass.