Dragon Actually dk-1

by G. A. Aiken

  As long as he existed, he would never understand the girl.

  “Fearghus. I wondered where you’d gotten to.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  She sighed. “I guess.”

  The woman was killing him. Slowly. Bit by bit.

  He settled down next to her and she immediately grasped a handful of his hair. “All right, Annwyl. What is it?”

  “The knight.”

  Fearghus tensed. “Yes?”

  “I lost my virginity to him today.”

  Fearghus’s head snapped around so fast he dragged the girl off the rock, her hand still gripping his hair. “Oi!”

  “Oh. Sorry.” He never expected her to tell him. Never expected her to tell anyone. The way she walked away a mere hour before led him to believe she’d go to the grave with that secret. “Are you all right?”

  “My butt hurts.”

  “What?”

  “From dragging on the rock. And do get your mind out of the gutter, dragon.”

  Fearghus chuckled at that. “Sorry.”

  She lowered herself to the ground but still had a firm grip on his hair. She leaned into him and Fearghus couldn’t believe how warm her body felt against his.

  “What do I need to do to mount you?”

  “What?”

  “For battle! Honestly, Fearghus.”

  “Oh. That. Just catch hold of my hair and climb.”

  “Won’t that hurt you?”

  “No.”

  She seized two handfuls of his hair and pulled herself up until she placed herself on his back. She sat low on his shoulders, her legs straddling him at his neck.

  “No saddle?”

  “I’m not a horse.”

  “No need to get testy. Just asking.”

  She squeezed her thighs tight around his neck and he wondered how much more the gods would make him endure before he lost all reason.

  “Did he . . . hurt you?” Fearghus had to know. Had to know what she was feeling, thinking. And she wouldn’t tell the knight. So maybe she would tell the dragon.

  “No.”

  “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, Annwyl.” Yes. He would go to hell and this girl would be the one to send him there. A special hell for evil dragons that lied to beautiful women.

  She gave a great sigh as she combed her strong fingers through his mane. He fought the desire to purr like a cat. “I don’t know what I want.”

  “Do you want him?”

  “Oh, yes. I want him. I really want him. But . . .”

  “But . . . ?”

  Annwyl could easily spend the rest of her life right here. Right on top of this enormous beast. Her legs straddling his neck. Her hands buried in his mane of black hair. She wondered what it would be like to ride with him into battle. To feel his strong body soar through the deep blue skies of Dark Plains.

  But would she be happy? Could she give up her life as a leader and a woman to spend the remainder of her days in this cave with this dragon? Her dragon?

  The knight had opened a new door for her. She never trusted anyone enough to let them get that close to her. He hadn’t made love to her, as she’d heard the kitchen maids call it. What they had was much more primal. Much deeper.

  Could she give that up to stay with her dragon and be no more than a friend? That’s all the dragon could really offer her and there would be no guarantee he wanted to give her even that much.

  And although the knight gave her insurmountable pleasure, it was the dragon that she wanted to talk to when she awoke in the knight’s arms.

  Perhaps her father had been right. Maybe she did go out of her way to make things difficult.

  “Annwyl?”

  She realized that the dragon waited for her answer, but she really had none to give.

  Annwyl stood on the dragon’s back and stretched. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  “Then what do you want to talk about?”

  Annwyl, on a whim, did a handstand.

  “What are you doing back there?”

  “Nothing to worry yourself about, dragon.” She balanced her body and proceeded to move across the dragon’s back, inch by inch using only her hands. “Tell me more about your family.”

  Fearghus stretched out and Annwyl let out a squeal of surprise as she lost her balance and landed heavily against his back. Ignoring her, the dragon rested his enormous head on his arms. “I cut the tip of my brother’s tail off once.”

  Annwyl sat up with a laugh and wondered what the hell she was going to do.

  Chapter 11

  Hysterical laughter. Why did he keep hearing hysterical laughter? Fearghus opened one eye to stare at his two siblings. They were practically falling over each other they were laughing so hard. They woke him up from a sound sleep for this?

  “What?” His current mood wouldn’t allow for this. And definitely wouldn’t allow for him.

  Gwenvael choked out an answer. “She braided your hair, brother.”

  “Like a horse’s mane,” his sister added.

  He growled and watched Gwenvael snatch their sister out of the way before the stream of white flame hit them both.

  Of course, that didn’t stop the laughter.

  “If that’s how you feel, you should tell him.” Morfyd tossed two apples to Annwyl. “But you can’t hide in here all day.”

  “I know.” Annwyl looked at her friend. “I’m just not sure what I should say.”

  “Whatever feels right.”

  Annwyl nodded and left the chamber. She passed Gwenvael as she walked out of the dragon’s lair. “How’s your neck, Gwenvael?”

  He glared but said nothing. Although she noticed he moved as far away from her as possible.

  She bit back a smile and headed out in search of her knight.

  She was so confused. And she wasn’t used to that feeling. She made life and death decisions every day. Even before she took over the rebellion, she risked her life and her brother’s wrath to help innocent people trapped in the Garbhán Isle dungeons. But her feelings over two males were making her completely useless.

  But she would talk to the knight. Tell him how she felt. And most likely end it. Her heart didn’t belong to him, even if her treacherous body did.

  She found him crouching by the stream, much as Gwenvael had done the day before. Unlike Gwenvael, however, the sight of his body sent a thrill through her that knocked the air from her lungs.

  She forced herself to walk up to him. To face the man and tell him exactly what she thought. She knew he sensed her presence, his whole body tensed at her approach. Waiting. Waiting for her. She stood behind him for several long moments. Neither speaking. Annwyl crouched low, her body close to his.

  Before she realized what she was doing, she slipped her arm around his shoulders and kissed the side of his thick neck. His whole body suddenly loosened up at her touch and he turned his head to look at her. He gave her the perfect opportunity to say something. To tell him the truth. But she couldn’t stop staring at his full lips or wondering what it would be like to have him inside her again.

  She kissed him and his moaning growl set her body on fire. Wanting someone was one thing. Knowing he wanted you just as much was something else entirely.

  Tomorrow, she thought as he ripped the shirt from her back. I’ll tell him everything tomorrow.

  * * *

  Tomorrow. I’ll tell her everything tomorrow. Only a twinge of guilt needled his heart as Annwyl eagerly pulled his chainmail shirt over his head. Morfyd convinced him that morning that he should finally tell Annwyl the truth. Tell her that her dragon and her knight were one.

  He promised himself he’d do it, too. He could feel her standing behind him and he had his speech all prepared. Then suddenly her arms were around him and her lips were on his neck. With those simple gestures all logic disappeared and all he could think about was burying his head between her thighs.

  It seemed like they were both naked in a matter of seconds.
Fearghus licked his way down her body, loving the feel of her hands on his skin, and in his hair. He settled between her thighs, her legs on his shoulders, and ran his tongue between the lips of her sex. He marveled at how wet she already was, how clearly she wanted him. He dipped his tongue inside of her and her body arched off the ground. She tasted so good, felt so good. He realized, as he slowly dragged his tongue across her clit, that she was everything he wanted and more.

  He couldn’t give her up. He wouldn’t let her go. There had to be some way to keep her. To prove to her that they were meant for each other. And he would risk absolutely everything to make that happen.

  Lorcan stared at his advisor. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?”

  Hefaidd-Hen spoke with his usual measured slowness. “Your sister is being protected by a dragon, milord. Perhaps two. The vision was not clear.”

  “I don’t understand. How is she protected by dragons? People like her are eaten by dragons. I’m confused!” he bellowed.

  “I can’t explain the relationship, Lord Lorcan. I can only tell you my vision.”

  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 a
bout 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.