by G. A. Aiken
But as he closed in on the ridge his woman now stood on, he could see he wouldn’t be in time. No matter how fast he flew. No matter what he did. He would lose her.
Brastias couldn’t clear the enemy troops and make it up the ridge before the foul beast sent a blast that completely covered his leader in a white-hot flame. And no ordinary flame, like the one he saw her dragon-lover spew. But something different. And seemingly a waste of Magick, considering she was just a girl.
But when the flame and smoke cleared, there she still stood. Her eyes shut tight, her face turned away. Everything as it should be. Even her chainmail and surcoat.
Brastias stopped. That wasn’t possible. There should be nothing of her left. Not even ash.
He saw the dragon rear back in confusion as Annwyl slowly opened her eyes and looked around. She most likely expected to see those of her ancestors welcoming her to the next world. Instead her eyes focused on a startled and a little bit disturbed Brastias.
She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at him. “She’s bloody mad,” he whispered as she swung around and looked at the dragon.
“Did you miss?” she asked sweetly.
The dragon looked as if he were about to answer, but he never got the chance. Fearghus swooped down and snatched him up. The beautiful Morfyd right behind him.
Brastias threw himself back into the fray, but not before he heard Annwyl address Lorcan. “I guess it’s just us then. Eh, brother?”
Lorcan smiled. Things had turned in his favor. He knew he couldn’t battle Hefaidd-Hen on his own. He’d killed dragons before. But Hefaidd-Hen wasn’t just a dragon. He was something completely different. Unnatural. Unholy. Evil. But with Hefaidd-Hen off battling his own kind, Lorcan could finally do what he’d wanted to do since the day the little bitch became part of his life.
He would kill his only sister.
Lorcan brought his blade up and charged.
Annwyl dodged the blade, slicing her brother’s back as he passed her. But the blade barely touched him. He swung around to face her again.
“You’ve become fast, little sister.” He openly leered. “Did the dragon teach you that before he pushed you to your knees?”
The siblings shadowed each other. Moving slowly, purposely. Waiting for the other to make the next move.
Annwyl knew exactly what her brother was doing. He was baiting her. And it would have worked . . . a few weeks ago
“He taught me many things, brother. Although I think it is you that has become the bitch of a dragon. Did Hefaidd-Hen make you moan as he took you?”
Lorcan began to growl, but quickly it became a fullblown roar. He attacked. A straight thrust to her belly. Annwyl parried with one blade and slashed his midsection with the other. She danced back away from him.
Her brother looked down at the blood seeping from under his garments. Annwyl knew the damage was slight. But Lorcan’s shock went to the fact that few ever came that close to striking him before. And that’s when she knew she had him.
His rage exploded out, surrounding her. She knew she should be scared. Or angry. She felt neither. His anger calmed her. Soothed her. She knew the control belonged to her, while he drowned in his own rage.
She stayed on the defensive, letting him come to her. He attacked again, this time swinging at her neck. She blocked the blade and slammed her body into him. Lorcan stumbled back. He righted himself quick enough, though, and brutally backhanded Annwyl. Her body flew several feet before landing. Yet her dragon had hit her like that before while training, so she barely felt Lorcan’s fist. She scrambled to her feet before he ever reached her.
After fighting Fearghus, Lorcan’s moves seemed slow and blocky. Not the fluid movements of her dragon. Suddenly she couldn’t understand what she’d so greatly feared all these years. Hell, she’d faced Bercelak the Great and almost destroyed him. Was her brother really that much of a challenge?
She found herself getting calmer. Seeing his moves long before he ever made them. She could also see his rage burning through his body. He wanted her dead so badly his attacks became sloppier. Soon blood covered him. And none of it belonged to her.
Fearghus took Hefaidd-Hen up toward the suns, his talons digging into the soft white underbelly. He no longer had the protective scales of their breed.
What did this dragon do to himself?
Hefaidd-Hen spat out a spell and an almost unbearable pain racked Fearghus’s body. A pain that came from within. Now he saw that the beast gave parts of himself for the Magick that coursed through his veins. The Magick that Hefaidd-Hen now used on him. But Fearghus wouldn’t let the bastard go. He’d only go after Annwyl again. He couldn’t risk that. So he kept his claws dug deep into Hefaidd-Hen’s flesh and held on.
Another wave of pain tore through Fearghus’s body. He roared. But his roar could never match Hefaidd-Hen’s brutal scream. He opened his eyes to see that Morfyd had attached herself to Hefaidd-Hen’s back. Her claws dug in deep to the white flesh as she spoke a spell that set the beast on fire. And without scales, he had no protection from the unholy flames Morfyd unleashed.
“Now, Fearghus! Now!”
Fearghus dug his claws deeper into Hefaidd-Hen’s lower body and opened him up from bowel to throat.
Hefaidd-Hen screamed. A scream of surprise and utter pain. Fearghus and Morfyd released his body. The unnatural beast plummeted to the ground, vainly attempting to keep his entrails in and put out the fire that covered him. Morfyd spewed another spell at the retreating form and Hefaidd-Hen burst into pieces.
Fearghus glanced at his sister. “That was a bit much, don’t you think?”
She gave an innocent shrug. “I like to be certain.”
Annwyl saw an opening and took it. She lunged and thrust her blade into his thigh. Lorcan roared in pain and slapped her across the face, his gauntleted hand opening a slash across her cheek. She went down on her belly and he straddled her from behind, his two hands on her throat. His rage had him out of control, but she never thought he’d use his bare hands to kill her. She only had seconds before she blacked out. She pulled her dagger from her side and slashed backward. Screaming, he stumbled off her.
Jumping up before Lorcan could recover, Annwyl turned and saw her brother’s hand over his face, blood pouring from between his fingers. She’d slashed him across his eye. Quickly, not wanting to give him any time to attack again, she moved behind him while he kneeled on the ground, cradling his bleeding eye. Her father always taught her that if one destroys a man’s legs, you’ve destroyed the man. Remembering that, she slashed the tendons on the back of Lorcan’s ankles. She ignored his screaming as it intensified tenfold. Knowing that he couldn’t walk or run, she kicked him in the back, knocking him to the ground.
Annwyl straddled him, just as he’d done to her. Snatching off the strip of leather she used to bind her hair back, she pushed her brother’s hands out of her way and wrapped it around his throat. She pulled the ends tight and ignored his flailing arms, keeping the pressure up.
There would be no noble death for him. She would not take his head while he still breathed as she would have any other warrior. He deserved no such courtesy. Instead, she gritted her teeth and kept up the pressure.
Soon his movements slowed and desperate needy sounds came from the back of his throat. She waited until he dropped off unconscious and with one strong pull, she snapped his neck.
She released him, and his lifeless body dropped to the ground. She realized that it took less time than she thought it would. The task of actually killing her own brother.
“Annwyl.”
Annwyl tore her eyes away from her brother’s body and looked up at the looming form of her dragon-lover.
“You need to turn the tide of this battle.”
She glanced over the battlefield and saw that her men and Lorcan’s were at a standstill. Both sides fighting equally well. Neither side giving up any ground.
She nodded as she retrieved her sword. “You are right.”
> Brastias raised his ax to cleave another man in two when he heard her voice. Clear and strong, booming over the battlefield and the land.
“Hear me!”
On her command, they all stopped fighting and focused their attention on her. Even the enemy paused. She stood upon the black dragon’s back as if she were born to be there.
“I lead Dark Plains! I lead these troops! And now Garbhán Isle belongs to me!” With that final screech, she raised her brother’s head high in the air.
Her men screamed her name as Brastias turned to the soldier before him. “Now where were we?” he asked, just before cleaving the man in two.
Chapter 19
Fearghus sank deep into the metal tub someone placed into Annwyl’s tent. He let the hot water wrap around his human body, soaking the aching muscles. He would rather be back at his lake, but this would do for now. Besides, he would be home soon enough.
“Annwyl?” Morfyd entered the tent, but stopped short on sight of her brother. “Oh. You.”
“Yes. Me.”
“Where’s Annwyl?”
“Still celebrating with her men, I presume.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the tub. “Did the family leave?”
“All except Gwenvael. He’s enjoying the camp girls, I think.”
“That better be all he’s enjoying,” Fearghus growled out.
Morfyd chuckled. “He tried, but I hear Annwyl handled it.”
“Does he still have his head?”
“For the moment.”
“Sister, I need to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“How did Annwyl survive the flames? Hefaidd-Hen’s flames?”
“Uh . . . well, you know . . . um . . .”
Fearghus jumped up and out of the tub, grabbing his sister by her arms and snatching her completely into the tent. “You let Annwyl face her alone, didn’t you?”
“It was a risk she was willing to take!” Morfyd pulled her arms away and pushed her brother.
“But not a risk that I was willing to take! Not with her life!” Fearghus pushed her back.
“I feel no guilt for what I did. I had to protect her, and the family agreed.”
“I didn’t agree!”
“We didn’t ask you!” She punched her brother in the chest.
“But Annwyl belongs to me.” He slapped his hand over his sister’s face and shoved her.
Morfyd stumbled back and glared at him. “No. She doesn’t.” Morfyd smirked at him. “You haven’t Claimed her.” Fearghus winced at that. His sister spoke true. Until he performed the Claiming Ceremony, Annwyl was as unshackled as a virgin. “You haven’t marked her as your own. So she belongs to no one. Although the way Gwenvael has been looking at her lately, you never know.”
The siblings growled at each other. Then Fearghus pulled his sister into a headlock.
“Ow! Let me go, you crazy bastard!”
He ground his knuckles into the top of her head. “You are the most irritating little—”
“Annwyl, I . . .” Fearghus looked up as Brastias entered the tent. But he took one look at the siblings and walked back out.
Fearghus released his sister and shoved her away so she couldn’t get in a good kick.
“If anything had happened to her . . .”
“But it didn’t. And maybe you didn’t notice, but it saved her life!”
With that Morfyd straightened up her robes, pushed her white hair out of her face, stuck her tongue out at her brother, and left.
Fearghus growled, smoke curling out from his nostrils. “Brat.”
* * *
Annwyl headed back to her tent. She’d grown tired of pushing Gwenvael’s hand off her thigh every ten seconds. Eventually she’d just pulled his fingers back until she heard one of them give a satisfying “snap.” It angered him to no end, but after the past day he really didn’t worry her.
She walked past rows of men feasting and celebrating. Still so much more work to do, but she let the men have their time. They earned it. And they would earn more still. Annwyl knew that she must attack Garbhán Isle and take possession of the castle before she would truly be queen. It galled her that she would have to return to a place she held with such contempt, but the seat of power for Dark Plains was Garbhán Isle. She had no choice. And once done there she would then have to defeat any and all that might still hold loyalty to her brother. Yes, she had much work to do. But tonight she would celebrate. Tonight was special.
She slowed down to stop and glance at the front of camp. There it stood. Her brother’s head on a spike. She smiled, feeling an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.
“Uh . . . Annwyl?” She looked around to see Danelin standing before her. “You’re scaring the men.”
Annwyl looked at her troops. They’d stopped eating to watch her stare at the remains of her brother. And they did appear a little frightened.
“Sorry.” He made to walk past her, but she stopped him. “Nice work today, Danelin.”
He smiled proudly, nodded, and moved on.
As she neared her tent, Annwyl realized that no troops guarded it. That could only mean one thing.
As she stepped through the flaps, she saw him lounging decadently in a high-backed chair. A fur spread from the bed wrapped around his long, muscular body. His long black hair, recently washed, partially covering his face and chest. Her breath caught in her throat. She became wet at the mere sight of him.
“Lord Dragon.”
“Queen Annwyl.”
This was the first she’d seen of him once the battle turned. He’d gone off to help his family finish off the enemy dragons, she to destroy as many of Lorcan’s men as her troops could get their hands on. But war and sex had now become one for her. Probably forever. She blazed through men, knowing that the sooner she completed her task, the quicker she could return to Fearghus.
“A bath awaits you.” She glanced over at the huge tub. Since she still had her brother’s blood in her hair, a bath might be a good idea.
She moved to the middle of her tent and quickly removed the sheathed swords hanging from her back.
“Slowly.”
She looked up at Fearghus. He watched her closely with those beautiful black eyes of his. The walls of her womb clenched, and it took all her strength not to launch herself at him. Instead, she slowly removed her surcoat. Pulled off her boots and her chainmail. Unbound her breasts and slipped off the material that covered her sex. When done, she stood there. His eyes roved languidly over her. Taking in not only her body but every wound she now wore on it after the day’s battle.
He motioned to the tub with a flick of his eyes. She slipped into it and shivered.
“Cold?”
“A little.”
Throwing off the fur covering, he slowly stood and walked toward her. She studied his body as he came to rest beside the tub. Underneath all those long, hard muscles lay the heart and soul of a dragon. Her dragon. She licked her lips, her only thought, sucking his sweet cock once again into her willing mouth.
Fearghus crouched down next to her. He placed his hand in the tub between her thighs. She’d hoped he would touch her but he didn’t. His hand only rested there until she noticed that the water warmed up, nice and hot. This dragon Magick really did have its uses.
“Relax,” he coaxed her gently. And she did just that, leaning back into the tub. Letting her head rest on the rim.
Fearghus poured water over her hair and soaped up her scalp. He washed the blood and sweat of the day from her hair and eventually her body.
“Comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Relaxed?”
“Very.”
“Good.”
Then Annwyl screamed as Fearghus shoved her head under water. He held her down for several long seconds as she fought to get that piece of steel he called an arm off her head. Eventually he released her and she came coughing and sputtering back to air.
“What in all that’s holy—”
<
br /> He took hold of her shoulders and easily lifted her from the tub. “Listen to me clearly, woman. Never face my family again without me! Ever!You are never and I mean never to risk your life like that again! Are we clear?”
Annwyl pulled away from him and took several stumbling steps back. “No! We are not clear!” She turned on him. “I did what I had to. And I’d do it again! And I’m not afraid of your family!”
“Annwyl,” he warned through gritted teeth.
“No! I don’t want to hear it!” She fought to get the strands of wet brown hair out of her eyes. “Do you have any idea what I went through today? In just one day I stood in the dragon’s flame . . . twice!”
“But I—”
“Quiet!” He stood there, startled into silence. “I also had to face that cold bitch you call a mother! I took my own brother’s head! And I was forced to break your brother’s hand because he wouldn’t stop touching me!”
Fearghus broke out in a grin and she stopped her tirade. “What?”
“You broke his hand?” He couldn’t help but laugh.
“Well, it was more like a finger. But the way he carried on, you’d think I’d broken his entire arm.”
Fearghus laughed. Hard. And, eventually, Annwyl smiled.
What the hell was he going to do? He loved this woman. Loved everything about her. Wanted her as his mate. But she had a kingdom to run. Allies to forge. Enemies to crush. He already saw the fear in the men’s eyes. They’d witnessed her “dance” with the dragon’s flame. A dance she’d survived. And they all knew she’d taken him as her lover. His presence would do nothing but put her safety at risk.
“What are you thinking, dragon?”
He shook his head and moved to her. “Nothing,” he whispered as he slipped an arm around her waist.
“Still lying, I see.” She pulled away from him.
He sighed. “What, Annwyl?”
“You’re planning to leave, aren’t you?”
