by G. A. Aiken
Once securely on hard earth, she shook her body, releasing the wetness her wings picked up along the flight. She spoke the ancient words of enchantment that allowed her to shift back to human. Moving swiftly, she picked up the clothes she’d hidden away earlier and garbed herself. Her body shook from the chill and she wanted nothing more than to settle in front of a fire to warm her human form.
She’d taken longer than she originally planned to get back. But if Fearghus needed to involve himself in the Sibling War, she wanted to let the queen know now. It would be worse for him if she found out after the fact. Of course the queen didn’t seem too interested, but Bercelak was and that could be a problem for them both.
But first she wanted to get the note from the general to Annwyl. She’d learned to like the human girl, with her sudden rages and tendency to end up on the floor. And clearly Annwyl had enthralled her taciturn and cranky older brother.
Fearghus didn’t really like anyone. Human or dragon. Among their kind, many considered him rude and inconsiderate. Among humans, they feared the black dragon who smote whole villages. Of course, leave it to humans to exaggerate the truth. He’d only smote one village when their king made killing him into a tournament event.
Morfyd wrapped a cloak around her witch’s garb and headed to her brother’s den. As always when in human form, she pulled the hood of the cloak over her head to hide her mane of white hair. It was not white from age. Like her mother, she’d been born a white dragon. White dragons were rare and often born with powers far outreaching of other dragons. But she still had a way to go before she could even think to compete against her mother’s skill.
She entered her brother’s den and moved deep within to reach the girl’s chamber. He had practically made that section of the cave into the girl’s bedroom.
Very subtle, Fearghus.
As she neared her destination, she heard Annwyl speak and her brother . . . laugh?
Morfyd stopped. Perhaps she heard wrongly. Perhaps she’d finally gone insane. Morfyd inched closer to the chamber and waited.
“Now, I did try to set him on fire once when I was 12. But, I assure you, I felt awful about it later.”
“And how long did that awful feeling last?”
“Until he set the dogs on me.”
She heard her brother chuckle and she started at the sound.
“Can I ask you a favor?”
“Another? What do you want now, woman? My gold? My lair?”
“No. No. No. Nothing like that. And this might sound strange . . .”
“. . . as opposed to your horse manure story.”
“But . . .”
“But?”
“Can I touch your horns?”
Morfyd blinked and looked around, half expecting her three other brothers to be standing behind her, proving this was nothing but a joke. Could she have truly heard what she thought she’d just heard?
“I’m sorry. Could you repeat that? Because I think I just got the brain fever.”
She heard the girl give a very unladylike snort. “I’ve never touched a dragon before. Your horns look so beautiful and I would just like to—”
“All right. Stop. Before you say something that will make both of us uncomfortable.” She heard her brother move his body. Morfyd realized he was lowering himself so the girl could reach him.
Morfyd couldn’t stand not knowing. As silently as she could manage, she peeked around the corner and looked into the girl’s chamber. What she saw astounded her, simply because it was Fearghus.
The girl stood on tiptoes, Fearghus allowing Annwyl to lean against him as she reached up and ran her strong, battle-scarred hand across his horn, her tanned skin standing out against its shiny blackness. Her other hand moved down his neck and grasped the mane of black hair that flowed across it.
“I didn’t know dragons had hair. It’s like a horse’s mane.”
“It is not like a horse’s mane,” Fearghus snapped. To Morfyd’s surprise, Annwyl didn’t shy away from her brother and scurry across the room. Instead, she laughed, leaning closer against his body.
“No need to get testy. I was merely implying that your kind was really meant to be beasts of burden for us humans. Just like horses. And centaurs.”
“Oh, is that all? Well, I apologize, Lady Annwyl. I thought you were saying something insulting.”
Morfyd stepped away from Annwyl’s chamber. Her brother making jokes? Well, perhaps the time had come for her to completely lose her mind, considering the family she came from. Dragons did do that sort of thing on occasion.
She looked down at the letter she had clutched in her hand. It could wait until tomorrow.
Silently she turned and went to get something soothing to drink. Or, at the very least, some hard ale. She needed something to help her sleep because the last image she’d witnessed before turning away from the chamber would have her awake and obsessing for hours. The image of Annwyl the Bloody, known terror of the Dark Plains, lovingly running her hand down Fearghus’s snout . . . and Fearghus the Destroyer letting her.
Fearghus watched Annwyl sleep. They talked long into the night. And she fell asleep lying against his side, a handful of hair wound around her fingers. When she started to slide to the floor, he picked her up, laid her out on the bed, and covered her with one of the furs.
His affection for the human grew steadily by the day. Sometimes by the minute. And it wasn’t simply her beauty, but her utter lack of fear of everything and anything except her brother. She didn’t fear dying. She didn’t fear battle. And, most importantly, she didn’t fear Fearghus. She touched him. Ran her hands across his scales and through his mane.
But it was when he covered her up with the fur and she sighed his name in her sleep, that he lost his heart.
Chapter 6
Lorcan threw the table across the room, nearly crushing one of his soldiers. He roared in rage. Seven days and they still hadn’t found the bitch girl or any of his men.
He grabbed two heavy wood chairs and flung them as well. His guards scattered, running for safety. But there was no safety from his rage. A rage rivaled by only one other.
”Find her! Find the bitch!” Several of his men stared blankly at him. “Now!” The men ran.
Lorcan leaned his burning forehead against the cool stone of his castle wall.
“My lord?” Lorcan took a deep, soothing breath and looked at his counsel. Hefaidd-Hen still remained the only one brave enough to face him during one of his rages. “Perhaps we are avoiding the obvious.”
“Which is?” Lorcan slowly turned, his anger under some control.
“Perhaps your sister has fled to Dark Glen.”
“My sister is weak and stupid, but she is not insane. No one goes into Dark Glen. Because no one ever comes back out again. She knows that well enough.”
Hefaidd-Hen turned disturbingly milky blue eyes to his master, and Lorcan shuddered inwardly. “She may not have gone there willingly, but it doesn’t mean she’s not there.”
“Then she would already be dead?”
“No. All signs tell me she still lives.”
Lorcan snorted. He should have known better than to get his hopes up.
“Then what is your counsel, wizard?”
Hefaidd-Hen smiled, if you could call it that. “Let me take some of your men and go into Dark Glen myself. I will see if I can find her.”
“I can’t afford to lose you, Hefaidd-Hen. Even if it means destroying her. I need you during these rebel attacks. Every day more troops arrive to fight with her.”
“And while she lives they will continue to arrive.”
“I said no.” Lorcan, his anger spent, sat down heavily in one of the chairs he had not yet thrown. “But send a few of my warriors. Make sure they understand that they go into Dark Glen, or what lies in there will be the least of their worries.”
Hefaidd-Hen bowed low. “As you wish, my lord.”
Then the wizard took his leave and Lorcan began to breathe again.
He thought of his ugly little sister and reveled in the delight he would take in planting her head on a spike outside his castle walls.
“I will have you, bitch,” he growled low, hoping his words would find her wherever she was. He wanted her to know that her time would soon end. He wanted her to know he would rule the land in his father’s place. He wanted her to know just how much he hated her.
He roared again, his rage returning tenfold. He roared and roared, until he knew she could hear him wherever she was.
Annwyl sprung naked from the bed. Her sword, which she always kept on the floor within arm’s reach, firmly grasped in her hand. Her brother’s presence surrounded her. She felt him near her. She spun around, expecting to find him standing behind her.
“Are you all right?”
Annwyl barked in surprise at the voice. Without thought, only instinct, she spun around again and threw her sword across the room. The only reason the blade didn’t slam into Morfyd’s forehead was because the witch moved too fast.
She dropped to the floor with a hoarse cry.
“By the gods, Morfyd!” Annwyl, now realizing where she was and that she truly was safe, ran to the woman. “Are you hurt?”
The witch grasped the girl’s hand and let Annwyl help her up. “No. No. I’m fine.”
“Morfyd, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Morfyd sat down heavily in one of the chairs. “I startled you.”
Annwyl crouched beside Morfyd. She couldn’t bring herself to release the woman’s hand. “I thought he was here,” she whispered.
Morfyd frowned. “Thought who was here?”
“My brother. I felt him here, Morfyd. As surely as you are standing here now.”
“You were just dreaming. He can’t hurt you here. Fearghus would never let him.”
The witch spoke true, of course. She trusted the dragon with her life, more than any of her own troops. Even more than Brastias.
“Thank you for understanding.” Annwyl stood and went back to her bed, wrapping one of the fur covers around her shivering naked body. “And for being able to move so fast. I don’t know what I would have done if I . . .”
“But you didn’t. So let’s not think of it a moment longer. Here.” Morfyd handed her a parchment. Annwyl saw the seal of Brastias and grinned.
“You saw him, then?”
“Aye. He seemed heartily relieved that you still live.”
Annwyl sat down on her bed. “And my men?”
“They still have hope.”
Annwyl nodded. “Thank you for doing this.”
Morfyd stood up. “Do not speak of it. I will get you something to eat while you read your letter.”
Once the witch left, Annwyl carefully removed the seal and opened the parchment.
Annwyl—
We await your return.
Yours in life, death, and war.
Brastias
Annwyl read the letter again and then held it against her chest. Her army waited. Soon she must return.
Fearghus watched his sister grab several pieces of fruit. Her human body seemed shakier than usual. “Are you all right?”
“That mad bitch threw a blade at my head.”
He studied his sister. “What did you say to her?”
Morfyd swung around to glare at him, fruit flying everywhere.“What did I . . . why do you . . . how dare you . . .”Morfyd stopped and pulled herself together. “I did nothing, brother. She was having a nightmare about Lorcan or something. I happened to walk in at the wrong time.”
“Or something?”
Morfyd shrugged as she knelt down to pick up the scattered pieces of fruit. “He could very well be contacting her through her dreams.”
“I thought you put up protections around the glen?”
“I did,” she snapped. “That doesn’t mean he hasn’t found a wizard to work around them.”
Fearghus walked up to his sister. He towered over her in his human form, dressed and ready to start his training with Annwyl. “No one should be able to get past your protections, sister. I don’t care if it’s the queen herself. I want Annwyl safe. Understand?”
Morfyd’s eyes narrowed as she examined her brother.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Her frown deepened.
“And for that matter, why are you human?”
Damn. “I need to go into town.”
“Town for what?”
“Supplies. Now get on with the spellcasting. Please.”
He stormed off before she could ask any more questions that would force him to lie to her more.
Annwyl was falling. Then she was landing. Her back hitting the hard ground, then her head. She lay there. Unable to move. Suddenly his face loomed over her.
“Sorry ’bout that.”
No he wasn’t. He wasn’t sorry about anything. She’d gotten in a couple of really good blows and he retaliated, knocking her right on her backside . . . hard.
It took her several moments to get her breath back; by then he reached out to help her stand. She slapped his hands away and dragged herself up so she knelt on the hard ground.
She glared at him.
“What’s that look for? It’s not my fault you weren’t fast enough.”
Annwyl punched him in the face. “Was that fast enough?”she snapped.
Now he glared as he clutched his slightly wounded nose.
Annwyl pushed herself to stand up, but the spasm in her neck and shoulder forced her right back down. She moaned in pain and the knight looked at her.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” He moved behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. His touch sent shocks through her body. Annwyl tried to push his hands off, but he ignored her.
“Stop being difficult.”
His strong hands glided across her shoulders and quickly found the spot at the base of her neck where her muscles bunched into tight knots. “Gods, girl. There’s a huge knot here.” His thumb pushed into the flesh and Annwyl’s body jerked.
“Oi! Painful!”
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not.” She stood up while trying to pull away, but he pulled her back.
“Must you be so difficult? If you give me a moment, I can fix this.”
Annwyl gritted her teeth.
The knight chuckled, his hands massaging muscles on her shoulder. Annwyl bit her lip and barely stopped herself from moaning. The man had the most unbelievable hands she ever experienced. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on something—anything!—that could distract her from the feeling of him touching her.
The muscles loosened under his big fingers and she found herself relaxing . . . grudgingly.
“You know, you still don’t know my name.”
“And I still don’t want to know.” When she left the glen with Fearghus she never wanted to see this man again. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.
“Such a difficult girl.”
“I’m hardly a girl.”
“Oh. Sorry. Do you prefer old maid?”
Annwyl clenched her fingers into tight fists.
“There’s that knot again. It just got worse.” What a surprise.
The knight pulled her arm out, massaging it all the way down. He stopped at her tight fist. “Unclench.”
She glared at him but didn’t answer. He slapped the back of her hand. “Ow!”
“I said unclench, woman.”
She opened her hand and he began to gently massage each finger.
“You don’t like me, do you?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Do you like the dragon?”
“Of course, I like the dragon.”
“What do you mean ‘of course’? No one likes dragons.”
“Then why are you here?” He opened his mouth to answer but abruptly stopped. Annwyl nodded knowingly. “I see.”
“You see what?”
“I know what’s going on.”
“You do?”
“You don’t fool me.” She pointed at the crest on his surcoat. “That army hasn’t been seen in over twenty years.”
The knight looked down at his crest as if seeing it for the first time. Annwyl watched as an unruly bit of black hair fell over his eye. She longed to touch that hair. Longed to feel it move across her naked flesh. I am completely out of control!
“Really?” He sounded so innocent or at least he tried.
“Yes. Really. Where did you find it anyway? Some castle you robbed? Or the dragon’s den? Knight my ass. You’re a mercenary. A blade for hire. The lowest of the low.”
The knight let out a deep sigh and looked away from her. Ha! She caught him.
He loved the humans’ complete inability to see anything even when it stared them right in their faces. He knew what it was, too. Their logic. How could anything the size of a dragon turn into a human? Humans understood nothing of ancient Magick and how powerful it could be.
For a moment, he really thought that Annwyl figured it out. Still, he remained grateful she hadn’t. He knew he shouldn’t lie to her and, in the beginning, he really hadn’t planned to. He trusted her now more than he trusted anyone, but her reaction to him as a human male completely confounded him.
She wanted the knight but hated the knight. Cared for the dragon but, not surprisingly, didn’t seem to have any other feelings than general friendliness.
Annwyl continued to be the most complex creature he’d ever met. And, when he wasn’t staring at her chest or rear, he found her intelligent, delightful, and extremely funny. Just a joy to be around. But only the dragon seemed lucky enough to see that side of her. When he came to her as the knight, he found her surly, foul tempered, and downright rude. He still found her a joy to be around, but probably because he liked how she smelled when she became angry. A musk all her own that forced him to fight his erection every time he caught a whiff of it.
Annwyl, the things I could do to you . . .
He needed to focus. Right now. Right this second. Or he would end up doing something very stupid.
He cleared his throat and released her arm. “Feel better?”
“Yes.”