Dragon Actually dk-1

by G. A. Aiken

  He finally understood what his brother saw in this woman. Dragon females were dangerous, but very calculating. And sometimes very cold. For them it was all about the politics. Not for Annwyl, though. She cared nothing for politics. She ran on instinct and emotion. Her instincts kept her alive. Her emotions made her a lethal weapon. How could Fearghus not fall in love with her? If Gwenvael thought about it himself, he might have to admit he’d fallen a little in love with her himself.

  It didn’t take long for her to reach the edge of Fearghus’s glen. He followed her out but found himself slamming into the back of her. He thought once she hit open ground she’d run for it, back to her troops. But when he looked up he saw what stopped her.

  Two battalions of soldiers waited for her. They wore Lorcan’s colors and they clearly had every intention of taking her back alive for their leader to have his revenge. At least ten men had nets to snag the female.

  “I have no weapons,” she muttered under her breath as she took a step back toward Gwenvael.

  “Yes you do.” He tossed his sword to her. Annwyl stared at the weapon. And Gwenvael quickly realized the girl had lived in safety with Fearghus too long. Well, no matter. He knew exactly how to get Annwyl the Bloody back. “And don’t forget, Annwyl. My brother lied to you. Made a fool of you. And he’s probably having a good laugh with the old dragon as we speak. Now”—he shoved her toward several advancing men—“go get ’em.” He watched as the girl gave a bellow of rage and took off the head of the first man who came near her. Then she turned and swiped off another. Gwenvael shivered. Her name fit her well.

  Gwenvael saw soldiers moving toward him. He shifted, forcing the girl to dash off to the side to avoid the crush of his dragon body.

  “Dragon!” He expected them to run. They always ran before. But these troops didn’t.

  And he suddenly realized that Annwyl hadn’t been the only one expected. So had a dragon.

  Annwyl slammed her blade into another soldier’s belly and sliced him open. She snatched the man’s sword from the sheath at his side, ignoring the bowels that fell to the ground in front of her, and turned to face the next attacker. They wanted to get her in those nets, but she knew what that meant. Going back to her brother and any tortures he had planned for her. The thought chilled her to the bone and spurred her speed and malice.

  She began first by hacking off arms. Any arms holding nets. She realized quickly how her training with Fearghus benefited her as she lobbed off another arm and removed the man’s head. She moved faster now. Her attacks more pointed, more deadly. For a moment she forgot how angry she was with him. But then she remembered and practically cut a man in two with her rage.

  She heard Gwenvael’s roar of anger and turned to find that a separate group of men were trying to take the dragon down. They had ropes wrapped around his neck and at least thirty men were trying to pull the beast to the ground. He blasted a few with a breath of fire, but she recalled that in his human form Gwenvael had been quite ill. She now realized that same illness affected the dragon as well. A few more moments, and he would be down and the soldiers would take him.

  She ran toward him, taking another soldier’s head as she passed by. She slid to a stop under the dragon’s neck and slashed at the ropes holding him, slicing as many as she could into two. Gwenvael pulled up as some of the pressure lessened, dragging the men holding the last few intact ropes with him. As they came close, Annwyl gutted several of them, and took a few heads.

  “Fire!”

  Annwyl crossed her blades in front of her as archers released a volley of arrows. But they never reached her as white flame destroyed them in midflight. A silver dragon appeared over the battle, his flame taking out almost an entire battalion. A white dragon swooped down and snapped up a carriage of soldiers, tossing them like toys. Then Annwyl saw him.

  He landed beside his golden brother, blasting the last of the men still holding ropes.

  “Take her!” he barked at the now-free Gwenvael.

  “What about you?”

  “We’re fine. Take her!”

  Another group of men charged Annwyl. She readied her blades but suddenly found herself gripped firmly about the waist and airborne. She watched the land recede from her sight.

  “You bastard! Let me down!”

  “Not on your life, beauty.” The golden claw gripped her tighter. “You get hurt, he’ll kill me. Now quiet. I’m trying not to vomit.”

  Fearghus watched Briec and Morfyd unleash lines of flame, destroying anything in their wake. A small group of men, about twenty, ran toward him, their blades drawn. In disgust, Fearghus spit out a fireball and watched with little satisfaction as the men writhed and screamed.

  He saw another group trying to escape. “Briec! Kill them! Leave none alive!”

  Briec followed and Fearghus walked out among the remains, stepping on any men he thought still lived. Morfyd landed in front of him.

  He nodded toward the empty spot where Gwenvael first stood and the ropes that lay there. “Seems I was expected as well.”

  His sister nodded. “Seems so.”

  Fearghus growled. “I am not happy, sister.”

  “I can tell.”

  “And you still have no idea who’s helping Lorcan?”

  “It’s Hefaidd-Hen.” Fearghus watched as a wounded Bercelak landed gingerly in front of him, making sure not to further damage his wounded claw.

  “Hefaidd-Hen? The Hefaidd-Hen?”

  “Well, that’s just bloody wonderful,” Morfyd spat out as Briec continued to fly overhead blasting flames.

  “And when were you planning to tell us?”

  “Never. The girl shouldn’t have even been here. And you shouldn’t have been helping her.”

  “Why would Hefaidd-Hen help Lorcan?” Morfyd cut in before Fearghus could go for their father’s throat.

  “How should I know? And why should I care? These are human concerns, not ours.”

  “You should care because Hefaidd-Hen’s a dragon,” Morfyd snapped angrily.

  “If he gets Lorcan’s loyalty, then he gets his troops, which no doubt would triple once he’s secured the loyalty of the other regions.”

  “And once he gets his troops, he moves on the queen,” Morfyd summed up quickly.

  Fearghus saw his father suddenly realize the implication to them all of Hefaidd-Hen’s involvement.

  “He wouldn’t dare.” If there was one thing Fearghus had always been sure of it was his father’s feelings for the queen. He had no doubt this little revelation would change everything.

  “That dragon craves power more than anything,” he reminded Bercelak. “And all he’s ever wanted was the queen’s throne.”

  “There’s much power in her blood,” Morfyd added. “If he takes it . . .”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “Then you best hope Annwyl defeats Lorcan, father. If she doesn’t, however, then we’d best prepare for war. Because no dragon will be safe.”

  Fearghus watched Bercelak struggle with all this. The old dragon hated being wrong. Especially when his own children pointed it out to him. But Bercelak knew, in his heart, how right they were. And Fearghus knew that he would do what was best for the queen, as Bercelak always had.

  His father’s head snapped up. “Briec and I will return to the queen. And you two make sure the girl wins, I don’t care what you have to do.”

  “If she lets us near her, father,” Morfyd bravely chastised. “Her last memory is of you trying to kill her and telling her about Fearghus before he could.”

  Briec finally landed behind his father. He tossed his silver mane. “She still saved Gwenvael. I saw her. She’s a brave girl . . . for a human.”

  “I know that,” Fearghus snapped. He looked at his father. “I’m just not sure how I’m going to fix this.”

  “Well you better find a way, boy. Use whatever charm she seems to think you possess. You got her on her back at least once before.”

  Morfyd slid between Fear
ghus and their father before he could kill the old bastard. “Fearghus!”

  “Just let me kill him. I’m begging you!”

  “Father, go!”

  The dragon didn’t waste time; he took to the skies. Briec nodded at his siblings once and followed.

  “Really, Fearghus. You need to stop asking me to let you kill our family.”

  Fearghus shook his head. “They just keep irritating me.”

  Morfyd gave a smile he knew would frighten any human. “I know. But that’s what most families do. Irritate.” She stepped back. “I need to do something, Fearghus. And you need to go to Annwyl.”

  Fearghus looked down at his large claws and sighed. “She hates me.”

  “Yes. I believe she does.”

  “How is that supportive?” he bellowed.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, brother. But I also know she loves you. She must. She risked her life to save Gwenvael.”

  “Yes. She did.”

  “And now she’s alone with him.” Fearghus looked at his sister. “She’s alone with big, golden, charming Gwenvael. And he’s probably feeling so indebted to her right now for saving his life.”

  Fearghus knew what his sister was doing. Knew how she was trying to manipulate him. That didn’t change the fact that it worked.

  He took to the skies, only briefly wondering what “something” his sister must do at that very moment. But he thought of Gwenvael alone with Annwyl and he forgot all about his sister.

  Annwyl’s rear hit the ground hard. The shock traveled all the way from her spine to her teeth. But she knew that in the dragon’s mind he’d dropped her gently to the ground.

  She heard him land behind her and felt human hands grip her under her arms and lift her to her feet. “That wasn’t too hard was it?”

  “No. Like landing on pillows.” She pulled away from him.

  “I could have taken you directly to your camp.”

  “True, but then I’d have a camp full of screaming men wetting themselves over the dragon.”

  “Oh. Good point.”

  She didn’t know what to do with this Gwenvael. And not just because he was naked and very much like his brother. But because up until now he’d never stopped flirting with her, although he’d always kept a healthy distance from her and Fearghus. But this Gwenvael seemed almost sweet, the smug bravado gone.

  “Well, you can go.” She waved him away, hoping he’d leave. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to be angry. Really angry.

  “Yes. I just wanted to say . . . well, thank you for saving me.”

  She had, hadn’t she? Why? At the moment, she hated all dragons. Especially large black ones. Must have been instinct. Anything that fought against Lorcan or his men, she needed to protect.

  “You’re welcome.” She realized he was leaning into her. His eyes focused on her mouth, his lips slightly open. She slapped her hand over his face, just as she had his brother. “What are you doing?”

  “I was going to give you a kiss. . . .”

  “Don’t even think about it, Gwenvael. I am in no mood.”

  The dragon nodded sagely. “You still love him.”

  “No, Gwenvael. I don’t love anything. And I don’t think I’ll love anything ever again!” He stepped back at her sudden spurt of rage. “Now get out of my sight!”

  She stomped off toward camp, her rage walking beside her like a pet panther.

  Chapter 15

  Brastias dismissed the other lieutenants. Once alone with Danelin, he asked him the question that had plagued him all day. “Anything more on Lorcan?”

  Danelin shook his head. “No. And I’m worried.”

  “That bastard’s going to move soon. I can feel it.”

  “Have you seen the witch again? Do you know if Annwyl is still returning?” At the mere mention of Morfyd, Brastias felt his whole body tighten. “I don’t know,” he barked gruffly.

  “What if she’s still healing? She’ll be no use to us if she can’t fight.”

  Brastias walked out of the tent, Danelin beside him. “I want the men prepared and ready. When Lorcan moves, I don’t want us surprised. By anything.”

  “I understand.”

  The two men stepped aside as a woman pushed past them heading to Annwyl’s tent.

  Brastias stopped. “Was that . . . ?”

  “I . . . think so.”

  Brastias and Danelin followed. They found Annwyl just as she threw a chair across the room.

  “Lying, conniving, toe-rag!”

  Danelin gave Brastias a look, turned, and ran.

  “Annwyl?”

  Angry green eyes locked on to him, and he’d wished he’d run like Danelin. When he still had the chance. “Brastias. My friend.” Uh-oh, this couldn’t be good. “Do you lie to me?”

  “Uh . . . no.”

  “See? That’s a lie!”

  “Annwyl, calm down. Tell me what happened.”

  “Happened? Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything is just fine. Perfect. Better than perfect.”

  Brastias wanted to pursue this further, and probably take his life in his hands, when he heard the screams of the men from outside the tent.

  “Lorcan.” He ran out of the tent and slammed into Danelin, who couldn’t move. He stood trapped. In fear. Fear of the mammoth black dragon that landed in the middle of their camp.

  “By the gods.”

  The dragon looked around at the surrounding troops, but still hadn’t sent anyone to hell.

  “Annwyl!”

  “Oh, gods. It’s . . . talking.” Danelin looked like he would piss himself any moment.

  But fear for Annwyl kept Brastias moving. He drew his sword, intent on challenging the creature when she stormed out of the tent. He seized her arm in what he thought a powerful grip to stop her, but with her formidable anger she easily pulled away, stomping off to face the dragon.

  The men watched as Annwyl the Bloody took a stand against something from their darkest nightmares. Too afraid to fight, but too terrified for their leader to run away.

  And then Brastias saw the girl do something he would never forget.

  She kicked the beast. Right in the knee.

  Brastias and Danelin exchanged glances.

  “Well, you always thought she was insane,” Brastias offered.

  “I didn’t think I was right.”

  “You lying toe-rag!” she yelled up at him.

  “Let me explain.”

  “Go to hell!”

  “Annwyl.”

  “No!” She headed back to her tent. “Leave me, dragon. I never want to see you, or your family, again. Ever!”

  Danelin glanced at Brastias. “Family?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  The dragon silently watched Annwyl’s retreating form. He began chanting and flame surrounded him. That’s when Brastias wondered if he would die this day. The flames grew, enveloping the beast, but eventually the flames died away, leaving a very large, very naked man.

  With a growl, he followed after Annwyl, disappearing into the tent after her.

  “So they can shape-shift then?” Danelin asked quietly.

  “Seems so.”

  “Should we go after him?”

  Brastias looked at Danelin. It took him awhile, but he’d finally figured out what he’d just witnessed. A lover’s quarrel. Leave it to Annwyl.

  “Uh . . . I think not. We need to ready the troops. And let’s ready them somewhere away from camp, I think.”

  He glanced at the tent, shook his head, and walked off. A quaking Danelin followed quietly behind.

  “Why won’t you talk to me?”

  “You want me to talk? Fine. How’s your father?”

  “How do you think he is? You stabbed him in the foot.”

  “I would have aimed for his heart, but I wasn’t sure he actually had one. Do any of you have one?”

  “Annwyl, I couldn’t tell you the truth.”

  “Why?”

  “I . . . uh . . .” He didn’
t know this would be so hard. Was he joking? Of course, he knew it would be this hard!

  “Still waiting.” He got the feeling he could claim being one of the few who actually got her this angry. Funny, that didn’t seem like such a good thing to him at the moment.

  “I was going to tell you. I swear.”

  “Really? You were going to tell me?” Her sarcasm thick, her bitterness filled the tent. He couldn’t blame her. He’d asked for this.

  “Yes, Annwyl, I was. Today. My father just beat me to it.”

  “And why didn’t you tell me before?”

  He moved into the room toward her. She took a step back, drawing her sword. “Everything changed.”

  He stood before her now, her blade at his throat. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Annwyl. I wanted you, more than anything. And I didn’t know how to tell you the truth without losing you. You trusted the dragon, but you absolutely hated the man. I needed you to accept all of me. Today I thought maybe you could.”

  He took a step forward and felt the tip of the blade just pierce his flesh. A trickle of blood eased down his neck to his chest. Annwyl’s breath came out in short gasps as she stared into his eyes. “You could kill me now. Easily. If that’s what you want.” He moved in a bit more. Any more and the blade would tear through his throat and kill him. “Is that what you want, Annwyl?”

  She stared at him for several long moments. “Yes, Fearghus,” she growled out. “It is.”

  Not the answer he’d hoped for, but he was quickly distracted by the pain in his knee where she kicked him.

  He barked in agony as she pushed him out of her way and moved a safe distance from him, against the far tent wall beside her bed. “Luckily for you, I owe you my life. Bastard.”

  Annwyl knew her rage could snap loose at any moment.

  She wanted to run the lying bastard through. Wanted him to know the pain she’d suffered when she’d realized the truth. Fearghus knew she had little knowledge of dragons except they were something to fear. She had no idea they could turn human. Live as human. And, based on what they’d been doing all over his glen recently, mate as human. She felt like a fool. A whore and a fool. And she hated him for making her feel that way. So, yes. She did want to see him dead. His blood on her sword. And although he gave her the perfect opportunity, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. At the moment, she hated herself for that weakness.