Feel the Burn (Dragonkin #8)

by G. A. Aiken

  “Is there something you want?” Annwyl asked.

  “Yes.” The woman nodded, her grin wide. “The boy.”

  “What boy?”

  “The boy they say belongs to you.”

  Annwyl sighed. “There are no slaves in the Southlands.”

  “No, no. Not a slave. Your son. I want your son. I will give you . . . six oxen for him. Good stock. My tribe breeds the best oxen in all the Outerplains.”

  “My . . .” Annwyl cleared her throat. “My . . . son? Talan? You’ve seen him?”

  “He is here! With his sister and cousin,” the giant said with an alarming amount of cheer. “Sent back with us Daughters of the Steppes by the old She-beast Brigida through some magickal portal.”

  “The children are here?” Talaith asked. And, without waiting for an answer, she started to run off, toward the house, but Morfyd grabbed her arm and pulled her back, holding her in place.

  “Yes, they are here. And you can keep the girl. I have no sons for her. They are already promised to others. But once I am done with your son, teach him all he needs to know—in bed and out”—she and the other Riders laughed at that—“I will make sure to marry him to one of my strongest daughters or nieces. He will be well taken care of. Especially if he is good breeder.”

  Annwyl still stood in the freezing water, but she could no longer feel it. She was naked and it was frighteningly cold, but she couldn’t feel that either. She knew that Morfyd had rushed into the water, her hands on Annwyl’s shoulders, her beautiful face with the scar down one side permanently marking her as a witch now loomed in front of her, but Annwyl couldn’t see her.

  No. She couldn’t see anything around her—except that dark red haze....

  Kachka realized her sister had stopped walking after the last thing she’d said, and Kachka turned to face her. “What?”

  “You brought Nina Chechneva here?” she asked in their own language.

  “I had no choice.”

  “But you brought her here?”

  “I had no choice. I would have left her with the old bitch, but she sent the lot of us here. Brigida was pissed.”

  “It was dangerous to bring her, sister.”

  “Bringing her was not up to me. Besides, she’s the least of our problems right now.”

  Elina nodded, suddenly remembering why they were heading to one of the largest lakes on Garbhán Isle, and began walking again.

  As they neared the lake, they could hear a repeated thudding sound coming at them from a distance. They glanced at each other, then ran.

  They came through the trees just as a naked Annwyl picked up all of a bloody, mangled Zoya Kolesova, lifted her over her head, and slammed her back into the ground. Then Annwyl screamed. That insane scream that Kachka had heard more than once in her nightmares.

  Zoya wasn’t out completely, but she was close, her eyes crossing as she stared up at Annwyl.

  Reaching over, Annwyl yanked the blade from the scabbard Marina Aleksandrovna had at her side and raised it over her head.

  Kachka and Elina ran down to the lake shore, throwing themselves between Annwyl and Zoya just as Morfyd the White caught hold of Annwyl’s raised hand and attempted to yank the blade from her while Talaith tried to drag the woman back from behind.

  And there, standing serenely by the lake, not moving—not doing anything—was Dagmar Reinholdt. The Beast, she was called by her own Northland kin.

  Those cold, grey eyes locked with Kachka’s and she knew the cow would not intervene.

  “Honestly,” Kachka said to her sister in their own language, “you fuck one warlord’s nephew and she never gets over it!”

  Desperate, because Annwyl seemed really intent on cutting off Zoya’s head, Kachka grabbed Annwyl by the face and yelled, “Annwyl! The Iron Dragon King is here! He is here at Garbhán Isle! You must go talk to him!”

  That’s when they finally had Dagmar Reinholdt’s attention. “Gaius Domitus is here?” she asked, still dry on the lake’s edge.

  “Yes,” Kachka replied, her hand continuing to grip Annwyl’s face, afraid to let her go. “He was being held captive by a priestess of Chramnesind’s cult.”

  Dagmar stepped closer to the water, her eyes now wide behind those little bits of glass she wore. “What? Are you sure she was a Chramnesind priestess?”

  Kachka glanced at the Northlander. “She was until I took her head and released the king.” She looked back at Annwyl. “Now he needs a royal to talk to, Blood Queen. That is you. You need to go see him.”

  Annwyl’s eyes narrowed, finally locking on Kachka’s face. “Are you lying to me?”

  “When have I ever given enough shit to lie? To you or to anyone?”

  Annwyl took in a deep, long breath, let it out, and nodded. She pulled away from the women trying to control her, tossing the sword back to Marina. While the women moved back to the lakeshore to wait for her, Annwyl washed Zoya’s blood off her face, arms, and hands. When she was done, she came back to shore and grabbed her clothes.

  As she pulled them on, she stared down at a still-bleeding Zoya. When she had her boots and leggings on and her shirt tossed over her shoulder, she informed Zoya that, “If you talk about my son again like he’s a horse to be auctioned off, I’ll cut you open from pussy to chin. Understand me?”

  Zoya made an unsettling gagging sound and nodded her head, but it seemed enough for Annwyl. Without another word, she disappeared into the trees.

  Dagmar walked over to Kachka and asked, “Tell me, Kachka Shestakova, why are there so many Riders now in this territory?”

  “Ask your queen.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “I tell you nothing.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  Kachka reached for her own sword, but Elina caught her arm and stopped her.

  “Let it go, Dagmar,” Morfyd implored. She was crouching down by Zoya, examining her wounds. “I’ll need your help—and, Talaith, don’t go.”

  “My daughter—”

  “Can wait.

  “Fine. What do you need?”

  While Morfyd rattled off a list of herbs and things that she needed the Nolwenn witch to retrieve for her, Zoya reached out a bloodied hand to Kachka.

  Kachka grabbed it and knelt down beside her fellow Rider. She really didn’t know what she’d expected Zoya Kolesova to say, but it definitely wasn’t, “The Southland Queen . . . is . . . magnificent.”

  Kachka’s head briefly dropped, then she looked back at the rest of her team. They all knew, in that moment, that they would never get rid of Zoya Kolesova. They were stuck with her.

  Chapter Nine

  Gaius found a kind servant who got him some clothes that actually fit his human frame and then offered him some food. All that meat he’d eaten earlier had worn off and someone had taken the bear away, so he’d happily sat down at the table to enjoy some Southland stew.

  As he dug in, Queen Annwyl entered the Great Hall. Her hair was wet and, in theory, she should be freezing to death in this weather, but she didn’t appear to be. Since she’d stalked into the Great Hall, Gaius knew immediately the human queen was livid. Zoya must have made her demands about the boy. But Gaius wasn’t surprised to see Annwyl alive and well and seemingly unharmed. The woman could and would fight anything. She used her rage the way the rest of them used their dragon flame—as a lethal weapon that cleared everything out of her way.

  Gaius didn’t bother to call out to the queen. He’d see her in due time. Perhaps after he’d spoken to Dagmar Reinholdt or Bram the Merciful first. Besides, in the years he’d known Annwyl the Bloody, worked with her, fought beside her, she had never remembered him. Each occasion she saw him, it was as if she were meeting him for the very first time.

  In the beginning, that had insulted him greatly. But eventually it had become so ridiculous, he didn’t bother to get upset anymore. Aggie, however . . . she always got upset. Greatly.

  “Talan!” the queen barked once she was in the middle
of the hall.

  “Mum!” her son called back. Then he appeared at the back of the hall and ran to her, lifting her up in a big hug and swinging her around. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  Annwyl showered her son’s face with kisses before getting him to put her down and checking him over as if he’d just come from war.

  “Mum, I’m fine.”

  She finally stepped back. “They wanted to buy you, you know. Like cattle. She won’t be doing that again, though.”

  “Mum . . . what did you do?”

  “What any mother would do to protect her son.”

  “Is she still living?”

  The queen shrugged. “Probably. I didn’t take her head if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Did you try?”

  “Why do you question me so?”

  “Mum!”

  Annwyl sucked her tongue between her teeth and waved a dismissive hand. “Where’s that sister of yours?”

  “You mean your daughter?”

  “That has yet to be proven.”

  Talan chuckled. “She went off to find the old bastard.”

  She punched her son’s shoulder. “Be nice to your father!”

  “Be nice to my sister.”

  “I am nice. I haven’t killed her yet, have I? And the gods know that I’ve been tempted.”

  The boy laughed again until he saw something behind his mother.

  Enjoying his delightful stew, Gaius glanced toward the front of the hall to find out what the boy was looking at and Gaius’s mouth dropped open for a moment.

  “Oh . . . Mum.”

  Annwyl barely glanced back at a nearly destroyed Zoya Kolesova. Even Gaius, who had been watching gladiator games since before he could fly, still had to stop eating. Yes. It was that bad.

  “She talked about you like cattle,” Annwyl said again. “I didn’t like it.”

  “But this . . . this wasn’t necessary.”

  “She started it. She challenged me.”

  Poor Zoya was being helped by Kachka and her sister. She had one arm around each sister and her face was bloody, bruised, and battered. The other Riders followed behind them, not even bothering to assist.

  “She will not let your witches help her,” Kachka explained as they stopped in front of the queen.

  “Let her die then.”

  “Mum!”

  “What?”

  “You’re better than this,” her son argued.

  “She is not,” Kachka pointed out.

  “Truly. She is not,” Elina confirmed

  They were so direct, Gaius couldn’t help but laugh, and that’s when the queen’s gaze suddenly locked on him, those mad green eyes staring at him through all that hair.

  “Gaius. There you are. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Shocked, Gaius looked around the hall, expecting to see someone else—anyone else—who might be named Gaius.

  When he found no one, he looked back at the queen and pointed at his chest with his spoon. “Are you . . . are you talking to me?”

  “Yes, you!” she snapped. “Who else would I be . . . ? What other Gaius is . . . ? What is wrong with everyone?”

  That’s when the queen spotted Dagmar Reinholdt as she suddenly floated into the room with Lady Talaith and Princess Morfyd. Dagmar had always looked so out of place here at Garbhán Isle. An elegant Northland female among the brawny Southlanders. Quiet. Intelligent. And dangerously plotting. She always seemed to belong somewhere less . . . full of yelling.

  Dagmar Reinholdt placed her small hand against her chest. “Me? What have I done, my queen?”

  The queen snarled and took a step, but her son quickly pulled her back. “Hello, Auntie Dagmar.”

  The Battle Lord went up on her toes and kissed her nephew-by-mating on the cheek. “Talan. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine. We brought visitors back with us.” He gestured toward Gaius with a tilt of his head.

  “King Gaius.” She moved past the others and over to Gaius’s side. He stood, took her outstretched hand, and kissed the back of it.

  “My Lady Dagmar. Always good to see you again.”

  “And you, of course. Although I have to say I am a bit surprised you’re here.”

  “Had a spot of trouble. Nothing to worry about.”

  A snort from Kachka had Gaius glancing over, an eyebrow raised. “Something you’d like to say, Lady Kachka?”

  Now Dagmar laughed, and Kachka, snarling a little, pulled away from poor Zoya, her sister almost crumbling under the weight of the much bigger woman.

  “Cousin!” Tatyana exclaimed, quickly moving in to help Elina before she was lost under the massiveness of Zoya.

  “Something you want to say to me, tiny Northlander, with tiny head I can crush between hands?”

  Dagmar, never one to back away from much of anything, stepped directly into Kachka’s space, quiet demeanor still in place.

  “I’d like to see you try, Outerplains slut.”

  “Fucking your nephew once does not make me slut. It makes your nephew very lucky.”

  They had their hands around each other’s throats by the time Gaius and Lady Talaith reached them. Talaith handled Dagmar, yanking her back one way, while Gaius yanked Kachka the other.

  “Stay away from my nephew!” Dagmar yelled as Talaith dragged her from the hall.

  “I already fucked him, Northlander! I promise I am done with him!”

  Dagmar screeched and managed to pull herself out of Talaith’s grasp, but the former assassin—a Southlander secret Gaius had known about for years—lifted her up and carried her out the front doors.

  “Dagmar Reinholdt’s nephew?” he softly asked Kachka. “A little young for you, isn’t he?”

  “He had to learn from someone. And a boy that pretty to have me . . . ? It was honor for him.”

  Before Gaius could respond to that, Annwyl took hold of Gaius’s forearm. It surprised him. He didn’t think Annwyl had ever touched him before. He wasn’t sure why she was touching him now. He felt the need to duck . . . or simply prepare for death.

  Thankfully, however, none of that was necessary. The queen simply said, “Come on. Let’s talk.”

  Gaius nodded, ready to follow.

  “Wait,” a still bleeding Zoya called out.

  The queen looked over to the Rider, waited until her Outerplains sisters had helped her to Annwyl’s side. Then the poor, battered woman went down on one knee, all of them cringing a bit at the sounds of bones grinding together.

  Annwyl watched silently, the hand holding Gaius’s forearm tightening a bit in confusion.

  “I apologize, Annwyl the Bloody, for what I said earlier. And for doubting you. Your strength is great. And I, Zoya Kolesova of the Mountain Movers of the Lands of Pain in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains, will fight for you and your queendom as long as I have breath.”

  Annwyl gazed down at Zoya, then glanced around at everyone else, then back at Zoya. After a long pause, she finally said, “Uh . . . all right then.”

  After another pause, Annwyl started to walk off, leading Gaius behind her, but she did toss over her shoulder, “Let Morfyd and Talaith take care of your wounds, Zoya . . . whatever whatever.”

  Gaius silently followed until they reached a large room. There were chairs scattered around and a large table with maps strewn across it. Once the door was closed securely behind them, the pair stared at each for several long seconds, until they both started laughing.

  “Mountain Movers?” the queen asked, her laughter light and completely sane.

  “I have to say, Queen Annwyl,” Gaius said around his own laughter, “although my sister would never agree, I always have the most entertaining time when I come here.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Any idea why you were taken?”

  Gaius sipped his wine before replying, “I truly don’t know. But the torc that priestess put on me . . . it didn’t just keep me human. It drained me. Sucked me dry.” He shook
his head. “That seemed particularly cruel. Even for them.”

  “Not really. Have you heard about their”—Annwyl pursed her lips as if she tasted something vile—“purifications? These are people who enjoy being cruel for cruelty’s sake.”

  “Perhaps, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “It was clearly killing me. Slowly, but killing me. Yet they were taking me somewhere.”

  “So if you didn’t reach your destination, you would definitely die.”

  “Right. Which sounds like they wanted to make sure that happened no matter what.”

  “They must have wanted something from you, though, otherwise they would have killed you immediately.”

  “Yes. But I have no idea what that was. What they were looking for. What they think I have.”

  Annwyl studied him a moment before asking, “When Kachka found you, did she tell you anything about why she was back in the Outerplains?”

  “No. But she did debate killing me when I asked her about it.”

  Annwyl laughed, her smile wide and relaxed. Pretty. It reminded him that Annwyl hadn’t started out as a royal. She’d been plucked from her town by the warlord father she’d never known and forced to live with him and his evil son as the new rulers of the Southlands.

  No one had been sure why her father had bothered. Many human royals left bastard children everywhere they went; they rarely acknowledged them, much less dragged them back to their homes. Then, he’d died and his son had taken over, eventually trying to use his hated sister to secure an alliance with another important royal. Annwyl hadn’t taken to that very well, and she’d ended up fighting her brother for the Garbhán Isle throne.

  She was a strong warlord, but things could have gone either way since her brother had many allies. Then Annwyl had met Fearghus, and he and his siblings had ridden into one last battle against her brother. Annwyl had won the day and the throne . . . and her own dragon mate.

  It had been the talk of the Provinces all those years ago. That the eldest son and heir to his mother’s throne had mated for life with a human. Little did any of them know what their bond would really lead to.

  The Abominations.