Supernatural

by Larissa Ione

  “Oh, Bram! You look so wonderful. Doesn’t he look wonderful, Bercelak?”

  Bram heard that growl of disapproval across the queen’s chamber.

  “Bercelak thinks you look wonderful, too,” the queen lied. She patted Bram’s shoulder and stepped away. “So my dearest Bram, are you ready for your most important of trips?”

  “I am, my queen. I think nothing but good can come from this and I look forward to—”

  “Yes, yes.” She sat down on her throne, a bit of rock jutting from the cave wall. It never looked very comfortable to Bram, but the queen didn’t seem to mind. “But I’ve been worrying about your safety.”

  “My safety? I’ll be fine, Your Majesty.”

  “I’ve been hearing rumors. There are those who do not want this alliance to go through. They will try to stop you.”

  “Why? It’s not Lightnings I go to see. The dragons of the Desert Lands have never been our enemies.” He was simply ensuring that they would not side with those who were.

  “Always so logical, my old friend. Logical and thoughtful and smart. But still . . . nothing is ever easy in the world of dragon politics, and you of all dragons should know that.”

  “Understood, my queen. And I promise you that I’ll be quite care—”

  “So I’ve arranged for your protection.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Your Majesty, my contact in the Desert Lands is only expecting me. Not an entourage.”

  “An entourage sounds so large and daunting, and it’s nothing of the sort. Just a few of my most trusted Dragonwarriors to ensure you make it safely to and from your destination.”

  “Dragonwarriors?” Gods, kill him now.

  Which nightmare Dragonwarriors had this female dug up from the pits of hell to send him out with? Probably Bercelak’s brothers. Or, even worse, Bercelak himself. The black dragon had never liked Bram due to Bram’s apparent affliction to “thinking too much and lusting after my sister.” And Bercelak was right, of course. About the thinking—and the lusting.

  Ghleanna the Black, now the Decimator, had been Bram’s unobtainable dream since he was a young dragon, barely even sixty winters. She’d stolen his heart from first glare when she’d slammed Bercelak’s head into the wall and ordered him to, “Leave off the royal!”, meaning Bram. Ghleanna had been in a recent battle, one of her first, and she’d gotten her first scar. A six-inch thing that cut across her collarbone. Bram had seen that scar and his mouth had dried up, his knees had gone weak, and he’d forgotten words. Not specific words, but all words. She’d rendered him temporarily mute.

  But unlike Bercelak, Ghleanna barely noticed Bram after that, barely paid attention to him, barely remembered his name. He was the royal who sometimes visited her mother or her sister Maelona. The “thinkers” in the Cadwaladr Clan.

  “And which warriors would that be, my queen? Anyone I know?”

  The queen smiled—something that did not give Bram ease—and he heard a voice he knew so well say from behind him, “I can’t believe you sent those mad bitches to fetch me, Bercelak. Do you not care for me at all?”

  Bram briefly closed his eyes before looking at the female who now stood beside him. They eyed each other for a long moment until Ghleanna the Decimator sneered and demanded of her brother, “Babysitting? You dragged me all this way to be a babysitter to a weak-willed royal?”

  “Thank you, Ghleanna,” Bram murmured. “That was very nice.”

  “Nothing personal,” she muttered back, her claw patting his shoulder. “Long night.”

  Long night? Looked more like a long century. Although he knew what it was that had one of the most decorated and feared captains of the last few centuries appearing as if she hadn’t slept in years. Her hair, always short and well groomed, now reached her shoulders, the ends uneven. Her armor, always spit-shined and battle-ready, was now covered in dirt and dents and, if Bram wasn’t mistaken, bits of some poor sod’s brains. Even her battle axes, her favorite weapons as far back as Bram could recall, looked as if they had not been cleaned in months, the blade edges still encrusted in blood and bits of bone. No, this was not the Ghleanna he had known all these years. The Ghleanna he’d adored. More fool him.

  “Oh?” Rhiannon asked Ghleanna. “Are you frightfully busy at the moment?”

  “I know I’m too busy for this centaur sh—”

  “Honestly, my queen,” Bram cut in, “there’s no call to involve Captain Ghleanna. I’m quite fine traveling on my own.” In fact, he preferred it. This trip was too important for him to be distracted by the one female who still kept him up some nights. Sweating.

  “Nonsense, Bram. I won’t hear of it.”

  “Well, find someone else,” Ghleanna told them all. “I didn’t go through half-a-century of training and more than that of battles to end up the babysitter of Bram the Merciful.”

  Insulted, Bram snapped, “Would you like an actual blade to twist in my gut, Ghleanna?”

  “It’s nothing personal,” she said again.

  “Right. Nothing personal.”

  “What I find amusing,” Rhiannon observed, ignoring them both, “is that you think I’m asking you to do this task, Ghleanna of the Cadwaladr Clan. After all this time being Captain of the Tenth Battalion, one would think you could tell an order from a request.”

  Ghleanna made a noise through her snout that sounded like an angry bull about to charge. “And one would think that a queen wouldn’t waste the skill of her Dragonwarriors with centaur-shit tasks like babysitting!”

  “Don’t raise your voice to me, Cadwaladr! I am not one of your troops!”

  “I can tell that because they don’t waste my bloody time!”

  “That is it!” Bercelak the Great roared, silencing both females. Black eyes, so much like his sister’s, locked on the angry Captain. “Apologize, Ghleanna.”

  “Like hells I—”

  “Apologize!” the consort’s voice boomed across the cavern, every royal beside Bram making a hasty move for the exits. Ghleanna immediately lowered her gaze.

  “I’m sorry if I offended you, my queen.”

  Rhiannon grinned. “Now, now, sister. We’re all friends here.” We are? “And I know you’ll do this favor for me.” The queen rose, walked down to Bram and, to his horror, patted his shoulder. “Bram means so much to me and to this court. We grew up together—and his safety is of the utmost importance. Do you think I would trust that with just anyone?” She laid her head on Bram’s shoulder and Bram curled his claws into fists, desperate to move away from this crazed female. “Isn’t Bram simply marvelous? The way he negotiates such important alliances and truces for me? Don’t you simply adore him as much as I do?”

  The queen’s consort stood in front of Bram now, towering over him as most males of the Cadwaladr Clan did, and he glared at Bram with such loathing that all Bram wanted to do was scream out, “It’s not me! I swear, it’s not me!”

  But before the terrifying bastard could remove parts of Bram that would definitely be missed, Ghleanna caught hold of her sibling’s forearm and tugged, sighing loudly.

  “Come, brother. Tell me what this all-important task is and why I, of all Dragonwarriors, must do it.”

  She dragged Bercelak from the cavern and Bram gazed at his old friend and now ruler of all Southland Dragons. And, with all honesty, he asked, “Why, Rhiannon? Why do you hate me so?”

  “What is going on?” Ghleanna demanded of her brother once she’d found them a quiet alcove.

  “How should I know? I mean what could Rhiannon see in that overthinking bastard? All he does is read all day and write papers. It’s like his mind is a thousand miles away at all times. He’s a talker that one, not a doer.”

  “I’m not talking about that, you git. I’m talking about what’s going on that you think it’s necessary for me to accompany the peacemaker anywhere. And it better be a good reason, brother. Or I’m likely to get cranky.”

  Bercelak took in a deep breath, trying to calm his desire to te
ar poor Bram wing from wing. Gods, the two of them would never be friends. “The royal is going into the Desert Lands to get us an alliance with the Sand Eaters.” Their kind’s nickname for the Sand Dragons of the Desert Lands.

  “Why? We’ve had no problems with them before.”

  “And that royal”—and Bercelak sneered a bit—“wants to keep it that way. But I don’t see why you’d have a problem babysitting—I thought you liked this one.”

  “I do. Bram’s sweet.” Sweeter than any other dragon she knew, which also made him the oddest dragon Ghleanna knew. “So is that it then? Rhiannon just needs me to make sure Bram gets there and back?”

  “Actually your taking him was my idea.”

  Incredulous, Ghleanna asked, “Whatever the bloody hells for?” If anyone knew how ill-equipped Ghleanna was for babysitting duty, it was her brother. Even their own mother stopped allowing Ghleanna to babysit Bercelak after she’d dangled him over an active volcano, threatening to toss him in. And then there was that other time when she’d left Bercelak alone on a mountaintop when he still couldn’t fly, but not before she told him, “It’s not that Mum and Da don’t love you—they just don’t want you anymore. But I’m sure someone will come along who does.”

  Cruel perhaps, but he was such an arrogant little shit, even then, that she’d been unable to help herself. And her parents had eventually tracked down his sobbing, wailing ass and brought him home.

  “Because,” her brother replied, “I need someone I can count on. Until recently, you were the most reliable of us all. I sincerely hope that hasn’t changed for good.”

  “Don’t go there, brother.”

  “Over some male not worthy of you.”

  He went there!

  “I will not speak of that,” she growled and started to walk away. But her brother’s tail wrapped around her throat and yanked her back. “Ack!”

  “My sister,” he said, his tail tightening around her neck so she had trouble breathing, “would not be so foolish as to let any male cause her to lose all that she has worked so hard for. My sister,” he went on, ignoring Ghleanna’s talons tearing at him, “would never let some idiot dragon convince her that her exemplary skills on the battlefield make her less than any other female.” Bercelak began to slam her repeatedly into the cave floor like he used to when he’d gotten bigger and realized his sister had purposely tortured him for years. “And my sister would never, ever let some male who was never worthy of her in the first place, stop her from taking direct orders from her queen.”

  He slammed her to the ground one last time, the cave walls shaking, before he removed his tail. “That,” he said softly, “is not what a sister of mine would do, correct?”

  “You are a mean-hearted bastard!”

  “But you already knew that about me, Ghleanna. You didn’t think that would change simply because I found a mate, did you?”

  Ghleanna stood, her claws kneading her bruised throat. “No. I really didn’t.”

  Her brother placed his claw on her shoulder, ignoring the way she flinched. “I know he hurt you, Ghleanna—”

  “No.” She had to stop him. She couldn’t hear anymore. “He didn’t hurt me, Bercelak. He made a fool of me. In front of my kin—in front of my troops.”

  “And he did that because he’s jealous.”

  She had to laugh. “Of what?”

  “Of the fact that he could never take you in a fair fight. It eats at him that you’re stronger than him, faster, definitely smarter, and worshipped by your troops. And instead of standing your ground, you let his centaur shit push you into hiding in your cave like some worthless human. Drinking yourself into a blind stupor and ignoring those who care for you. Like Mum and that bastard.”

  “You mean Da?”

  “Call him what you like.” Bercelak’s perpetually scowling face softened a bit. “And, yes, sister, he’s well aware that this is partially his doing.”

  “It’s not really.” And Ghleanna swiped at the tears sliding down her snout. “My own stupidity got me here.”

  “Then fix it, sister.” He had both claws on her shoulders now. “Do this task for your queen with no questions. Bring a few of our kin with you. I hear things are winding down at Bolver Fields in the Southern Hills near the peacemaker’s home. Addolgar is there. He’ll be up for this trip, I think.”

  Ghleanna shook the rest of her pitiful tears off, pulled herself together. “Addolgar as well? You need both of us on this? Why?”

  “Because, if that weak kitten of a dragon gets the Sand Dragon King to sign this alliance . . . it’ll make Rhiannon one of the strongest monarchs in this region in the last millennium.”

  “Oh . . . that’s why.”

  “There has to be someone else, Rhiannon. Anyone else.”

  “No one you’ll be as safe with as Ghleanna.”

  Bram sighed and tried to think of how to carefully explain this to his dangerously unstable queen without insulting her or her recently acquired kin. At least now, though, they were in her privy chamber and away from the prying eyes and ears of her court.

  “These are delicate negotiations, Rhiannon. The Sand Dragon King has to be handled with care. Infinite care.”

  “Och! These moody foreign royals. How do you tolerate such moodiness, my friend?”

  Did she even listen to herself? Probably not.

  “With patience,” he answered. “And none of the Cadwaladrs are known for their patience.”

  Rhiannon’s head tipped to the side, her blue eyes watching him. “But we are not speaking of the Cadwaladrs, are we, old friend? I sense that if we were speaking of any of Bercelak’s other kin this wouldn’t be such an issue. But we’re not. We’re speaking of Ghleanna.”

  Bram swallowed. “So?”

  The queen began to circle Bram, the tip of her tail drawing little signs in the dirt floor as she moved. “Pretty, strong, defiant, difficult, and scarred Ghleanna.”

  “I know who she is, Rhiannon. I just don’t see—”

  “All those scars from all those battles, littering her body. Her long, strong body. Even her tail has scars—and an extra long . . . tip.”

  “Stop.”

  “And when she gets angry, Bram . . . when she gets right up close and is threatening and vicious and cold; and you know in that second that you’ll never meet someone as deadly as—”

  “Please stop.” Bram realized he was panting.

  “We’ve been friends a long time, Bram. Do you really think I’ve forgotten?”

  “I didn’t think you’d noticed.” No one else ever had—especially Ghleanna.

  “Ghleanna is like the rest of her kin. Wonderful, but dense as thick marble.”

  “That’s lovely, Rhiannon.”

  “I adore them all but you need to be more direct with them when you want something.”

  “She doesn’t know I exist. She never has.”

  “Because you aren’t direct with her. You’re direct with everyone else, but once Ghleanna comes around you’re suddenly a shy schoolboy.”

  “So? I should be like Feoras the Fighter instead?”

  Rhiannon winced. “Heard about that, did you?”

  “Everyone’s heard about it because the bastard’s told everyone.”

  “That annoying little rodent. I should have his veins removed.” When Bram didn’t say anything, Rhiannon noted, “No calls for mercy, peacemaker?”

  “Not this time, no. And stop looking at me like that. I never like cruelty from anyone. So it’s not as if I’m being particularly vicious here.”

  “It’s endearing that you think not calling for mercy is vicious.” Rhiannon waved all that away with her claw. “Look, when it comes to males, Ghleanna the Black doesn’t know what she wants. So you’ll have to show her.”

  “Show her?”

  “It’s the perfect time. She’s absolutely ripe for the plucking.”

  Bram blinked. “What?”

  “Vulnerable. That’s the word. So it’s the perfect time
for a good, worthy dragon to swoop in and get her.”

  “Rhiannon!”

  “What? I’m only trying to help.”

  “That’s not helpful. That’s sneaky and deceitful.”

  She gave a soft snort. “Two words you’re well acquainted with.”

  “Only when we’re discussing politics. Ghleanna is not politics. She’s . . . she’s . . .”

  “Scarred? Perfectly, perfectly scarred?”

  “Stop, Rhiannon.”

  “So many scars,” the viper whispered in Bram’s ear. “All from the different weapons of those trying to kill her. She has a scar here”—her tail drew a long diagonal line across Bram’s back—“from hip to shoulder where an ogre from the Dark Hills tried to cut her in half. He didn’t succeed, though. And Ghleanna slaughtered their entire army. And when the healers sewed her up”—Rhiannon went on—“she insisted on being awake so that she’d fully understand that even a moment of being unaware had drastic consequences.”

  She pulled back slightly. “Why, Bram, you’re shaking.”

  Because he was desperately trying to control his cock. It wouldn’t do to get hard in front of his queen. No matter what the vision of Ghleanna getting her battle wounds tended did to him.

  “You’re cruel, Rhiannon. You were cruel when we were young—and you’re cruel now.”

  “My mother was cruel, Lord Bram. I’m merely honest.” She kissed his snout. “And don’t ever say I’m not a good friend. I’m the best friend a dragon like you could hope for.”

  He turned slightly, both of them very close to each other, and smiled. “Best friend, my ass.”

  She laughed until that black snout pushed between them, forcing them apart, pitch black smoke streaming from the nostrils.

  “Oh, hello, my love,” Rhiannon said to her consort. “I was just giving Bram here a pep talk before he goes to face those difficult Sand Dragons. Wasn’t I, Bram?”

  “Uh . . . yes. She was.”

  “Now go with my blessing. And good luck to you.”

  Please don’t hug me. Please don’t hug me.