A Tale Of Two Dragons (Dragon Kin 0.2)(59)

His grin went from cheerful to leering as he pulled out her aunt’s chains, cuffs, and collar.

Addolgar held them up. “And what are we going to do with all this, Braith of the Darkness?”

Pressing her hand against his chest, Braith shoved her mate flat against the bed, pinning him there, and snatched the chains from him. She grinned down into his suddenly panic-stricken face. “Guess.”

Epilogue

During the Reign of Queen Rhiannon the White

Addolgar landed on the ground and immediately shifted to human. While he put clothes on, he tried not to listen to the complaining going on a few feet away from him.

He was a general in Her Majesty’s army. A Cadwaladr. And an extremely proud father of seven Daughters of the House of Penarddun. Yet, Addolgar was being forced to listen to so much gods-damn complaining!

His eyes narrowed on the blue hair shining in the sunlight while the complaining went on and on.

For Addolgar was just one simple dragon. So it was unfair for anyone to think he could tolerate this. Or that he should tolerate this. He deserved much better for all he’d sacrificed over the years.

So, picking up his hammer, Addolgar walked up behind all that to-the-ground-length blue hair and raised his weapon. With his left eye beginning to twitch, he brought the hammer down.

But before it crashed into the head, silencing all that complaining, a strong hand caught his arm—and held it. Only one being he knew of, besides his brothers and Ghleanna, could do that.

He looked down into the smiling human face of his mate. Braith of the Darkness, Daughter of the House of Penarddun, and mother of thirteen offspring—seven perfect daughters, and six idiot sons—shook her head at him.

“I. Can’t. Stand. It. Anymore,” he told her, glaring at all that blue hair that did not belong to anyone from the House of Penarddun, but adorned the big, fat head of one of Addolgar’s many nephews.

Briefly chewing her lip so she didn’t laugh out loud, Braith called out, “How are you, dearest Éibhear?”

Sighing—dramatically—something his ridiculous princely nephew, the son of his brother Bercelak, had managed to make into a bloody art form in his short, less-than-a-century-old life—the idiot boy didn’t even turn around before he started complaining more!

“I’ve had better days, Auntie Braith.”

“I’m sure you have.” She tugged on Addolgar’s arm, raised her eyebrows. Lower it, she mouthed at him.

I don’t want to.

Do it anyway.

With much regret—he’d never have a chance like that again—Addolgar lowered his weapon just as the idiot boy faced them.

“I thought you were staying in Dark Plains for a little longer,” Braith prompted Éibhear. She looked over her shoulder at the boy, and the way her cotton shirt was cut, Addolgar could see part of the Claiming brand that he’d placed on her upper chest all those years ago. Addolgar wore Braith’s Claiming mark with pride on his entire right leg, from ass to foot.

“I did, too,” Éibhear continued to complain. “But apparently my father had other ideas.”

“It was either that,” Addolgar shot back at the boy, “or let Bercelak cut off your head like he planned!”

Éibhear, human and dressed in chain mail and the surcoat of some long-dead army, put his hands on his hips. “Why? Because I didn’t agree with the old bastard?”

“You’re a soldier!” Addolgar yelled. “You don’t agree. You don’t disagree. You follow orders!”

The boy raised his hands in the air. “Well . . . I don’t like following orders. How about that, Uncle?”

Addolgar went for the boy again, but Braith rammed her hand against his chest, stopping him before he got more than a few feet.

“Éibhear dear,” Braith said, “why don’t you go inside and see your cousins.”

“I don’t feel like seeing anybody,” the idiot boy complained.

Now, it was one thing when Addolgar’s demands weren’t followed, but it was another when Braith’s nicely put requests weren’t.

Slowly, the She-dragon faced her nephew-by-mating. As always, she had two hammers secured to her back. One was once Addolgar’s hammer. The other was one Addolgar had had made for her. She’d been fighting with those two weapons for centuries now, and dragon, human, and centaur feared her. Of course, Addolgar had been right . . . the hammer was the perfect weapon for her. Unlike the current queen, Rhiannon, Braith was not sharp-tongued. She was blunt in word and deed, and blunt weapons were perfect for her. Lack of an edge never stopped her from killing enemies with an enthusiasm that even her own kin respected . . . and feared.

“Nephew,” she said, walking up to Éibhear. “Go inside and see your cousins.”

“Was I not clear?” Éibhear snapped back. “I said I don’t feel like it.”

“Oh. I see.”

Braith turned away from the idiot boy and with her eyes on Addolgar, she pulled out one of her hammers, hefted it between both hands, and spun, swinging the weapon.

The boy, to his credit, was quick, though; his time in his mother’s army had enhanced his reflexes. He dropped low and the hammer zipped by, the head of it ramming into the ancient tree beside him—and tearing it out at the root. The tree tipped over and, with great noise, fell.