Dragon Actually (Dragon Kin #1)(15)

“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.”