How to Drive a Dragon Crazy (Dragon Kin #6)(17)

The rest of her nephews dismounted their horses and followed Alppi. All except one, who seemed to be struggling with the concept of removing himself from the back of his steed.

Dagmar walked around until she stood next to the boy and his horse.

“Hello, Frederik.” Frederik Reinholdt, eighth-born son of her brother Fridmar. And, as her father had less than kindly said in his letter, “Resident family idiot.”

The fourteen-year-old boy glanced at her, nodded. “Aunt Dagmar.”

“Need some help?”

“No, no. I’m fine.”

She didn’t really believe him, so she motioned over one of the squires who’d come to take care of her nephews’ horses. But as the squire moved in to assist, Dagmar had to take a quick step back just as Frederik slipped from the horse and hit the ground hard.

“Ow,” she heard him mumble.

And Dagmar barely kept in a long, pained sigh. Gods, what had she agreed to?

Chapter 6

“You have to go.”

“I can’t. I’ve made a—”

“Out,” Izzy ordered.

Éibhear shrugged. “Make me.”

“Make you?”

Gods, she sounded annoyed. Not that he blamed her. But her annoyance combined with the scent of blood, dirt, and death that she was covered in, was rather enticing.

Iseabail the Dangerous was definitely not the girl he’d left behind all those years ago. Tall and powerfully built, her bare arms showed the hard years of life in the human queen’s army, from her strong, well-defined muscular physique to the scars he could see on any exposed skin. But her beauty—that had not changed. Instead it had merely sharpened, becoming even more powerful.

Even now, pissed as she was, all he could see were large, light brown eyes glaring down at him, while shoulder-length, wavy light brown hair framed a sculpted face, cheekbones sharp, dimples temporarily missing because she wasn’t smiling. Her lips were full and rather—if he did say so himself—pouty; and her once-sharp nose was no longer as sharp now that, he’d guess, it had been broken. Perhaps more than once. But that bit of imperfection only made her more beautiful, as far as Éibhear was concerned.

“Éibhear—”

“I’m not leaving.”

Izzy grabbed one of his hands from behind his head and pulled. She kept pulling too, while Éibhear lay there and let her.

“Gods be damned! You weigh as much as my bloody horse!”

“Only when I’m human.”

Snarling, she tossed his arm back at him and he barely managed not to hit himself in the face.

“Out!”

“I’m with you until this is over, Princess.”

“It’s General, you big bastard.”

“Calling me mean names will not change anything either.”

“I should just slit your throat and be done with it.”

“But then I’ll shift back to dragon and ruin your bed.”

Her eyes crossed and she turned from him just as the tent flap was pulled back. One of her soldiers walked in, but he stopped when he saw Éibhear lounging there.

“Should I come back?” he asked.

“Only if you want to lose a body part.” She glanced at the human. “Did you find Dai?”

“He was with Macsen, as you said.”

She faced the man. “Where’s Macsen?”

“Outside.”

“Let him in.”

The man glanced at Éibhear and back at Izzy. “Are you sure?”

She shrugged, headed back to her desk. “It’s his tent too.”

“Macsen,” the soldier called out. “Macsen!”

Izzy had a man? It couldn’t be a husband. That, he was sure, his kin would have told him. But a man she lived with? Another soldier? Well . . . good for her. She should have a mate. Someone she felt close to and could rely on. Aye. That was a very good thing indeed. Because he was sure that Izzy would pick someone loyal and worthy of her.

Éibhear again placed both hands behind his head and waited for this “worthy male” to enter, but he only had a moment to hear extreme, heavy panting before something large and furry charged through the tent flap and launched itself directly at Éibhear’s face.

Izzy watched the animal she’d found bloody and dying three years ago crash chest first onto Éibhear the Blue’s face.

Macsen was not a trained battle dog. He was definitely not one of Dagmar’s carefully bred canines. Instead, Izzy had found him after a battle. He’d been only a puppy, his battered body curled into the hollow of a tree trunk. Whimpering and shuddering, he’d been a pitiful-looking thing that Izzy simply couldn’t ignore. Covered in open wounds, he’d also been missing part of his left ear and his eye had been so damaged it was still nothing more than a milky white spot in his head. She’d picked his shaking body up and brought him back to her tent, tending to him herself. She’d cleaned and cared for his wounds, fed him by hand until he could eat on his own, and kept him warm at night by letting him sleep by her side. And, as each day passed, the puppy had grown stronger and, she soon realized, bigger. Very big. Big enough that she’d wondered if he was actually a dog or some other beast she was unaware of. Wolves weren’t as big as Macsen. His fangs were longer, his bite stronger, his fur shaggier, than any canine she’d ever seen. Yet he was blindingly loyal to her, fought with her in every battle, and protected her horse when she or Samuel could not.