Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(14)

Curling her lips into an appropriate—and quite seductive—smile, Keita turned and faced the other two Lightnings.

“By the gods,” she said, her hands to her chest. “It is you!” She quickly recalled their names and tried to place which was which. Not easy when they both looked quite similar. Both had purple hair braided into a single plait that reached to the middle of their backs, both were wide of shoulder and long of height, both had scars. So, how did she tell them apart before…?

“Vigholf!” She hugged the one with the grey eyes and the brutal scar across his jaw. “Meinhard!” She then hugged the one with the green eyes and the brutal scar that cut from his hairline to below his eye. “How wonderful it is to see you both again.”

She grabbed a hand from each and held them tightly. “I hope you’ve both been doing wonderfully.”

“We have, my lady, thank you,” Vigholf said. He’d always been the more confident one when it came to speaking. Meinhard always looked cornered when she asked him a direct question, before muttering a response.

Although she’d found in time that Meinhard said much with his eyes without speaking a word. A lovely trait—rare with most males.

“And I see you’ve been taking excellent care of my brother. Thank you both for that. I don’t know what I’d do if something horrible happened to him.”

“Meinhard’s my mentor,” Éibhear filled in.

“And I know my brother’s learned so much from you, dear Meinhard.” She gave her most dazzling smile, and poor Meinhard appeared ready to crumple at her feet.

That’s before the rude one stepped between them, prying her hands from his kin.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” she asked him.

“Moving this along.”

“Well, if you’d bothered to ask me nicely—oh!” she gasped when he again lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder like so much trash. “How dare you!”

“Move out!” he ordered.

“Are you going to let him do this?” she demanded of Ren. For many, many years they’d been traveling companions and dearest friends. He made her laugh the way Gwenvael always did but, unlike her dear brother, Ren was much more reliable. Gwenvael was a lot of things, but unfortunately, she could never call him reliable.

“He seems quite determined,” Ren explained, his lips curled into a small smile. “Can’t you just relax until he’s done?”

“I want you never again to ask that question of any female for as long as you live, Ren of the Chosen!” she ordered.

Yet with no one willing to help her, Keita was forced to settle down and wait this out. Although she did use every opportunity to bring up her foot so she kicked Ragnar the Bastard in the nose with her heel.

If nothing else, she did find that quite entertaining.

Chapter Three

Fearghus the Destroyer, First Born to the Dragon Queen, Heir to the Dragon Queen’s Throne, Consort to Annwyl the Bloody, Father to the Demon Twins of Dark Plains, and suspicious, jealous male of Queen Annwyl’s court sat on the stairs leading to the Great Hall of his mate’s castle and watched Annwyl walk from behind one of the guard houses. Behind her trailed the two dogs given to her by her chief battle lord, Dagmar Reinholdt.

Fearghus didn’t mind the two dogs, though they did make him hungry. But Annwyl adored the beasts nearly as much as she adored her horse and Fearghus wasn’t in the mood to fight with her if she found him using one of the dog’s leg bones to remove the other bits from between Fearghus’s fangs.

Eyes narrowing, Fearghus studied his mate. Although Annwyl had always trained hard since he’d met her, she’d been training even harder since a few months after their twins had been born. He knew what drove her, too.

Fear. Not fear for herself, but fear for the safety of their twins. Fear that she couldn’t protect them. He didn’t know why she’d think that. She’d slaughtered an entire herd of Minotaur to protect their babes. But she seemed to think worse than Minotaurs was heading their way. That whatever this worse thing was, it—or they—was coming after the babes.

And maybe she was right. Although not quite two winters old, the twins were feared by many. Demons, abominations, unholy—all words used to describe the amazing creatures upstairs with their latest nanny. A position they couldn’t seem to keep filled for long periods of time. He’d known his offspring would be different. But not this different. Not this dangerous. And gods, for something so small, they were dangerous.

Picking sticks off the ground, Annwyl held them out for her dogs and then played tug with the beasts until they reached the Great Hall steps.

“Oy. Wench,” Fearghus said by way of greeting.

Annwyl looked up at him with those green eyes that still made his heart stumble a bit in his chest.

“Oy. Knight.”

“Where you’ve been?”

“Training.”

He could see that. Her body was covered in sweat, fresh bruises, and new nicks and cuts.

“Training with…?”

She shrugged, glanced down at her dogs, which were still fighting her for the sticks. “A few of the men.”

And he knew she lied.

“How did it go?” he asked, rather than accuse her of something he couldn’t yet prove.