Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(25)

What he hadn’t counted on was that green-scaled cousin of hers. For not only was Keita no better in a fistfight now than she had been then, but last either of them had heard, even Keita’s father—Bercelak the Great himself—could not manage to get the ban lifted that prevented Keita from ever returning to Anubail Mountain. “I still say that was not my fault,” Keita went on. She’d been arguing this same point since the day he’d come for her at her father’s urgent request. Still bleeding from a head wound and nursing a broken forearm, Keita kept saying what she was saying now. “What happened to her was an accident…self-defense even, and she has no one to blame but herself. Besides, how many times should I apologize? The fact that I, a descendant of the royal bloodline, apologized at all, should be enough. But ignoring that I not only apologized multiple times but also sent that whiny viper some very decorative and fashionable eye patches to cover that gaping wound where her eye was! In my mind that should be more than enough. Don’t you agree?”

Ren clenched his jaw, but the snort slipped past his best defenses and he began laughing. Keita’s arms dropped over his shoulders, her cheek pressed against his, and she joined him. Both laughing until they cried—and until they knew they were no longer alone.

The Northland dragonlord stood a few feet away, in his dragon form, scowling at them. Ren knew the Lightning was confused. He didn’t understand their relationship, and Ren found that delightful. He had the feeling this dragon was not remotely used to feeling confused.

“Do you want something, warlord?” Keita asked, wiping tears from her eyes.

“There’s food,” he said. Then, pointing at them, he asked, “Are you two…what I mean is…are you…” He stopped and briefly shut his eyes.

“Forget it,” he said. And they watched him head back to camp.

Holding Keita’s arms, Ren looked at her. “My, my, you do have his c**k in a knot, don’t you?”

Keita frowned. “You think?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“He glares at me mostly. And talks to me as if I’m the stupidest female he’s ever met. I don’t think he likes me.”

“I can’t argue that point with you, my friend. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t lust after you.” And it immediately struck him how he could distract his friend for a bit until they found out more information on her aunt.

“Although…I doubt you could get him.”

“Oh, I could get him.”

“Really?”

“You’re all alike, Ren. Leading with your cocks, the head on your shoulders following stupidly behind.”

“How much, Princess Brag-a-Lot? Since you’re so sure.”

“Come now. That’s the easiest bet ever when a male’s involved.”

“That dragon is no ordinary male. His high opinion of himself doesn’t allow for any fun or unnecessary f**king. He has important things to do.

With important dragons, which you’re not. In his estimation, of course. Not mine.”

Laughing, Keita said, “Well, let’s see….” She tapped her chin and gazed up at the sky. “How about that gold chair you have?”

“You mean my ancient throne? It took me months to dig that up from the bowels of my cave, and it weighs at least a thousand pounds.”

“I’m not paying for shipping.”

“And what do I get if you lose?”

“Which will not happen, but…” She pursed her lips in thought. “How about that Magick-infused sword thing you wanted?”

“The Sword of Mallolwch?” She shrugged. “You lying cow! You told me you lost it.”

“No. I said, ‘It’s around here somewhere…I think. Maybe.’”

“You are the most deceitful—” Ren’s headed lifted, his nostrils flaring. “Smell that?” he asked.

Keita lifted her nose and sniffed before inhaling deeply. “Éibhear’s cooked meat,” she sighed.

“Éibhear’s cooked meat,” he repeated.

Together they scrambled out of the water, shoving each other, first in human form, then in dragon, trying to be the first to get to the delicious feast they were sure Éibhear had created.

Chapter Seven

Swords were strapped to backs or around waists. Battle axes and bows were tied to saddles. Beasts that resembled horses, but with curled horns and red eyes, pawed the ice-covered ground, anxious to be on their way. Pets that traveled by their sides were summoned with a whistle or a howl. Them that were once men were taken from cages and leashed collars placed around their necks. They’d lead the way like eager dogs, running on all fours, their wills long ago broken when they’d challenged those they never thought they’d have to fear.

A never-ending ice storm railed, but it didn’t matter to the likes of them. For they were on a mission given to them by one of their mighty gods.

They worshipped a few but were respected by all. Because when they was given a task, nothing, absolutely nothing, stopped them from seeing it through.

Their beasts mounted, their loyal pets at their sides, them that were men running nearly on all fours, the gates to their Ice Land fortress opened and they, like demons from the underworld, were unleashed onto an unsuspecting land. And they would follow the edicts of their gods even if it meant death to any and all who got in their way.