Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(31)

Ragnar caught up with her while she stood at a dressmaker’s stall.

“What do you want?” she snapped while she examined the already-made gowns.

“I didn’t mean to anger you.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology?”

“No,” he admitted. “It’s not.”

“You are the most…frustrating male.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She pulled a dress off one of the wooden racks and placed it against her body. “What do you think?”

“We both know you look beautiful in anything. Will you force me to remind you of that fact constantly?”

“Would it kill you to simply say it?” She placed the gown back on the rack and continued to search. “Do you have a mate, warlord?”

“No.”

“Does this surprise you? Because it doesn’t surprise me.”

“You don’t have a mate either.”

“I don’t want a mate. Clinging, grasping males who feel the need to brand you in some ancient ritual that allows them to feel superior while ruining my beautiful human skin.” She held up her right arm and stroked it with her left hand. “Look at this skin. This is gorgeous. And I’ve managed to maintain it for quite a long time with very little effort. I’m not about to allow some pathetic male to ruin it so he can crow to his friends afterward.”

“Well, you’ve managed to turn eons of ancient and powerful mystical rituals to dragons everywhere into an ‘I hate males’ diatribe that somehow centers around you.”

“I don’t hate males.” She picked up another gown, scrunched her nose a bit, and quickly put it back. “On the whole, I adore them.”

“How can you say you adore them?”

“But I do. For short periods of time. Then again, I adore children for short periods of time and rainstorms for short periods of time and hot, sunny days—for short periods of time. But anything that goes on and on for ages just gets on my nerves.”

“Good to know.”

“So what do you look for in a female?” she asked, and Ragnar frowned a bit.

“Pardon?”

“What do you look for in a bed partner? Tall? Fat? Long tail? Short tail? Wide hips? Narrow hips?”

He held his hand up. “All right…stop.” He didn’t like where this conversation was going. “I don’t look for anything in females.”

“Ohhh.” She gazed at the dress in her hands, then said, “Well, I hope you’re not interested in Ren then, because that’s not his sort of thing.” She looked off and added, “I don’t think.”

“I’m not looking for that either.”

“You don’t have to sound so judgmental.”

“I’m not. I just don’t know why you’re asking all these questions.”

“And I don’t know why you won’t just answer.”

“Fine. I’m looking for someone nice and sweet who I won’t have to sleep with one eye open to ensure I see the next morning.”

“Good luck finding that among She-dragons,” she murmured.

“What was that?” Ragnar asked, even though he’d heard just fine.

“Nothing.” She put another gown back and headed away from the stall. Growling, Ragnar followed.

Éibhear walked up to his small group and quickly realized that it was even smaller than when he’d left. He’d only been gone for a short time.

“Where did everyone go?”

In answer, the only two remaining, Vigholf and Meinhard, grunted in reply. It was something Éibhear had been forced to get used to during his time in the Northlands. By nature, none of the Lightnings was a very talkative lot. Unless they were drinking, but that only happened at night, and to be honest, Éibhear couldn’t drink every night as most of the Northerners could. Not if he wanted to be up for training by the next suns-rise.

Yet Éibhear had spent enough time around the Lightnings to know his first mistake. He waited until the Lightnings paused shoveling food into their mouths, and then he asked, “Where’s my sister?”

“Off with Ragnar,” Meinhard replied.

“Did Ren go with them?”

“Nah. He’s over there somewhere.”

Shit. Working hard not to panic, he asked, “Do you know where Keita and Ragnar went?”

“Nah.”

“Do you know when they’ll be back?”

Vigholf chewed his food and studied Éibhear. “You questioning my brother’s honor when he’s with your sister?” Éibhear shook his head. “Oh, no, no. Not at all.” Éibhear scratched his head with the tip of his tail. “My sister, however, doesn’t really have any honor. So that might be a problem.”

The two males looked up at him, staring. Appearing faintly disgusted.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Éibhear tried to explain. “My sister is a lovely dragoness. Truly, she is. But, I fear, she may try to…well…”

“Try to what, lad? Spit it out.”

“She may try to use him”—he whispered the next word—“sexually.” The Lightnings looked at each other, and then Meinhard said to Éibhear, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you, lad.”