Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(85)

“Keita? Can you hear me?”

Ragnar pulled the blanket off, fighting desperately to ignore the beauty of the human body beneath, instead focusing on any damage she might have. He ran his hands over her ribs to her hips. He didn’t find anything broken, but she did have a nasty bump on her forehead, and again…the eye patches.

He was reaching for them, about to remove them, when Keita coughed. Ragnar pulled back. “Gods of thunder, how much have you been drinking?”

Keita held up four fingers and slurred, “Two ales.”

“You all right, cousin?” a dragoness yelled-slurred from above.

Keita’s four fingers turned into a thumbs-up aimed at the sky.

“Good. And tonight at dinner you should introduce us to your handsome friend.”

“Get your own Lightning!” Keita yelled back. “There are two more, and they’re not half bad.”

“Selfish cow!”

“Callous vipers!”

The laughter faded with the She-dragons heading off, and Ragnar was left with a drunk, naked royal.

Ragnar leaned over her. “Keita—”

His next words were cut off when Keita’s hands slammed into his face. “I’m blind!” she cried, her hands grasping. “I cannot see! Why have the gods cursed me so?”

“Quiet! You’ll wake everyone.” He pushed her arms down and yanked the eye patches off.

“Oh.” Blinking several times, she finally focused on Ragnar. “Hello, Éibhear.”

Now he was insulted. “I’m Ragnar, you twit.”

“What are you doing with my sister?” the blue royal asked from behind him.

Knowing how this must look, but not really caring, “I was about to see how much I could get for her on the slave barges. She’s pretty enough, I guess.”

“You guess? ” Keita demanded. “And you,” she said to her brother,

“where the hells have you been anyway?”

The Blue pointed off to town. “At the pub.”

“Well, while you were getting your sword polished by some bar sluts, brother, our cousins were forcing me to drink endlessly. For hours.”

“Forcing you, Keita? Really?”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” He reached for his sister. “I’ll take her back to her room.”

“No, you will not.” Keita pointed at Ragnar. “He will.”

“Must I?”

“Yes, barbarian, you must.” She held her arms out. “Carry me.”

“Can’t I just drag you by your leg?”

“When I vomit up whatever’s in my stomach, I will aim it right at your face.”

“How enticing.” Ragnar picked Keita up in his arms. “I’ve got her.” Ragnar started to walk off, away from the castle. But after a few feet, he stopped and without even looking at the young dragon warned, “And don’t glare at me, boy.”

“Yeah!” Keita yelled to no one in particular before she passed out completely.

Keita woke up with the night sky above her and the sound of running water right by her.

It was a lovely view, but she couldn’t enjoy it. Instead she flipped over and quickly crawled to the nearest bush so she could vomit up what was left of all that damn wine!

It wasn’t until the fourth or fifth heave, her arms braced, her palms flat on the ground, that she felt a hand against her back, pressing through the shirt someone had put on her while another hand held her hair back.

“Feel better?” a low voice asked.

She tensed, forcing herself to recall the last few hours. She didn’t think she’d done anything that would require her to soothe some male’s damaged ego. Perhaps because she’d thankfully left drunken trysts behind a century and a half ago. She always hated waking up to soft smiles, flowers, and first meal in bed with a male whose name she couldn’t even remember.

Needy bastards.

“My nose…”

“Broken.”

She grasped the hand held out for her and let Ragnar help her up.

Slowly, they walked to the stream. Keita kneeled down and took a few moments to rinse out her mouth. After that, she girded her loins as any good royal knows how to do, then stuck her entire head into the freezing cold water.

When her face was numb, she sat back up, flipping her wet hair off her face. “Now.”

Ragnar crouched in front of her, held her nose between two fingers of each hand, and jerked it back into place. Keita closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

“Thank you.” She stood but just as quickly sat down again, Ragnar’s arms catching her before her ass could hit the ground.

“Close your eyes,” Ragnar murmured. He placed his hand on her forehead, the palm pressed against her skin, his fingers gently massaging her scalp. She heard him chant softly, felt his breath brush her lips. And, in moments, her pain eased off.

His hand slid away, and he studied her closely. “Feel better?”

“Much. Thank you,” she said again.

“You’re welcome.” He sat down beside her.

“Why didn’t you do that for your cousin after Annwyl broke his leg?” He smiled a little. “Healing is a skill for females.”