Light My Fire (Dragon Kin #7)(139)

Celyn shook his head before smiling at Elina.

“I am glad you are not dead,” she told him honestly. “Now I must go and see my sister.”

“You’re just going to leave me?”

“Yes.”

“You care more about your sister than me?”

“Yes.”

When Celyn just stared at Elina while his sister rolled on the ground behind him, knocking over trees and gasping between her laughter that, “I love her! I love her so gods-damn much!” Elina turned her horse toward Bram’s castle and urged the animal into a gallop.

Ghleanna pressed her snout against her mate’s and tangled her tail with his. They stood together for several seconds, just comforted by the presence of each other.

“How did you know?” Bram asked.

“Your son guessed. They even tried to kill Bercelak.”

“Bercelak? Are they mad?”

“Not in the slightest. They knew exactly what they were doing. They went after Dagmar, too—but,” she quickly put in when he tensed, “she’s safe. There are others who may not be so lucky. But I’ll worry about all that later.”

“This is going to change things.”

“I know, but we’ll worry about that later, too. Just let me be happy you’re here with me.”

Over the massacre of zealot soldiers by the Cadwaladr Clan, Ghleanna heard the sound of a galloping horse.

Elina Shestakova rode around the battling dragons toward her sister, who sat mounted on her own horse by Bram’s side.

The strange thing was that Ghleanna felt Kachka Shestakova, in her own Rider way, was still standing by Bram to protect him.

This human female was protecting a dragon from other dragons, probably because her sister had asked her to. And that delighted Ghleanna more than she could say.

Elina rode up to Kachka until their horses were right next to each other, the sisters’ knees nearly touching as they sat proud in their saddles.

The pair stared at each other until Elina nodded at her sister. Kachka nodded back. Then Elina led her horse all the way behind Bram until she was positioned at Ghleanna’s side. There she sat, her gaze looking out over the lessening battle as the Cadwaladrs did what they always do so well . . . kill things.

Aye. Ghleanna the Decimator and her mate, with their lethal offspring and kin no more than a hundred feet away, were now being protected by the Shestakova sisters.

Ghleanna leaned in and whispered to Bram, “This is the most adorable thing ever.”

“Stop.”

“Ever.”

Celyn finally dragged his sister up by her wings and placed her on her feet. Anything to stop the bloody laughing.

They headed back to their father’s castle.

“I don’t think she cares about me nearly as much as I care about her,” he complained. And the gods knew, he’d only ever have this conversation with Brannie. “It’s going to be the Izzy situation all over again.”

“Horse shit. You knew what you were getting into with Izzy from the beginning. The only idiot who didn’t know how Izzy felt about Éibhear was bloody Éibhear.”

“Then why—”

Brannie stopped, held up her claws. “Before I’m forced to beat you because you sound like a pathetic child, I’m just going to say, in the short time I’ve known those two women, they are not demonstrative females. You want a lovey-dovey female, then get some vapid royal who only knows how to present herself to the queen. But if you want a female with a strong enough vagina to tell you to your face that she’s more concerned about her sister than you . . . then you get yourself a Rider.”

“You do have a point.”

“Of course I do. Now come on. We’re missing out on the rest of the killing.”

Together, the siblings walked on until Brannie stopped again and gazed off.

“What’s wrong?” Celyn asked.

“I feel like we’ve forgotten something. . . .”

Annwyl’s body was flung across the tent, and she hit the ground face-first.

And Brigida had to admit . . . she was disappointed.

True, Annwyl the Bloody had taken her beating like a champion, as Brigida’s dear mum used to say. But it seemed as if the edge she’d once had might have been tamped down by that Dagmar Reinholdt and those royal Cadwaladrs—two words that never should have gone together—to the point where Annwyl was now nothing more than just a queen. A boring, old queen.

What could Brigida do with that?

The royal was picked up by the waist and lifted over Glebovicha Shestakova’s head. Blood poured from Annwyl’s nose, mouth, and eyes, and her face was swelling. And Brigida was sure she’d heard the distinctive crush of bone on more than one occasion when Glebovicha’s giant, bearlike fists had collided with the queen’s body.

Brigida sighed. It was too bad really. She’d had such hope for the human. But that had been her mistake really . . . trusting in a human. Even a female one.

Glebovicha Shestakova slammed the queen down onto the frozen earth beneath the tent, making sure her spine took the brunt of the unyielding Steppes lands.

Annwyl coughed up blood and groaned in abject misery.

“Glebovicha Shestakova,” Magdalina Fyodorov called out in the language of the Steppes. “That is enough. Finish her and let’s be done with this. Quickly.”