The Dragon Who Loved Me (Dragon Kin #5)(77)

She was tired of being told to do things.

Dragging her body out of the water, Annwyl sat on the edge of the lake naked and soaking wet, her arms wrapped around her raised legs, her forehead resting on her knees. She began to rock back and forth. She tried not to do that—it seemed to upset everyone when she did—but it felt soothing to her somehow. So she rocked and she tried to think. But her mind . . . it was so tired.

It was usual y when it got this bad that he showed up. He did what he always did. Laid down next to her, pressed his head against her.

“He won’t help,” she told him. “Your Rebel King that you were so sure about. He won’t help.” She began to rock more, harder. “I could just go there myself without him.” And she knew she was babbling—again. But she couldn’t stop. “I could just go there and kil everyone. Everyone in the Provinces. I could kil them. The soldiers, the guards, the women, the children. I could kil them al until I get what you want. Until I kil the one you want. You just want the head, right? I could bring that to you. I could stab and stab until I get the gods-damn head! I could—” He licked her. Giant, wet, disgusting tongue, slathering across her forehead.

She leaned away from him, but then she blinked, and everything sort of came into focus. She stopped rocking. She stopped babbling.

Annwyl looked at what sat next to her. “You should have come sooner,” she said, calmly. “I’m relatively certain I’ve destroyed any hope we had he was going to help.”

She took a breath. It felt so good to think again without al the screaming that went on inside her poor brain. “Look, if al you need is for me to kil

—”

He pressed his snout against her cheek and that’s when Annwyl heard that voice in her head. He only talked to her like this. Probably because he was a big, shaggy wolf-god. The one time he’d softly “moofed” around her, Annwyl’s ears had bled for days. She thought for sure she’d be deaf forever. So he did this instead. Told her things in her mind and she listened. She had no choice.

Because Thracius had a god on his side, too. Helping him fight and win, unless Annwyl did something. Unless Annwyl went against everything she believed in and gave her soul to a god. At least she liked dogs. That helped.

“Al right,” she told him when he’d finished tel ing her what to do. “I’l suggest it. But when this is over”—she looked at the god lying beside her—“I want my life back.”

He nodded, then pushed his body into hers.

“Is that real y necessary?” she demanded. “I’m not some whore who wil just do things on command. I’m a bloody queen!” But her protests were ignored and he pushed her again.

Sighing, Annwyl got to her knees. “I’m doing this,” she said, “But if you ever tel Fearghus—I’l find a way to destroy you.” With a quick glance around to make sure they were alone, Annwyl gripped the wolf-god, Nannulf was his name, on either side of his head behind his ears and proceeded to dig her fingers in and scratch and scratch and scratch.

The wolf-god rol ed to his side, Annwyl’s hands stil on him, his tongue hanging out, his eyes closed, and a low growl rumbling from his chest that managed to shake the cave wal s.

“Shameless, ya are,” Annwyl told him, even as she couldn’t help but smile a little. “Bloody shameless!” Rhona was getting dressed when the cave wal s shook a bit. She glanced over at Vigholf. “Earthquake?” she asked.

“Sounds like it. But minor.” Finished pul ing on his boots, he stood. “I’m—”

“Yes. I know. You’re starving.” She laughed, shook her head. “Go, find food. I’l be along in a minute.” Vigholf left and Rhona closed her eyes and sent out her thoughts to her sisters. Any of them. Then her brothers. She stil heard nothing back and she tried hard not to panic.

But gods, how could she not? Annwyl told them the siege had begun—and Rhona didn’t real y want to think much on how the royal had known that when she’d been off in the Western Mountains before they had—and yet here Rhona was. In the Septima Mountains with a bunch of worthless rebels—hiding! A Cadwaladr hiding! Gods, what she’d come to.

“Have you seen Annwyl?”

Rhona opened her eyes and looked up. Izzy, freshly bathed and with clean clothes on, stood in the entrance to the private alcove Rhona and Vigholf had made their temporary home. The Rebels hadn’t seemed to care what they did. It was like they didn’t exist for them because their king was ignoring Annwyl.

“No,” Rhona replied. “I haven’t.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Izzy turned to go.

“Izzy.”

She stopped, faced Rhona again.

“What I said to you last night about not being my cousin . . . I’m sorry. You are kin and like most of them you’ve real y pissed me off. But that was an unfair hit, even for me.” She cleared her throat. “I sounded like me mum.”

Izzy let out a breath and stepped farther into the alcove. “You were just trying to protect your own and . . . I understand that. I stil don’t think it’s your business,” she felt the need to add. “But I do understand it. And I’m sorry if I snapped.” Rhona got to her feet, picking up the chain-mail shirt her father had made for her. “Now you see, Izzy, that’s what makes you stick out in this family. You actual y apologize. You feel real regret. How can you fit in with the Cadwaladrs when you do al that?” Izzy chuckled.