What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(118)

She glanced at him, saw the babes, and turned away. “Why did you bring them here? They need their mother.”

He kept his voice even, controlled. “Because they’re hungry.”

“I can’t help them.”

“Then who can?”

“I have no idea, but it’s not my problem.”

Fearghus began to speak but realized the next words out of his mouth were probably the wrong ones. Slow and easy, he needed to remember that.

Deciding to settle the babes first, he walked over to a pile of furs he kept by the lake and spread the softest one out. Crouching down, he placed the twins on their stomachs, across the fur. It amazed him how healthy and well developed they already were. How beautiful.

He covered them with a much smaller fur and smiled when the boy rolled to his back as his sister did and grabbed hold of the fur, pulling it up until it covered his sister’s face. She slapped the fur aside, then slapped her brother. The crack of her small hand against her brother’s face made Fearghus wince and the boy cry.

“If you cry every time one of your kin hits you,” Fearghus murmured, “you’re doomed before you’ve even begun.”

“What’s wrong?” Annwyl demanded from behind him. “Why is he crying?”

“His sister hit him, but he needs to toughen up.”

Annwyl’s fist slammed into his shoulder and he was grateful he wasn’t really human. Shattered shoulders were almost impossible to repair, even for a healer as good as his sister.

“What kind of response is that? What kind of man are you?” Annwyl snarled at him.

Still crouching, he looked at her over his shoulder. He took a breath, trying desperately to maintain his temper. “I’m not a man, Annwyl. I never have been. And you know this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She motioned to their still-crying son. “Pick him up. He wants you to pick him up.”

“No. He wants you to pick him up. He wants his mother.”

“I’m not—”

Fearghus stood and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, “Stop pissing about and pick him up.”

Those green eyes turned dark and her glare dangerously nasty. “Go to hell.”

Fearghus stepped into her body, scowling down into her face. “I said … pick him up.” He waited one beat … then two, before he yelled, “Now!”

Her fist flew out, slamming into the side of his jaw, the power of it sending him stumbling back while colors burst behind his eyes. And since he’d taught Annwyl to punch like that, he had no one to blame but himself.

She swung her fist at him again, but he caught her hands this time, yanking her close by her arms.

“Pick him up,” he snarled in her face, unclear as to why he wanted to force this down her throat.

“No!” Then she brought her head forward, slamming it into his chin.

“Dammit!” Fearghus shoved Annwyl away and she hit the ground, rolled, and was on her feet in seconds.

They stared at each other, both panting.

Fearghus pointed at the boy. “Pick him up.”

Annwyl dragged her tongue across her top lip and said, “No.” Then she was moving, stalking across the cave floor to the weapons they kept piled in several corners. Fearghus went to the pile closest to him, snatching up a spear with a steel staff and turning just as two blades swung down on him. Grasping the spear in both hands, he blocked the weapons and shoved Annwyl away. She took quick steps back and spun on her heel, swinging the weapons up and behind her. Fearghus again blocked both weapons, turned the spear, and twisted until Annwyl fell on her ass.

He leered down at her. “Just where I’ve always liked you, Annwyl the Bloody. On the ground, at my feet.”

Her cry of rage ricocheted off the walls and Fearghus barely moved before the swords cut through the air where his legs had been.

Fearghus brought the spear over his head and down, using enough force to spear a man clean through. But Annwyl was already on her feet, the swords slamming into the side of the spear. The power of the move spun Fearghus around. When he faced her again, he smashed his weapon against her ass.

The momentum sent Annwyl into the cave wall, the impact dazing her for a moment. Fearghus threw the spear to the ground and stalked over to his mate. He grabbed the swords from her hands and tossed them back on the pile; then he grabbed her around the waist.

“Let me go!”

“Talaith said I need to take this slow.” He lifted her struggling body off the ground. “To give you time. Unfortunately for you, Lady Annwyl, I don’t have that kind of patience. As you well know, I never have.”

“Put me down!”

“What it all comes down to is what I want. And I want my mate back. And gods be damned, Annwyl the Bloody, I will have her!”

* * *

One second she was fighting with some handsome bastard who looked remotely familiar, and the next thing she knew she was airborne, flying face first into the clean, cool water.

As she went under, her arms swinging wildly to try to right herself, images inundated her. Images and thoughts and … and … memories.

Clawing her way back to the top, Annwyl burst through the surface. She wiped hair and water from her eyes, trying to find—

“There you are, you whiny sow.” He leered at her, looking smug and self-righteous. “You going to feed these brats of yours, or am I going to throw you in a few more times?”