What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(120)

She smiled softly, glad her spectacles hadn’t been broken so that she could see everything around her. The old and beautiful trees, the small stream, the lovely flowers, the running deer … being chased by Gwenvael.

He flew low, tearing after the large buck. He got in close and bumped the animal with his snout. The deer flipped forward and into a tree, stunning itself. Gwenvael picked it up between his fangs and crushed it. Then he spit it out on the ground and followed that with a ball of fire, engulfing the deer’s body.

Gwenvael landed, sitting back on his haunches, his tail swinging out behind him.

“Hungry?” he asked.

Dagmar pulled off her spectacles, carefully folding them and putting them into a small protective box Gwenvael found for her in the cave. “I think I’ll stick with the fruit and cheese.”

“All right then.”

Letting out a satisfied sigh, Dagmar looked up at the trees, now nothing more than fuzzy outlines, and gleefully ignored the sounds of flesh being torn from bone.

Because she had no doubts that at this moment … Life could have been so much worse.

Gwenvael watched as she crawled into the big guest bed Annwyl and Fearghus had in their cave. He’d used it himself more than once, but because he always liked his head right on his shoulders, he’d always used it alone. “Don’t bring any of your whores here,” Annwyl had commanded on more than one occasion. And he’d grudgingly obeyed.

But now he had Dagmar in that bed and he knew he couldn’t get in with her. How could he? She’d been through too much in one day. Gods and Minotaurs and Annwyl. Yet all he wanted, all he could think about, was getting into that bed with her and Claiming her as his own.

It was those damn wool socks. He didn’t realize he loved her until she told him about out-negotiating a god of war—the most haggle-loving of the gods—with socks! He knew now, though. He knew he loved her and knew that he’d never let her go back to her life in the cold Northlands. Not when he had a warm place for her in his bed and his heart.

Yet knowing all that, he still couldn’t take her. Not now. If he got in bed with her at this moment, he’d brand her as his and forever wonder if it was what she truly wanted or if she’d still been overwhelmed at witnessing an Annwyl-slaughter of fifty Minotaurs.

He had to wait.

Yet she didn’t make it easy on him, looking so vulnerable and enticing. Her hair had dried into loose waves down her back, and without her spectacles on all he could see were those lovely grey eyes blinking up at him. His shirt was much too big on her and made her appear innocent, like a virgin on the altar of his cock.

No, he had to wait.

Gwenvael handed her two books he’d grabbed off Annwyl’s bookcase. The couple had not returned and Gwenvael wasn’t exactly shocked. Nor did he blame them. They needed the time alone. He’d offered to take Dagmar back to Garbhán Isle, but she’d softly said, “No. That’s all right. I’d rather stay here for a bit, if we could.”

He knew his brother wouldn’t mind so they stayed. But now it was late and she looked exhausted. Exhausted and vulnerable. And delicious.

Gwenvael shook his head. “I have to go out for a bit.”

“Oh. All right.” She didn’t argue about it, or complain. Simply pulled open one of the books and started reading.

“You’ll be safe here. My kin are all over, so there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She nodded but kept reading.

Without another word, Gwenvael headed out of the cave and to the closest, coldest lake.

Dagmar growled and sat up. She’d tried to sleep. For at least an hour she’d tried. She knew she was exhausted. Knew she needed the rest.

But he’d left her!

Was he already that bored with her? Already that ready to move on and find some bar whore to warm his bed?

Dagmar knew there were ways to entice males into a woman’s bed, but she’d never been good at that sort of thing. In fact, she’d never even tried to be. Instead she’d taken off her spectacles and forced herself not to squint. She’d hoped that would have done the trick. It didn’t. He ran out of the cavern like one of her dogs was chasing after him.

Throwing off the furs, Dagmar slipped out of bed. She grabbed her spectacles from off the side table and rebelliously put them on before walking into the main alcove. The thought of returning to that empty bed was not enticing, nor was sitting at the table reading. There were only a few torches still lit, but she decided to follow the light and see where it took her. Anything was better than lying in bed, staring up at the cave ceiling, worrying about whether bats hid up there until the suns rose.

The interior of the dragon’s cave could almost be called plain. He had few adornments on his walls. A tapestry here and there, and several weapons tacked up as decorations. But, she noted on closer inspection, they could easily be pulled down and used as necessary.

There were many alcoves, several filled with riches. But what surprised her were all the books. At least three alcoves had books from floor to her shoulder. She cut through one of these alcoves, a few torches against the wall lighting her way, until she slipped through a large crevice in the wall. Yet she didn’t expect the crevice to suddenly bow inward, making her feel trapped and wonder if she’d ever get out. But she wiggled a bit and pulled herself through. She let out a breath, suddenly grateful for her small br**sts, and kept going, determined to find another way back around.