What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(133)

“What have I always told you, Lady Dagmar?”

She rolled her eyes. “Every action has a positive reaction—blah, blah, blah.” Dagmar winked at the Dragon Queen. “Don’t worry, though, Majesty. The Cadwaladrs are putting out the forest fire as we speak.”

“Forest fire?” Rhiannon immediately went on her toes and tried to look over the buildings.

Deciding it was best to be on his way, Ragnar headed down the steps, the voice of the queen’s consort bellowing behind him, “You grabbed his what?”

Yes. It was definitely time to get back to his people. The Northlanders had the usual problems—hate, violence, betrayal. But give him that over this oddness any day.

Walking past his father’s body, Ragnar kept his gaze forward and didn’t bother to look at the old dragon once more. It wasn’t easy, but he was a Northlander in southern territory—he’d never show them how much it hurt to see a once-great dragon warrior like this. And felled by human females, no less. Yet the pain Ragnar felt wouldn’t change anything. His father was gone and Ragnar’s work was far from over. He still had those loyal to his father and those who would now want control of the Horde to contend with. Yet, knowing he wasn’t the one who’d had to take his father’s life did ease him in many ways.

Going on foot as human, Ragnar took his time walking his sorrow out so that as he neared the cave where his brother and cousins waited for him he felt much better. Then he caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned, instantly shifting to his dragon form and lifting his claws, a powerful spell on his tongue. But those brown eyes caught him off guard, momentarily stunning him as they’d done to him again and again since he’d caught her in his net. And because he was so trapped by those damn eyes, he didn’t see that tail until it rammed full strength into his chest, barely missing his heart and several major arteries.

She stepped into him, the tail forced in deeper, pushing him back until he hit a tree.

Ragnar gritted his teeth, refusing to let her know exactly how much pain she was causing.

A lock of dark red hair fell across her forehead as her tail pushed in one last time before ripping out of him.

A single, strangled sound of pain escaped past his clenched fangs and he bent forward. Blood poured to the ground, but she hadn’t wounded him enough to kill him. And, even bleeding as much as he was, he could still destroy her. For he was a battle mage of great power. Trained in the arts of claw-to-claw combat, weaponry, survival tactics, and warfare spellcasting, Ragnar was unfazed by most that life had to offer.

Until her. Until Keita the Viper.

To say they hadn’t gotten along on their trip to the Southlands would be an understatement, and when he’d released her before the two suns rose, he truly never thought he’d see her again. For once, apparently, he’d been wrong.

And, more importantly, she was much braver than he’d given her credit for.

“Was it something I said?” he called after her as she stalked off into the trees, gone from his life forever …

He could only hope.

“You’re still talking,” Talaith complained. The warm cloth pressed over her face, although soothing, couldn’t manage to block out the voice of her mate.

“Damn right, I’m still talking,” he shot back. “It’s bad enough you decided to play Lady Danger with a Lightning, but then you involved my daughter. Unacceptable!”

Talaith snatched the cloth off her face and glared across the too-small tub. She once had a bigger one, but she’d switched it out for the smaller one in the hopes of getting to do this sort of thing alone. And yet somehow Briec always managed to force his big dragon ass in with her. Nor did it help that he insisted on doing very distracting things with his toes. How could she stay angry or order him to leave when he kept touching her in a completely inappropriate and yet enjoyable way?

“We had little choice. I didn’t see you running in to protect us, Lord Arrogant!”

“And what? You thought Izzy could take care of herself?”

“Of course I thought—” Talaith cut herself off, her eyes narrowing to slits on the smug bastard massaging her feet while he tricked her. “Bastard.”

He rubbed a particularly sensitive spot on her instep. “You have to let her go.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” And she truly did know that. Talaith also knew she couldn’t make up for sixteen lost years in seven months. She’d missed her child growing up and nothing would change that. Holding her back now would only put a wedge between them. She wouldn’t allow for that.

“Then let her go to the west.” She opened her mouth to instinctually protest, but he kept going right over her. “The Forty-Fifth Legion is swapping out with the Eighteenth. Izzy can go with the Eighteenth and have my kin to protect her. And unlike the Forty-Fifth, the Eighteenth was trained by Annwyl herself. They’re good fighters and very loyal to each other. Izzy will do well there.”

“You’ve worked this out quite well, I see.”

“I’ve learned that in order to hold my own with you in a fight, I must see every potential argument you could come up with, expect the most irrational decisions based on that and … uh … have all my … uh”—he looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember—“oh! All my dogs in a row.”