What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(14)

She stared up at him and stated flatly, “Besides disgust me, you mean?”

His smug smile fell. “Sorry?”

“Disgust. Although you can hardly be surprised. You come to my father’s stronghold disguised as a human when in fact that’s nothing but a lie. But I wonder how many unsuspecting females fell for that insipid charm you believe yourself to have only to later realize they’d done nothing but bed a giant slimy lizard. So you, as human, disgust me.” She sneered a bit. “Now aren’t you glad you asked?”

Actually … no he wasn’t glad. How rude! She was rude! Gwenvael liked mean women, but he didn’t much like rude ones. Slimy? He was not slimy!

And if she wanted to play this way, fine.

He leaned in closer, studying her face. He could tell by the way her entire body tightened at his approach that she wasn’t remotely comfortable with him getting so close. He knew he could use that to his advantage if necessary. “What are those things on your face?”

Beyond a tiny little tic in her cheek, the rest of her face remained remarkably blank. “What exactly are you talking about?”

Gwenvael’s head tilted to the side a bit, not sure what else she thought he could mean. “The glass.” He went to poke one, but she slapped his hand away.

“They’re my spectacles.”

“Do you mean like a ‘spectacle of bad’? Or a ‘spectacle of horror’?”

“No,” she replied flatly. “They’re so I can see.”

“Are you blind?” He waved his hands in front of her face. “Can you see me?” he shouted, causing all those delicious-looking dogs to bark and snarl louder.

That constantly cold façade abruptly dropped as she again, but more viciously, slapped his hands away. “I am not blind. Nor am I deaf!”

“No need to get testy.”

“I don’t get testy.”

“Except around me.”

“Perhaps you bring out the worst in people, which is not anything one should be proud of.”

“You haven’t met my family. We’re proud of the oddest things.”

Her lip curled. “There are more of you?”

“None quite like me. I’m unbearably unique and, dare I say, adorable. But I do have kin.” He shrugged. “I’m so very sorry about earlier,” he lied. “And I’m hoping you’ll help me.”

There went that flat expression again. She had this constant expression of being unimpressed. By anything, everything. Yet he was beginning to find it kind of … cute. And annoyingly intriguing.

“I’m sure you’d rather I help you, but I delight in the fact that I won’t.”

That was her delighted expression? Eeesh.

Gwenvael pulled back a bit. “And why wouldn’t you help me even after I apologized? So sweetly too!”

“One, because you didn’t really mean that apology, and two … I really don’t like you.”

“Everyone likes me. I’m loveable. Even those who start out hating me end up liking me.”

“Then they’re fools. Because I don’t like you, and I won’t like you.”

“I’m sure you’ll change your mind.”

“I don’t change my mind.”

Gwenvael frowned a bit. “Ever?”

“Once … but then I realized I was right the first time, so I never bothered to change my mind again.”

She was not going to be easy, this one. Yet she wasn’t resisting him as much as simply not responding to him. No matter how he taunted her, she refused to rise to the occasion. He couldn’t be more irritated by that!

“Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll talk to your father then. See if he can convince you to act like a true and proper hostess.”

“You do that.”

Gwenvael continued to stand there, staring down at her, until she was forced to ask, “Well … ?”

“Don’t know where he is.”

“Find him.”

“A proper hostess would show me the way.”

“A proper hostess wouldn’t have your kind in her home.”

“That was mean.”

“Yes.”

“So you’re not going to help me?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I already explained this. I don’t like you. True, I don’t like most people, but I especially dislike you. I could start my own religion based on how much I dislike you.”

Out of ideas on how to handle this wench, Gwenvael went with one of his tried and true methods. He sniffed … and then he sniffed again.

The Beast blinked, her expression confused, but then her eyes widened in horror when she saw that first tear fall.

“Wait … are … are you … crying?”

It was a skill he’d taught himself when he was barely ten years old. With brothers like his, he needed it in order to get his mother to protect her favorite son as much as possible. He rarely used the technique now, but he was desperate.

“You’re so mean to me,” he complained around his tears.

“Yes, but—”

“Why won’t you help me?” he wailed.

“All right. All right.” She held her hands up. “I’ll take you to my father.”