What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(143)

“No, you’re not.”

“No. I’m not. Especially when I saw Fal sniffing around you yet again.”

“Fal’s a boy. I’d never be interested in him.”

“So me, Briec, and Fearghus didn’t need to throw him off the top of the building?”

Dagmar straightened. “You did what?”

“He’s unclear on boundaries. And don’t look at me like that. He’s still alive.”

Dismissing it all with a wave, she walked to the bed and removed her dress and her shift. She lay across the bedding, face down. And, like the royal she was, Dagmar waited for him to do as she bid.

Taking her foot, Gwenvael slowly rolled her over onto her back. She winced and glared. “What are you doing?”

He carefully bent her legs back until they touched her chest. “I bet if you don’t move it doesn’t hurt.”

“So?”

Gwenvael pushed her bent legs apart and settled in between, his face by her pu**y. “Guess you better not move then.”

Panting, she shook her head. “Don’t.”

“Too late. I have to have you. Have to taste you. But you have to keep still. No squirming, writhing, or anything else.”

He licked his lips. “No matter what I do to this sweet little pu**y—don’t move.”

Her hands gripped the bedding. “You’re a bastard.”

“And you love me for it, don’t you?”

“Reason help me, but I do.”

Gwenvael smiled, happier than he’d ever been before. “And I love you, Beast. Now, remember,” he teased, enjoying how she couldn’t help but squirm anyway, “don’t move.”

Keita the Viper walked past the rows of fighting, training dragons and into the heart of Anubail Mountain, the underground fortress of the warrior dragons. It was here that the greatest Dragonwarriors of the Southland were born. Royal or low born, it didn’t matter once you crossed the threshold and dared to enter.

As she passed, all stopped to watch her. She recognized a few of the males, but none had left an indelible mark in her life. None had been unforgettable.

She walked into the main cavern. The dragon she’d come to see stood in the middle of a rune-covered circle made of refined steel and trained hard with a long staff. Ignoring those who stared at her, Keita moved into that training circle and went down on one knee, her head bowed.

The staff swung over her head, missing her by less than an inch. Even as she felt it go by, she didn’t move, she didn’t cringe—she simply waited.

The staff slammed into the floor and one long talon tapped patiently. Still, Keita didn’t move.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t her mighty ladyship. The Princess Keita herself. And what are you doin’ here, little princess?”

Keita went back on her haunches, her front claws planted firmly on the floor. “I need your help, Elestren.”

“My help?” the low-born female asked. “For what?”

“To teach me to fight. To kill.”

“We all know how to kill, little princess. It’s in our blood.”

“I want to learn to fight like you. To be able to take on any dragon that challenges me, whether I’m in this form or my human one.”

Elestren began laughing. “You?” She laughed harder. “The pretty little princess wants to learn to fight like me?” She stepped closer. “You want scars like mine, too? They don’t go away, you know? Once the cuts go past the scales, they’re permanent. Even on your human form. Sure you want them? You with your male pets and pretty gowns? Sure that’s what you want?”

What she wanted was to never feel as weak and helpless as she had with that barbarian, Ragnar. He’d used her in his games and she’d never forgive that, nor would she ever let it happen again with him or anyone else. She was no mere prize to be won or lost, no bargaining chip to be used against her bitch mother. She was Keita the Viper—and she’d do whatever necessary to make sure she truly deserved that name.

Keita looked the warrior in the eyes. “It’s what I want.”

Elestren regarded her closely and nodded. “I believe it is.” The dark green dragoness walked over to the altar against the far wall. “When we fly into battle, we call on the war goddess Eirianwen. You want to stay here and train with me, whether you fight with our armies or not, you’ll dedicate your life to her, just as I’ve done.”

Keita strode to the altar without hesitation and took the dagger handed to her. Holding her claw over the thick marble, she slid the blade across her palm. Her blood mingled with the thousands of Dragonwarriors who had come before her, including her father.

“I dedicate my life and the lives of those I kill to the mighty Eirianwen,” she intoned solemnly.

Elestren took her dagger back. “I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping—alone, if you have any sense—and tomorrow we’ll begin.”

Keita turned to the dragoness. “Thank you, cousin.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Elestren eyed her coldly. “I’m going to enjoy making you bleed, little princess.”

Watching her cousin walk away, Keita asked, “Is this still about when I called you fat ass? Isn’t it time you got over that?”