What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(29)

“Aye.” He turned a bit and lowered himself. “Climb on.”

Flying? He wanted to take her flying?

“I—”

“Come on. You know you want to try.” He grinned and showed all those fangs. It worried her more that she wasn’t worried at all. “I promise I won’t drop you.”

“Comforting.”

“Grab hold of my long, luxurious mane and hoist yourself up.”

“I don’t hoist, dragon.”

“Grab hold then.”

She put the strap of her satchel across her shoulders and grabbed onto his mane. She felt his tail slide under her rear and lift her. She gave a startled squeal.

“Just being helpful,” he said before she could start stabbing at his tail with her eating knife. “Now tighten your thighs against my neck and hold on to my hair.”

He stepped off the edge of the building and his wings extended from his back. The Northland winds caught him, lifting them up. He glided for a bit before moving his wings to take them higher. Dagmar stared out over the world, fascinated by what she saw. To look down on everything was amazing, to feel this free was addicting.

He flew her around the town and lands for nearly an hour. She had no idea why he stayed out that long, but she didn’t complain. Why bother when she loved every second of it?

He brought her back to the fortress and she pointed out her window to him. He landed against the wall, his claws holding him in place. She clung to him, terrified she’d slip off his back and fall to her death straight below. But then his tail wrapped around her waist and lifted her up.

“Open your window.”

She did, and the tail carried her inside. It didn’t unwind from her waist until her feet touched the floor.

“I have to say, Lady Dagmar, that is the best time I’ve had in quite a while where I was not the one bedding a woman.”

Dagmar placed her elbow on the windowsill, her chin resting on her fist. “I know it was hard for you not to give him direction.”

“It was! He was a mess.”

She curled her lip in distaste. “And messy. If you understand the difference.”

“I do.”

“Think my sister-in-law enjoyed it?”

“How could she when she spent the whole time thinking about how she was fooling your brother?”

“How do you know she was thinking that?”

“I know. I’ve seen that look before.”

She bet he had.

“In the morning, Lady Dagmar, I’ll need you to trust me.”

“That doesn’t sound very good.”

“It will. But you’ll have to trust me.”

She nodded, hoping that he would trust her as well—even though she most likely wouldn’t deserve it.

He walked back toward his room, his steps light even as his talons tore into the stone face.

Canute growled behind her and Dagmar turned, raising her hand. Canute immediately sat. “Good boy.”

Then she felt it, sliding across her ass, briefly sliding under her dress and between her legs …

By the time she spun around, the tail was gone. She leaned out the window and Gwenvael said, “See you in the morning, Lady Dagmar,” before he disappeared into his own room after a flash of flame and naked male taunted her.

She closed her window and put her hand to her chest. She seriously hoped she’d gauged him correctly. If not, she could end up no better off than that idiot Kikka.

Except that Dagmar had much more to lose than mere dignity.

Chapter 9

Olgeir the Wastrel of the Olgeirsson Horde spat into the ground beside his claws. He should be angry. They were on his territory. As one of the mighty Northland dragon warlords, his territories ranged from the Mountains of Suspicion in the High North Plains, to the River of Destruction in the west, straight out to the Vile Seas in the east. His territory stopped at the Outerplains, which marked the territorial lines between him and that dragon-bitch queen.

Although he dreamed of ruling all the Northlands, it was the thought of claiming that Southland bitch’s territory that made him hard. He and several warlords had briefly banded together and declared war on Queen Rhiannon more than a century ago, but the lot of them couldn’t stop bickering amongst themselves long enough to put up a decent defense, much less a proper offense. Attacking faster than anyone thought they would, those prissy Southlanders swarmed over the Northland borders and decimated some of the finest warriors Olgeir had ever known.

He’d tried to warn the other warlords. Tried to warn them about Rhiannon’s consort. Bercelak the Vengeful was no pampered monarch who liked to play warrior. He was one of the Cadwaladr Clan, low-born lizards the Southland royals used like the humans used their battle dogs. Calling them to duty when the royals had a war or needed protecting, tossing them scraps, and locking them outside in the cold when there was peace. But none of that lot seemed to mind; instead they spent most of their lives going from one battle to another, even fighting with humans as human when the dragons were at peace. Yet among the Cadwaladr, it was Bercelak who had the most brutal reputation in all the dragon nations.

Olgeir still remembered what happened when one of Bercelak’s warrior-sisters was captured by Northland warlords during a war several centuries ago, when Rhiannon’s mother held the throne. Bercelak captured the eldest sons of the enemy warlords and tore their scales off, piece by piece. He sent the scales back, each batch wrapped up like a present, to the corresponding fathers. He included no written message, nor did the ones who brought the pieces back have anything to impart. But his message was clear … Either his sister was released—wings intact—or the warlords would be getting wings and limbs next as “gifts.”