What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(52)

Rhiannon was moments from slapping the smirk off Eanruig’s smug face when a tail much larger and deadlier than her own slammed down between the two of them. The book in Eanruig’s claws fell to the ground, startled from his grasp. Rhiannon couldn’t hold back her smile as Bercelak’s head slowly eased around from behind Eanruig.

“Lord Bercelak.”

My, she did enjoy how weak the Elder’s voice suddenly sounded.

“Elder Eanruig. Something I can help you with?”

“No, no. Just a small chat with our queen.”

“Chat’s over, prissy tail. Piss off.”

Eanruig gave a small nod at Rhiannon. “My queen.”

“Elder.”

They watched as Eanruig slithered out of the archives.

When they knew he was gone, Bercelak turned back to her. “Why will you not unleash me on him?”

She wrapped her tail around his, tugging him closer. “Because I can’t afford for you to kill him. He’d love his death to cause a civil war among my court. I won’t let that happen. Now why are you here? You’re supposed to be in the west.”

“I was. And Addolgar and Ghleanna are coming, handpicking the squads that will come with them. They’ll be leaving in the next day or two with Éibhear, but I wanted to be home with you tonight.”

“You left Éibhear alone with them?”

“Ghleanna’s taking care of him. Besides, it’s time he learns he won’t always have his mother around to coddle him.”

“I don’t coddle him. And Ghleanna’s mean.”

“I know.” He brushed his claw across her cheek. “You look tired.”

“I am. Eanruig took what energy I had left, right out of me.”

“Then it is time you return to our chamber.” He grabbed her claw in his and led her toward the exit. “We’ll play ‘Does my tail fit in here?’ ”

Rhiannon laughed. “I adore that game!”

Gwenvael heard her again, the voice soft and sweet in his head. So sweet, he could go to sleep simply listening to it. It lured him, and he no longer knew where he might be.

“Gwenvael,” she said again. “Follow my voice. Come to me, Gwenvael.”

He had the distinct feeling he wasn’t going the right way, but his eyesight seemed to be failing, which couldn’t be a good thing. Nor was he breathing too well. What made it worse was that he was thousands of leagues above the earth with a fragile human on his back.

Still that voice kept calling to him. “Gwenvael. Sweet, sweet Gwenvael.”

Those bastard Lightnings had done more to him than he’d realized. He could feel poison moving through his body like warm water.

Dagmar. He needed to take Dagmar home, where she would be safe. Yet he couldn’t ignore that voice.

“Gwenvael!”

Those weren’t the same dulcet tones luring him into a false sense of security. It was much too screechy and panicked.

“What?” he asked Dagmar.

“Mountain.”

“What?”

“Mountain! Mountain! Mountain!”

He swerved as the word Dagmar kept repeating made sense, the tip of his left wing grazing against the mountainside as he barely missed it.

Which mountains were these? If he could figure that out, he’d know where they were and the direction to take to get her home.

“You need to set us down,” she yelled over the roaring wind.

“When I get you home,” he promised. “Any idea where that is?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“That’s a bit of a problem. ’Cause right now I can’t see too well. Maybe I can borrow those spectacles of yours.”

“Blasted reason! Set us down then!”

“That would be a good idea, but …”

“But? But what?”

He didn’t answer her, simply dodged to the left, lightning strikes grazing his wing.

“Someone’s behind us!”

“I sensed that,” he said. More Lightnings, but not the ones who’d helped him from the tunnels. Who were those Lightnings anyway? And why had they helped him?

And maybe he should worry about that later when he wasn’t in the middle of a fight with a different set of Lightnings bent on killing him.

“I need you to hold on,” he told Dagmar. “Don’t let go.”

“What do you mean ‘don’t let go’?”

Again, he didn’t answer her, simply jerked around and raised himself up. Dagmar screamed in panic, and he unleashed his flame on those behind him. The Lightnings scrambled out of the way and Gwenvael moved forward, slamming himself into the closest one. Once he made contact, Gwenvael rolled against the other’s body until he felt the sheath against his arm. He reached out and grasped the blade attached to the dragon’s back. Yanking it free, he swung forward and then back. The blade, perfectly maintained and delightfully sharp, cut through the owner’s neck.

Lightning was released from another, and Gwenvael tucked his wings in. His body dropped and he was glad to hear Dagmar’s healthy scream again. That meant she hadn’t fallen to her death yet. He was quite relieved.

The Lightnings moved in closer and Gwenvael’s wings snapped out from his body, quickly lifting him. He let loose another round of flame and dove through it—fast enough, he hoped, to keep Dagmar unharmed—while arcing the sword up and across. The blade lodged into a Lightning’s body and stayed there, but at least the damage had been done. He let go, and the sword and body fell to the ground below.