What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(54)

After Briec disappeared in pursuit of Talaith, Fearghus said, “Nicely played, human.” He headed back to the rooms he shared with Annwyl. “But once Talaith is done giving Briec a brand new anus with her fist and we know whether Gwenvael is dead or not … we’ll be back.”

Brastias didn’t doubt that for a moment.

It was his strange and invasive tail that had saved her life, holding Dagmar up and away as they crashed into the ground.

Even now with the two dragons nothing more than a big ball of bright purple and gold scales, Gwenvael’s tail still held her tightly around the waist and she struggled to get it off. When she finally did, she fell a few inches, her rear slamming hard into the thick root of a tree.

She winced in pain but still managed to crawl over to Gwenvael. Up close, she could see his face and brushed the hair from his eyes. “Gwenvael?”

He didn’t move and she wasn’t even sure he was breathing. She gripped his claw with both hands, careful of his razor-sharp talons. “Gwenvael, please answer me.”

Dagmar had no idea how long she stood there, holding on to Gwenvael. She knew she needed to do something, but for once she was at a loss. She couldn’t move him, afraid to leave him alone for even a moment. She had no idea where they were and knew more dragons could be lying in wait anywhere.

There was a part of Dagmar that wished she hadn’t left her home, still living safely under her father’s protection, blissfully ignorant of the truth around her.

“There you are.”

Startled, Dagmar dropped Gwenvael’s claw and reached for her eating dagger. She whirled around to face the threat, prepared to protect Gwenvael with her life, when the dagger slipped from her hand and skipped depressingly along the ground, landing at the intruder’s feet.

“Hhhm. Not much of a fighter then?” The woman in witches’ robes picked the blade up and trudged over to Dagmar. “Shouldn’t bring this out unless you really know what you’re doing.” She handed Dagmar the blade. “Because nothing could be worse than getting killed with your own weapon.”

Dagmar gawked at the woman. “Who are you?”

“Esyld.”

“Esyld who?”

She didn’t answer Dagmar’s question, but leaned over Gwenvael. “Poor thing. I was afraid he wouldn’t make it this far, but he has much strength in him.” She glanced at Dagmar. “And much passion to protect you.”

“I’ll ask you again. Who are you?”

“A friend. I’m only here to help. But we need to get both of you inside where it’s safe.”

She motioned Dagmar back, and raised her hands over Gwenvael.

“What are you doing?”

Again there was no answer, but the woman began to chant.

Flames rose over Gwenvael’s body and then receded, leaving him human.

“Much easier to handle this way for me.”

“How did you … ?”

The witch grabbed hold of Gwenvael’s arm and leg and lifted his body onto her shoulder. “Come on then.”

Even in his human form, Gwenvael was a mighty weight. No human witch her size could pick him up.

“You’re a dragon.”

“That I am.”

“Your kind is everywhere,” Dagmar couldn’t help but sneer. “I never seem to know when I’m dealing with one.”

“But you’re learning,” the female said with a laugh. “I can tell.”

Chapter 15

Dagmar followed Esyld to a small house deep in a copse of trees. To be honest, it was a charming little place. Smoke puffed from a chimney, with an herb garden right out front and a stone walkway that led to the door. Large trees surrounded the house, the branches and leaves providing cover.

The dragoness had left the front door open and walked right in, Dagmar behind her.

The inside of the house was as comfortable and charming as the outside, although it had only one room. Dagmar could see herself happily living here alone. In truth, she knew she’d enjoy it and had hoped when she reached her fortieth winter or so she’d get a small place like this near her father’s fortress. She knew her sisters-in-law would happily push that situation on their spouses.

Esyld carried Gwenvael to the long bed pressed against the wall. She lifted him off her shoulder and placed him down carefully. With a soft smile, she brushed his hair from his face. “He’s grown up so handsome.”

Dagmar’s eyes narrowed. Who the hell was this? And why did she feel it was acceptable to touch him in such a way? “Are you going to tell me who you are or not?”

“I already did. Name’s Esyld.” And before Dagmar could argue, she pointed at Gwenvael. “See these?”

Dagmar crouched beside the bed, pushing her spectacles on top of her head so she could closely study how his skin puckered in several places.

Many places, in fact. All over his body.

“What is this?”

“A brutal torture.”

Esyld pulled off her robes. She wore a simple blue gown beneath. It set off her red hair perfectly. “You’re not one of the Horde.”

“No, I’m not.” She knelt on the floor beside Dagmar. Her finger slightly hovered over one of the raised welts. “This is the old way of doing damage to a dragon. When in dragon form, your scales are forcibly pulled away from the flesh and small, jagged pieces of steel are slipped beneath. That process alone is quite painful. It’s not easy to pry scale from flesh. You usually have to use a knife in between the seams.”