Still, it was the way she stroked Éibhear’s head that fascinated him. Nothing lusty about it at all. In fact, it was very maternal and sweet and warmed his heart as nothing ever had before. Too often he and Gwenvael had to hurt those who would take advantage of Éibhear’s good nature. Or mock him for being kind. But Talaith, she let him be as kind as he wanted and never made fun of him for it or tried to take advantage.
Now the question became, how did he get Talaith this comfortable with him but without her feeling maternal? There had to be a way to get her to soften toward him. But the only time she seemed unafraid of him was when they were fighting. Gods, but the woman did love to fight.
Of course, when Briec thought about it, so did he.
* * *
If he were remotely human, he’d never see or hear her heading toward one of the lower exits out of his cave.
He should let her go. It wasn’t wrong Briec took her from that village because he was truly rescuing her. But not to let her go once he got her to safety—only Briec would think that was perfectly acceptable.
Still, leaving without letting any of them know bothered him. And Éibhear was so fond of her, too. Plus, Gwenvael truly enjoyed the way she tortured his older brother. He’d pay her to stay if she would keep that up.
Her body melded into the shadows—she’d changed into all black—and she moved silently. Yes, her skills truly did impress him and now Gwenvael understood why Briec seemed to constantly question her.
This woman was no mere peasant.
She stood a stone’s throw from the mouth of the cave, but she wouldn’t move. Her eyes scanned around. She sensed him. Very impressive. He waited, wondering how long before she caught sight of him. For another minute or so, she continued to search the area with her eyes. She knew he was there, she just didn’t know where.
Finally, she stood up straight and her head fell back so she looked up at the ceiling—and him.
“Talaith.”
Even though he kept his voice calm, because he felt no anger at her escape attempt—she wasn’t his female—she still screamed. Like a banshee.
She ran, too. Right toward the exit and the ongoing storm outside. But he ran along the ceiling until he passed her, then he dropped down in front of her, shaking the cave walls and blocking her way out.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He sat back on his haunches and stared at her.
She quickly crouched before him, a dagger drawn, and inched back step by step. This was a woman who knew how to protect herself. He liked that. Weak females bored his kind, so Briec had chosen well.
“Move, dragon.”
He fought his urge to laugh at her order. What exactly did she expect to do with that tiny blade? Especially with her usually powerful voice sounding shaky from fear.
“I can’t. My brother would have my head.”
“I don’t belong to him.”
“No, but you’ll have to fight that fight yourself, beautiful. Now,” he motioned in the opposite direction with the tip of his tail, “go back to Briec.”
“I’m not a dog. And what is wrong with your tail?” She frowned. “It’s missing something.”
Unwilling to discuss the betrayal of his kin and the day those bastard brothers of his cut off the tip, Gwenvael brought his tail up so he could wrap it around her waist and carry her back to his brother. But she latched onto it with one hand and used the other to plant her blade between her teeth. While Gwenvael was still trying to understand what the hell she may be up to, he raised his tail, allowing her to jump from it to his forearm. Next thing he knew, she climbed onto his snout and over the top of his head.
“What in bloody—”
Then he saw her dagger. How could he miss it? She aimed it straight at his eye. He swatted at her with his claw. He didn’t knock her off, but it startled her enough she stabbed his head scant inches from her original target.
“Aaaaaaarrrrrrrggggggggggghhh! You mad cow!”
He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had no choice. Especially when she yanked her blade back and took aim again.
Using his tail, he slammed her from behind, sending Talaith flying. She hit the ground with a grunt, but smartly rolled with the landing.
She ended up on her back, the dagger still clenched in her hand. He didn’t wait for her to get up. He wrapped his tail around her, making sure her arms were pinned at her sides and headed back into his cave.
* * *
Morfyd the White, Dragonwitch of House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, First-born Daughter of Dragon Queen Rhiannon, Vassal to Queen Annwyl of Garbhán Isle, and Supreme Battle Mage to the armies of Dark Plains, picked herself up off the ground, unable to look any of the men in the eye who’d watched her trip over her own two big feet. After all these years, she thought she would have mastered her human body a little better.
Unfortunately…
“Are you all right?”
She winced at the humor-filled voice she now so easily recognized.
“Aye, Brastias.” She took the hand of Queen Annwyl’s general and second-in-command, allowing the man to help her up.
“Those feet of yours just came out of nowhere and attacked again, huh?”
She glared into his smiling face. “Keep that up, and I’ll let the next battle wound you get go septic.”
She brushed off the front of her white robes and desperately tried to ignore those strong hands of Brastias’ brushing off the rear. With every pass over her ass, she practically purred.
“Honestly, Morfyd,” he said with all sincerity, “are you sure everything is all right?”
“Aye. Just one of my brothers.” She had felt a sudden and extreme pain in her head that ended just as suddenly. Not good, especially when it caused her to trip over her own two feet, but her brother still lived. That she knew.
Brastias frowned in concern. “Are they all right? Gods, it’s not Fearghus is it?”
She shook her head, but couldn’t help but smile. No one wanted to have that particular conversation with the queen should her mate be in distress.
Brastias took her arm and headed toward her tent. “Which brother then?”
She knew he could care less, but he always liked to find a reason to take her hand or arm and to escort her to her tent. Morfyd had to admit, Brastias did make going to war an almost pleasurable event.
She concentrated for a moment, feeling for those tendrils of Magick that kept the entire Gwalchmai fab Gwyar family continually connected. They could shut each other out at will and usually did—unless they were surprised. Clearly, something blindsided her kin. “Gwenvael, I think.”
“Gwenvael? Really? Shocking,” he said flatly.
Morfyd laughed. Brastias had been around her kin long enough now to know if there was trouble, Gwenvael would most likely fall head first into its lap. “I know. Unbelievably shocking.”
They now stood in front of her tent and, as always, Morfyd desperately searched for a reason to invite Brastias in. It had been three years since she met the man and she still had yet to find a reason that didn’t sound idiotic.
Would you like to come in and count my herb supplies, O’ tall, gorgeous one? By the Dark Fire Gods, you’re pathetic.
“Bullocks this,” she muttered.
Chuckling in surprise, “I’m sorry?”
She girded her loins. She could do this. He was only a human. A gorgeous, amazing, beautiful, human…but still a human. “Brastias, I was wondering if—”
Morfyd.
It was only her name, but it held enough power to drop her to her knees. Brastias held on to her arms, the power of the gods tearing through her.
Call to me, child. Send for me.
Shaking, Morfyd looked up into the extremely concerned face of Brastias as storm clouds appeared in the sky above his head.
“What is it, Morfyd?”
“Inside my tent,” she gasped. “A large satchel. Fetch it for me.”
Frowning, Brastias clearly did not want to let her go. But he had no choice. She had no choice.
“Please, Brastias.”
He nodded, releasing her, and disappeared inside her tent.
Morfyd.
Scowling, Morfyd raged, “I hear you! Stop bloody calling me!” She took deep breaths to calm her nerves, motioning to one of the young messengers who helped out during battle. “Boy. Come.” Reluctantly, the boy moved toward her. “Go to the queen, tell her a storm comes. A bad one.”
The boy glanced up in confusion. It had been a beautiful night, clear skies. But that was about to quickly change. Storms were heading their way. She’d hoped they would stay ahead of them, but it looked like that wouldn’t be the case.
“Boy!” She watched as his large eyes snapped down to focus on her. “Do it now.”
He nodded and ran off, relieved to be away from her most likely.
Brastias returned to her side. “Morfyd, what is it?”
More like who, but she didn’t have time for that. Instead, she ignored the concern in his voice. “Help me up.”
He did, easily lifting her to her feet.
“The bag.” There was too much going on to bother any longer with niceties.
Brastias quickly handed the satchel to her. Turning away from her tent, she headed toward a river a bit away from camp. “You sure you don’t need me to—”
“No, Brastias!” She stopped when she realized she’d snapped at him. Gods invading her body brought out that reaction. But the warrior had done nothing wrong.
She looked at him over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“No need to apologize, Morfyd.” He gave her a warm smile, never angry at her sudden and abrupt changes of mood brought on by the constantly shifting winds of Magick. “Go. We’ll have food waiting for you when you get back.”
And he knew she’d be fairly starving after working Magick. The man is absolutely perfect.
He smirked. “If we can find a cow laying around that is.”
She glared at him before storming off. Sarcastic bastard.
* * *
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
“What?” Briec looked up from the game he’d been playing with Éibhear for the last hour. So focused on the pieces and his next move, Briec barely noticed Éibhear kept staring at him.
“I said why are you being so nice?”
“Can’t I be nice to my baby brother?”
“No.”
Briec chuckled, but it choked off when a bleeding, raging Gwenvael stormed in with a bruised, less bloody, but equally raging Talaith wrapped in his tail.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded as Gwenvael tossed Talaith at his feet.
“That mad bitch stabbed me!”
“You were in my way!” Talaith yelled back.
Growling, fangs showing, Gwenvael moved on her. But Briec stepped between the two, staring his younger brother down, and baring his own fangs.
“I know, brother, you haven’t lost your reason.”
“She’s crazy. You haven’t had her yet. So I say we dine on her this evening before she kills us all in our sleep.”
Although human males were fair game to his brother, there was no woman alive Gwenvael had ever “dined” on. At least not that way. And the way the big gold tried to look around Briec to glare at Talaith told him Gwenvael merely wanted to terrify her. Which was good. Because Briec’s desire to protect this female—against his own kin, no less—confused him. He had no idea what he’d do if Gwenvael actually tried to hurt Talaith.