“You.”
Gwenvael grinned, slowly getting to his feet. “Hello, Olgeir. How are those granddaughters of yours doing? Such sweet, affectionate, saucy little slags.”
“Where’s me son, Ruiner?”
“Planning to become warlord. I hear he’s quite pretty. My mother will enjoy helping him.”
“I’m sure she will. And tell me, Fire Breather”—he brought his tail around—“is this one of your pets?”
The old bastard had little Izzy dangling from his tail.
“Ahhh. I see she is. Then maybe she’ll be my pet now.”
“You can’t be that big a—” The blast of lightning to his right side sent Gwenvael slamming through more trees.
At the sight of his niece, he’d completely forgotten to notice that Olgeir wasn’t alone.
Dagmar stood up, quickly removing her spectacles so she could wipe dirt from them. She did a poor job of it, but it still took off enough soil to allow her to see the hole Gwenvael’s body made through the forest.
“She’s not from here.”
Dagmar looked behind her. Two Lightnings eyed her closely. They were big and purple and definitely true Northlanders.
“You become the pet of one of them?” There were times in her life when she could talk herself out of almost anything. And there were times when she should run.
She ran.
Talaith stood by one of the many lakes of Dark Plains. She stood and she stared out over the calm water.
“Now you know the truth. Don’t you feel better for it?”
Her entire body taut with rage, Talaith glared up at the god who stood beside her. “How do I make you go away?”
Rhydderch Hael laughed. “You don’t. The doorway is open now. I can come and go from this plane of existence or any other as I please.”
“Lovely.”
“Don’t you prefer knowing the truth?”
“I’d prefer that you f**k off.”
She felt his hand on her shoulder. “Talaith, I only told you the truth because I felt you should know exactly how much your only daughter loves you. How much she was willing to sacrifice for—”
The back of Talaith’s fist met his throat, crushing part of it with the force of her move.
The god bent over, coughing and laughing. She could hear the bones and cartilage that she’d crushed immediately repairing themselves. As she stormed away, he was once again able to speak.
“Don’t go away angry, Talaith,” he said, still laughing at her. “I was only trying to help.”
Talaith walked quickly back into Garbhán Isle, pushing past soldiers and servants. She needed to find Izzy. She needed to apologize, to beg her to forgive her foolish mother for letting another god manipulate her.
The crowd moving entirely too slowly for her at the moment, Talaith cut behind the stables and around toward the front gates where she knew Izzy had run. She’ll head to Dark Glen. She’ll head to Annwyl. And Annwyl would hold her there until Talaith found them. Feeling more and more desperate about her daughter, Talaith began to run. She’d nearly cleared the last stable when something barreled into her. Talaith’s feet went out from under her and her body pitched forward, but strong hands grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back.
“Sorry about that,” a woman said kindly. Talaith saw worn boots covered in mud and an even more worn brown cape scraping the ground. The hood of the cape covered the woman’s face, but Talaith barely spared one of Annwyl’s warriors another glance.
“You all right?” the woman asked. If Talaith had a moment, she would have heard the concern in that voice, but her daughter was all that mattered.
“I’m fine.” She removed the hands still on her waist and took off running, a sudden, horrible fear for her daughter nearly choking her.
Gwenvael had no weapons, no armor, and no spiked tail—and if he survived, he’d make sure to yell at his brothers about it, too—but the Lightning trying to kill him had all those things.
He sent out a call to Addolgar, knowing he was closest to Fearghus’s den, but he still had Izzy to worry about. He didn’t have the time to wait for the others to get to them, so he’d simply have to risk his pretty face.
The sword flashed and Gwenvael jumped back, gripping the tree next to him. As the blade missed him by inches, he lifted the tree and tore it from the ground. He swung it and it slammed into the blade as it was making a return trip. The sword cut through the trunk with ease, and Gwenvael knew his head would be next. So he threw the remains of the tree into the face of the Lightning. It shoved the big bastard back, and Gwenvael rammed into him, dropping both of them to the ground.
Desperate, he grabbed hold of the Lightning’s sword arm and held it down. That’s when the bastard caught hold of his hair and snatched his head back, his spiked tail cutting at his snout.
Immeasurably pissed off—more about his hair than his face—Gwenvael brought his own tail down, feeling around the bastard’s armor. He remembered from his combat days against the Lightnings that their armor didn’t connect underneath as Southland dragon armor did. It was, in fact, wide open.
With that firmly in mind, Gwenvael slid his tail underneath the Lightning’s armor and right between his legs.
Panicked, the Lightning tried to move out from under him, but Gwenvael held tight and, wrapping his tail around the bastard’s cock—he yanked.
“You mother—”
He wouldn’t release her. Merely carried her around in his tail like a treat or his favorite pet.
The Lightning sniffed the air and his lip curled. “All I smell are damn Fire Breathers. It’s like they’re everywhere.” His head turned and he moved his tail, which he now had wrapped around her waist, closer. “Now where’s me son, pet?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I—”
The tail slammed Izzy into the ground twice before lifting her back up. “Don’t lie to me, female! Where is he? Tell me now!”
Dazed, Izzy shook her head.
“You won’t tell me?”
Tell him what? Who was talking? Where was she again? Oh, look … pretty colors!
“Let me guess. That Gold bedded you a few times and now you think he loves you? That he’ll protect you?” His tail retracted, and Izzy fell several feet, her body landing hard. The colors multiplied and she could see nothing past them. “You humans are such pathetic fools.” He grabbed hold of her sword with his tail and tore it off, tossing it into the trees.
“Do you really think some little whore like you would be important to any dragon?”
“She’s not some little whore,” her mother said, stalking from the base of the hill she’d just come over as Izzy’s senses came back to her with stunning clarity. “She’s Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith and Briec.”
The Lightning leered down at Talaith. “Are you another pet?”
“I’m her mum.” Talaith raised her right fist. “The most dangerous bitch you’ll ever meet.” She opened her hand and white flame shot from her palm, striking the dragon in the face.
He screamed, his claws covering his head, and Izzy quickly got to her feet.
“Izzy!” her mother yelled. “Run!”
“Oh, no!” The dragon’s tail slammed down in front of Izzy. “You’re not going anywhere, little whore!”
He spun to face her, his scales singed by her mother’s flames and his tail lashing out at Talaith.
She watched as his maw opened up and Izzy immediately grabbed hold of the shield still strapped to her back, swinging it down in front of her body. Lightning strikes blasted from his mouth and rammed into the molded metal.
Izzy squealed, the power of the lightning lifting her off her feet and flipping her back into the forest even as the bolts ricocheted back to their owner.
Dagmar ran, her memory of the Dark Plains maps she’d created for herself leading her. She knew she’d never get back to Garbhán Isle and she wouldn’t risk leading the Horde dragons to Fearghus’s den and the twins. She’d nearly caused their death once; she wouldn’t do it again. So she headed toward a very small lake that Gwenvael’s kin never used for fear it was slightly tainted.
The Lightning dragons laughed and crashed after her, tearing the forest apart as they did.
“Come here, little human,” one of them said, and she felt his claw swipe down to grab her. She ducked and changed course toward a large tree and one of her “test” defenses that Brastias had been so against.
Dagmar slipped around the tree and quickly untied the rope from the metal spike stuck into the wood. The dragons came into range as she released the rope on one of her favorite defenses and the huge trunk swung free.
The Lightnings were quick, their heads turning at the same time, and they both stepped back, the trunk swinging past them.
Unimpressed, they watched it swing back and forth until it stopped.
One of them snorted. “Ya can’t be serious, lass. Do ya really think—”
The ground fell out from underneath them and both dragons let out startled cries as they fell into the deep pit.
Dagmar bent down and grubbed around in the soft soil by the tree. It took longer than she’d have liked, but she found the small box she’d planted there and held it close to her chest. Letting out a breath, she walked over to the edge of the pit and stared down.
“You crazed bitch!” one of them yelled up at her.
They couldn’t climb out; there was nothing to cling to. And flying had become impossible because of the oil they’d fallen into. A special mix that Talaith devised one afternoon under Dagmar’s direction that saturated them so their wings could do no more than hang limply from their backs.
Dagmar crouched beside the pit. “Do you know what my favorite word of the day is, my lords? It’s ‘seams.’ ”
She opened the small box and pulled out one of the simple, small sticks Morfyd had given her. “I don’t mean as in ‘He seems to be a prat.’ More like ‘The seams of my dress,’ or ‘The seams between a dragon’s scales.’ ”
Dagmar held up the slim stick. “I got this from a witch. They know all sorts of things. It really is amazing what you learn when you become a … what was it you called me?”
She struck the slightly larger head of the stick against a rock and a small flame flared to life. “Ahh, yes. ‘Pet.’ ”
Dagmar held the burning stick over the pit.
“Don’t,” one of them begged.
“But as a fellow Northlander … you already know I will.” She opened her hand and the small stick fell. It grazed against the side of the pit—it, too, saturated with oil—and the tiny flame led to an eruption that tore down the wall and right into the pit.
The dragons screamed as the flames followed the oil under their scales to their flammable flesh beneath.
It was hard to hear over their screams, but the crackling told her to move and move now.
Dagmar did, standing and tripping backward on the hem of her gown.
Flames shot up into the sky and she turned to run, but scaled forearms grabbed her around the waist, pulling her close.