Crouching down, Éibhear flipped the cover open and read the inscription.
For Izzy. Thought you’d like to read how it all began. Thank you for everything. You’ll always have my loyalty and I’ll always have the memory of you challenging a head-licking wolf. ~Gaius
Gaius? Gaius the Rebel King from the west? Éibhear briefly remembered being introduced to the Rebel King a few hours after he’d killed the Rebel King’s bastard uncle, Overlord Thracius. But at the time, Éibhear had been so filled with rage and pain about the loss of his friend, Austell the Red, he wasn’t sure he’d know the dragon if he tripped over him in the market.
But, more importantly, why was the Rebel King sending books to Izzy? Especially when Izzy rarely bothered to read? And not only books but books with rather affectionate and strangely bizarre inscriptions.
Head-licking wolf?
Éibhear heard approaching footsteps but knew from the sound that it wasn’t Izzy or his cousin. The tent flap was pulled back and a human male walked in.
“Izzy, we need to talk about . . .” His words faded off when Éibhear slowly got to his feet and stood to his full human height.
“Oh,” the man said, staring up at Éibhear. “I was, uh, looking for the general.”
“Not here.”
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
Éibhear shrugged.
“Oh.”
“I can give her a message.” Especially since he was curious who this man was.
“No. I’ll just wait.”
“Okay. We’ll just wait.” Éibhear crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the human male . . . and he kept staring.
“And not only that but then you—”
Before Izzy could go on, Rhydderch Hael rolled to his stomach and bellowed, “By the love of all that is me, shut up!”
Izzy gazed up at the god, working hard not to smile or outright laugh.
Closing his eyes, he took in several deep breaths.
“And yet,” he finally said, much more calmly, “after all this time, you still manage to irritate the living f**k out of me, Iseabail the Dangerous.”
“You asked me if I had anything to—”
“Yes, I know!” Another deep breath, eyes still closed. After some thirty seconds or so, when he was once again calm, he said, “I am well aware what I said to you, Izzy. And I know over the years I’ve disappointed you.”
“Understatement.”
Violet eyes snapped open and locked on her, and Izzy quickly focused on a tree in the distance.
“As I was saying, I know I’ve disappointed you, but you still owe me a blood debt.”
Izzy returned her gaze to the god, surprised. “Blood debt?”
“You made a promise to me.”
“When I was sixteen.”
“Your mother’s life for your commitment to me,” he reminded her.
“You were the one who killed her!” To this day Izzy still sometimes woke up in a cold sweat from the nightmare of seeing her mother sacrifice herself to Rhydderch Hael to save Izzy. A price Talaith had willingly paid—so how could Izzy do any different?
Yet Rhydderch Hael waved all that away with his claw. “Nitpicking. I restored your mother’s life.”
“You haven’t changed at all, have you?”
“Iseabail, I’m a god. I don’t have to change. For anyone. Ever. That’s the wondrous beauty that is being a god.”
“And you can take your wondrous beauty and shove it up your godly as—”
“Iseabail.”
“She’s been gone a long time, eh?”
Éibhear, who hadn’t stopped staring at the man, grunted in reply.
“Maybe she went to track down ogres with the others.”
Another grunt.
“Maybe I should come back later.”
Minor grunt.
The man’s gaze moved around the tent in an attempt not to look at Éibhear. “Soooo . . . you’re a friend of Izzy’s?”
No grunt, instead Éibhear narrowed his eyes and the human male took a step back.
“How could you think I would not one day call in this debt?” Rhydderch Hael asked, appearing truly perplexed. “You still wear my mark on your shoulder.”
She glanced at the dragon brand that he’d burned into the flesh of her upper bicep all those years ago. “I just assumed it was there permanently whether you planned to use me or not. Besides”—she shrugged—“it’s a nice-looking thing if you like dragons. I like dragons. Just don’t like you.”
He let out a breath, slowly shaking his mighty head. “You’ve always played a dangerous game, Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith.”
“Hence the name. And I don’t like to be betrayed. I don’t like those I love to be hurt for some god’s amusement. Sorry if that bothers you. My disloyalty.”
“You are hardly my only concern, Iseabail.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t play this game with—”
But before she could finish, he flicked his claw at her and she was flying.
“Why don’t I go?” the human male said, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.
“Why don’t you?”
“Yeah. I’ll . . . uh . . . yeah . . .” He quickly walked out of the tent and Éibhear grinned.
After all these years, he shouldn’t enjoy doing that sort of thing . . . but he did.
Still . . . where the hells was Izzy?
Thinking he should go track down his cousin, Éibhear was reaching for the tent flap when he heard from behind him “. . . game with me . . . arrrggghhhh!” He spun around at the scream.
“I bloody hate when you do that!” Izzy yelled up at the tent ceiling.
“Where the hells did you come from?” Éibhear demanded, knowing he would have heard the woman come back in if she’d snuck in under another part of the tent.
But he must have startled her because Izzy snatched the small blade she had holstered to her thigh, spun, and threw it at Éibhear’s head. He jerked to the side in time to avoid the damn thing impaling his nose, but the blade tore across his cheek instead, leaving a healthy-sized gash.
Fed up and bleeding, Éibhear barked, “Izzy! It’s me!”
And Izzy barked back, “Yeah. I know!”
Brannie rushed in to the tent, dark brown eyes blinking wide. “Izzy? Where did you come from?”
“Out, Branwen,” Éibhear ordered his cousin, and Izzy looked at Brannie, watched the dragoness begin to get irritated with her kin.
“I don’t take orders from you, Éibhear the Blue.”
“And I”—Éibhear placed his huge hand over Brannie’s face and forced her back out the tent—“take orders from no one!”
“That was just rude, you big bastard!” Brannie yelled from outside the tent.
Éibhear faced Izzy. “Why do you keep throwing things at my head?”
“It’s such a large target—”
“Izzy.”
“Why are you here, Éibhear?” she asked, frustrated. The conversation with Rhydderch Hael . . . it annoyed her. It had been more than a decade since she’d heard from him. It used to bother her. For years, when she was a child, Rhydderch Hael had been with her. She’d been taken from her mother at birth by a bitch goddess and it was Rhydderch Hael who’d protected her. He’d sent three loyal human soldiers to save her, to watch out for her. For years Izzy and her three Protectors had traveled around the Southlands, the god’s voice in her head, sometimes in her dreams, promising that one day she’d be with her mother again. And he’d kept that promise. Izzy had loved him then. Not just as a god, but as someone who cared for her. But her mother had tried to warn her. Tried to tell her that the gods were never to be trusted. Izzy hadn’t listened, though, and now Rhydderch Hael wanted something from her. What that was . . . she had no idea. But she wasn’t looking forward to it, she knew that much.
So having Éibhear here when she was already irritated, looking annoyingly adorable with those damn warrior braids in his blue hair, but acting pushy and demanding, did nothing but piss her off.
“I was sent to get you,” he explained, watching her closely. Probably confused as hell. Good! Let him be confused. “To bring you back to Garbhán Isle.”
“Why? I’ve heard nothing from my mother or Rhi,” she said, mentioning her baby sister.
“I was just told to bring you back.”
“By who?”
“Ragnar.”
Izzy groaned at that. “Oh, gods.”
“What?”
“If you heard from Ragnar, he heard from Keita who heard from Morfyd or Briec, which means—”
“Tell me this ends at some point.”
“—Mum and Rhi are going at it again.” She shook her head and walked over to the large, plain wood desk that was covered in maps and missives and weapons. “I don’t have time for this.”
“You don’t have time for your mother and sister?”
She faced him. “You have nerve to talk. When were you home last?”
Instead of answering her direct question, he pointed at her arm and asked, “Your arm . . . it’s healed rather quickly.”
Now she didn’t answer him. The last thing she needed was for Éibhear the Blue to know about her conversation with Rhydderch Hael. Gods . . . what a mess that would be.
“I’m not going back to Garbhán Isle, Éibhear.”
“You’re not?”
“If it was important, Annwyl would have sent messengers for me. So my mother and Rhi will have to work this out on their own or wait until I’m done here.”
“Until you’re done doing what?”
Izzy focused on the map spread out on the table, looking for places the enemy might hide. “The Queen wants the ogres wiped clean from this region. And that’s what I’m going to do.”
“All right then.”
But instead of leaving, Izzy looked up to see the big bastard take off his fur cape and toss it onto a nearby chair. Then he began to remove the many weapons he had strapped on his body.
Fascinated—gods, was he getting nak*d? And would she mind?—Izzy walked around the table and leaned her butt against it, arms crossing over her chest. Éibhear removed the majority of his weapons until he finally was able to drop onto her bed and stretch out with his arms behind his head, incredibly long legs crossed at the ankles.
When he closed his eyes and let out an exhausted sigh, she finally asked without rancor, “What the battle-fuck are you doing?”
“Me?”
“Yes. You.”
“I’m Mì-runach. I don’t stop until I fulfill my duty.”
“Which means what exactly?”
“That until you’re ready to go, I’m here with you. By your side. Attached to you until I can deliver you to Garbhán Isle.”