The Dragon Who Loved Me. G.A. Aiken
Rhona stood, flicking the deer blood and pulp from her hands. “I hide nothing from you, but my business and my personal life are my own. Even my mother doesn’t ask me these sorts of questions.”
“I’m not your mother.”
“No. So you have even less right.”
“Then answer me this,” he quickly said before she could walk off. “Are you two . . . attached?”
She snorted a small laugh. “No. Not like that. We’re . . . old friends.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Unattached old friends. So leave it be.”
Except Vigholf wasn’t sure he could.
Rhona blasted the deer with her flame, using the power of it to turn the carcass over and over until it was wonderfully roasted on all sides. She reached for it and lifted it onto her shoulder. That’s when Vigholf asked, “Do you want to be attached?”
Rhona froze. All these questions were beginning to get strange. Then again, the barbarian was strange.
“Attached to what?”
“A mate of your own.”
“Guess I hadn’t thought much about it. Why?”
“No reason.”
“How could you have no reason to ask me that?” Rhona snapped.
“Because I don’t.”
“Well, you don’t have to snarl!” She turned away from him.
“But,” he said to her back, “you’re not against having a mate?”
Rhona faced him again. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Because I’m curious.”
“Well, be curious with another female.”
“Why? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me except that I’d never settle for a male who wouldn’t fight with me in battle.”
“I’ve been fighting with you in battle for five years.”
“Not willingly.”
“That’s ox shit. When have I ever said—”
“‘Females . . . fighting by my side?’” Rhona imitated in her low, making-fun-of-Vigholf voice that she used to entertain the triplets. “‘When did the hells come to earth?’”
He blinked. “Oh. All right. I may have said those words before, but—”
“But what?”
“But not when it’s been you. I’ve never said those words about you. You’ve impressed me from the beginning.”
“How very big of you,” she snipped, again turning away from him. “You lunkhead.”
Rhona took a few steps, but Vigholf cut in front of her. “I’ll admit that my opinion of female fighters was that there were none. But,” he quickly added when she hissed, “you and your sisters have changed my opinion on that belief. Shame I can’t say the same about you believing all Northlanders are barbarians.”
“You are all barbarians.”
“Even Ragnar?”
“Well . . . no. But he’s different. Special.”
Vigholf ’s left eye twitched and she suddenly felt fear for Ragnar’s safety. But, after a moment, Vigholf went on. “And has any of my brethren tried kidnapping one of you, forcing you into a Claiming?”
Rhona rolled her eyes. “No.”
He took a step toward her, slowly closing the gap between them. “Have some of us not proven ourselves to be excellent strategists in battle rather than berserkers you need to leash between fights?”
“I guess.”
Another step. “Haven’t we been polite and considerate to all the female warriors even when they’re throwing ale, starting fights, and generally being a bit crazed?”
She let out a breath. “Most of you, yes.”
“Then how about giving us a break? Giving me a break?” Another step. “Since we’re all doing so well, that is.”
They were nearly touching now, his grey eyes gazing down at her.
“I have to get this meat to Ren,” she said. “He needs to eat before we can return to the skies.”
“All right.”
But he didn’t move or stop looking at her that way. She couldn’t explain what that way was—but it was that way. So Rhona forced herself to walk around him and slowly headed back to her cousin and friend.
Although to be honest, she really wanted to make a run for it. She just didn’t know why.
Chapter 8
Morfyd the White, Eldest Daughter and Third-Born Offspring of Dragon Queen Rhiannon, Heir to the Queen’s Magicks, and Battle Mage for Queen Annwyl’s Army, tracked down her human mate.
She rode her horse around hurrying troops, cooks, riders, scouts, and all the others that made up a human queen’s army.
“Morfyd?” Her human mate, Brastias, general of Queen Annwyl’s army, pushed his men aside to stand by her. “What is it?”
“We move now for the Euphrasia Valley.”
“So soon? I thought we had a few more—”
“The Sovereigns aren’t pulling back. They’ve moved out. Heading to the Valley.”
Brastias glanced out over what had been their battleground for nearly five years. His laugh was a little bitter. “I’d hoped they’d been running from our relentless onslaught.” He looked up at her. “But they’re off to help the Irons.”
“Aye. They’re already heading there.”
“You’ve seen it.”
“I’ve seen what the gods have shown me.”
“Could the gods be lying?”
“Of course. But we both know they aren’t this time.”
Brastias nodded. “So we follow.”
“Take the Eastern Pass. If I remember the terrain correctly, you’ll be able to cut the Sovereign army in half.”
He nodded, turned to the commanders of Annwyl’s legions. “We move. Now,” he ordered. “Bring only what each man needs. No more.”
“And Annwyl?” one of the commanders asked.
So Brastias wouldn’t have to lie to his men, Morfyd quickly answered, “I go to her now. But everyone is moving at this moment. Understand?”
The commander’s eyes narrowed a bit, but he wasn’t about to challenge Morfyd. Although her reputation was nothing like Annwyl’s—Morfyd simply didn’t have the body count to her name—they still knew Morfyd was a She-dragon not to be trifled with.
The men left to get their legions moving and Brastias wrapped his hand around her ankle, sweetly squeezing it.
“Anything?” he asked, his voice very quiet.
“No. Annwyl and the others are blocked from my sight.”
“Also down to your helpful gods?”
“I really don’t know. The west, past the Aricia Mountains, has always been blocked from my sight and my mother’s. Whether that’s due to the gods or a very powerful witch or mage . . . I