He fell and slid across the cave floor, coming to an abrupt stop when a large boot slammed into his head. He looked up and braved a smile. “Oh. Hello, brother.”
With a growl, Fearghus lifted him off the ground by the back of his neck.
Morfyd reached down and pulled an Aouregan root. The materials she collected were for a spell that might help her destroy the protective barriers surrounding Lorcan. But she found the yelling simply too distracting. And when her baby brother literally flew over her head and landed in a heap not a quarter league from her, she decided it was time to say something.
“Fearghus!” She stepped in front of her advancing brother and put her hand on his chest. “Leave him alone.”
“Just let me kill him. Please.”
Morfyd bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. After all these years her brothers still couldn’t get along.
“No. She’ll never forgive you if you kill him. She still resents you for his tail.” To this day she remembered her three other brothers playing catch with the tip of Gwenvael’s tail and her mother raging like never before. It was funny then and it was still funny now.
“I hate him, Morfyd. I hate him.”
“I know.” She patted her brother’s shoulder. “But he is all our burden to bear. Our pain.”
“You know what?” Gwenvael jumped up, his rage pouring off him in waves. “You’re all bastards. And I hope the lot of you rot in hell.”
“You just stay away from her, you little toe-rag!”
“What’s wrong, big brother? Can’t handle your woman?”
Morfyd barely dodged in time to avoid the fireball Fearghus let loose. But it hit Gwenvael full in the chest, sending him flying back into the trees.
“Keep him out of my sight, sister.”
“Fearghus . . .”
“
She’d never seen her brother so angry. And she had the distinct feeling it had very little to do with Gwenvael’s presence—for once.
“Wait.” She caught up to Fearghus and grasped his arm. “Gwenvael brought a message.”
Fearghus stopped walking. “From who?”
She smirked. “Who do you think? And he’s not happy. He doesn’t want us involved in this Sibling War.”
Fearghus looked at his sister. “And this means what to me?”
She sighed. “We can’t just ignore him.”
“I can and I will. You do whatever it is you need to do, sister.”
He snatched his arm away and walked back into his cave. She wouldn’t bother going after him. There would be no point. She knew as soon as she got the message from Gwenvael that this would only set Fearghus’s resolve. He never liked anyone telling him what to do . . . anyone.
She heard Gwenvael moaning and headed toward the sound. Then Morfyd stopped. She sniffed the air and looked around her. She felt a presence. Something deadly and evil. She had to move quickly. She began a chant in her ancient tongue, and soon flames covered her body. Flames that didn’t burn. She wrote sigils in the air and, with a roar that shook the glen, she sent the flames off.
Once the flames disappeared from her sight, she again headed off toward Gwenvael. She would tend her little brother’s wounds and hope that Fearghus didn’t merely open them up again tomorrow.
Hefaidd-Hen flew back out of his chair and across the room, slamming into the far wall. He collapsed to the floor and stayed there. His head feeling as if it might split open, his body racked with lightning strikes of pain. He should be dead. And, if he were any other wizard, he would be.
Two of his three acolytes were immediately by his side. “Master?” He slapped their hands away and continued to sit on the floor. He gasped for air, stunned.
So, it had been Morfyd. The Dragon Witch. That explained so much.
He smiled, even through the pain, and watched as his apprentices fearfully backed away from him.
Fearghus shifted back to dragon before returning to his lake. He was glad he had, too, because Annwyl waited for him. She sat on one of the large boulders that, because of its height, would bring them eye to eye. Her wet hair told him she’d bathed. Probably trying to wash him off, attempting to remove his scent from her body. That tore his heart more than he could admit.
But when she saw him and smiled, he became completely confused. It was the warmest smile he’d ever seen and she seemed absolutely relieved by his presence.
As long as he existed, he would never understand the girl.
“Fearghus. I wondered where you’d gotten to.”
“Is everything all right?”
She sighed. “I guess.”
The woman was killing him. Slowly. Bit by bit.
He settled down next to her and she immediately grasped a handful of his hair. “All right, Annwyl. What is it?”
“The knight.”
Fearghus tensed. “Yes?”
“I lost my virginity to him today.”
Fearghus’s head snapped around so fast he dragged the girl off the rock, her hand still gripping his hair. “Oi!”
“Oh. Sorry.” He never expected her to tell him. Never expected her to tell anyone. The way she walked away a mere hour before led him to believe she’d go to the grave with that secret. “Are you all right?”
“My butt hurts.”
“What?”
“From dragging on the rock. And do get your mind out of the gutter, dragon.”
Fearghus chuckled at that. “Sorry.”
She lowered herself to the ground but still had a firm grip on his hair. She leaned into him and Fearghus couldn’t believe how warm her body felt against his.
“What do I need to do to mount you?”
“What?”
“For battle! Honestly, Fearghus.”
“Oh. That. Just catch hold of my hair and climb.”
“Won’t that hurt you?”
“No.”
She seized two handfuls of his hair and pulled herself up until she placed herself on his back. She sat low on his shoulders, her legs straddling him at his neck.
“No saddle?”
“I’m not a horse.”
“No need to get testy. Just asking.”
She squeezed her thighs tight around his neck and he wondered how much more the gods would make him endure before he lost all reason.
“Did he . . . hurt you?” Fearghus had to know. Had to know what she was feeling, thinking. And she wouldn’t tell the knight. So maybe she would tell the dragon.
“No.”
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, Annwyl.” Yes. He would go to hell and this girl would be the one to send him there. A special hell for evil dragons that lied to beautiful women.
She gave a great sigh as she combed her strong fingers through his mane. He fought the desire to purr like a cat. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Do you want him?”
“Oh, yes. I want him. I
“But . . . ?”
