Dragon Actually

Sibling War she still wouldn’t survive as long as Fearghus. The thought of living without her cut him like a lance through his heart. A very selfish part of him wished he could walk away from her. Leave her to live her human life with some human male. But when he looked at her, he realized that wasn’t possible. She dipped her forefinger in the chalice of wine, leaned her head back, and let the wine drip into her open mouth. He shook his head at the woman’s overt silliness. Still, he couldn’t help but think about that mouth of hers exploring his entire body. That finger running over his shaft and wiping the fluid off its head.

Annwyl put her finger in her mouth and sucked it clean. Without meaning to, he gave a little moan and she turned to look at him. Oblivious, she winked at him and went back to her book.

There was one thing he could do, but it risked too much and could lose him everything. He shook his head again. No. The queen would be his last resort. She was always his last resort.

The air shifted in front of her as the blade slashed by her throat. With a laugh, she danced back several steps and brandished her two swords. He attacked and she blocked the move while she swung out her leg, aiming for his groin. He stopped her, catching hold of her ankle, then flipping her up and over. She landed face down but forced her body up and moving before he could get his hands on her.

Annwyl really did have herself to blame for this. Throwing out “If you can take me, you can have me” before their swords clashed was, in retrospect, probably a bad idea. She really should stop challenging the man but she had to admit that she did enjoy a good fight.

Her father always accused her of making everything difficult.  Perhaps he was right. If she wanted the knight, she could have easily taken him. From the time she walked up to him that morning, he had been more than ready. She knew it and he never said a word to her. But she realized now that she liked the challenge. She liked making him work for it. And work he did.

He knocked one of her swords out of her hand, so she backhanded him, causing the big ox to stagger away from her. She tried to charge past him, but he reached out that long arm and grabbed her. She struggled to get away from him, but his ironlike grip held fast. He pulled her struggling body into his chest with one arm. With the other he twisted her wrist until she dropped her sword.

“Seems, my lady, that I’ve got you.”

“Bastard!”

“Now I guess I can have you.”

“Let me go!”

“You made a bargain, my lady.”

Annwyl growled in frustration, loving the feel of his arm around her, his hard body pushing into her back.

He forced her up against a tree, her back still to him. He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “I’d hate to think the future ruler of Dark Plains would not keep her promises.”

Then he ripped her leggings off.

Hours he spent creating the spell that would drag Annwyl from her protective cocoon with the dragons right to his lair. Days he spent gathering all the necessary ingredients. He even had to sacrifice one of his favorite acolytes who, tragically for him, was a virgin.

But the virgin blood opened the doorway between space and time. And that’s when he saw her. Stark naked and astride some male. She rode him as if he were a favored stallion, her hips grinding against the man’s body. Hefaidd-Hen’s view took in her back and he could see her muscles flexing as she came closer and closer to release. He could see the sheen of sweat on her tanned skin, the sweat drenched hair draping across her rippling muscles. He could hear her moans and cries of pleasure. Hefaidd-Hen’s fingers neared her, about to touch her flesh. She was nearly his. But Lorcan burst in. Stormed in, actually. Pushing about his acolytes, demanding Hefaidd-Hen’s immediate response to his presence.

With his concentration broken, the doorway slammed shut and the girl slipped his grasp. He roared in anger.

And Hefaidd-Hen turned all his fury toward the Butcher of Garbhan Isle.

* * *

Fearghus snatched Annwyl’s naked, sweaty body protectively to him and sat up.

“Wait. Don’t stop.” He’d never gotten the stubborn, demanding, insatiable wench that close to begging before, but he had to ignore her. Something wasn’t right.

The energy surrounded him. A presence. Not quite human. He looked around him and sniffed the air.

“What? What is it?” She reached for her sword, but he stopped her.

They were alone in his glen again. But a dark sense of foreboding invaded his very soul at that moment. Things were about to change. Forever.

He looked at Annwyl. She stared at him, a small smile on her lips. “Everything all right, knight?”

He didn’t answer her. Instead he kissed her collarbone and stretched back out, his hard, demanding cock still inside her. “Finish what you started, woman.”

Her smile grew wide. “My pleasure, knight.”

Lorcan slowly opened his eyes. The brutal pain in his head made him wish for death. Just the dim light from a close-by pit fire caused a moan to escape. He couldn’t remember what happened. Not clearly. But he knew from the sound of loud breathing in the room that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

“Ah, my lord. I am so glad to see that you are finally coming around.” The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. He tried to push himself up with his arms, but something powerful and large slapped flat across his back, forcing him back to the ground.

“No. No. Stay down. I want you to rest before you try getting up.” The voice sighed heavily. “I am so sorry, my lord, that it was necessary to be so harsh with you. But I think that it is time we made some things clear, mhmm?”

Lorcan didn’t try to rise again. Whatever pushed him down still rested against his back, holding him in place. But he slowly swiveled his head around to see what spoke to him.

On sight of it he immediately tried to pull away, but it wouldn’t let him go. “Now. Now. There is no reason to fear me. I am your ally. Just like I have always been.” Lorcan retched and his meal from several hours ago burst across the floor.

“Well, that is lovely. You humans. So quick to panic. It amazes me that any of you still live.”

Lorcan closed his eyes tight and refused to look at it anymore. He couldn’t. Not if he hoped to keep his sanity.

“This can be a very profitable relationship for us both, Lorcan. As long as you understand that you belong to me. Body. Soul. And what little bit there is of a mind. I will give you your sister, but, in return, you will give me what I want as well. As long as you agree to that, you will live a very long time. But if you do not . . .” It pushed against his back and he knew that at any moment his ribs would break. But it stopped itself before going that far. “Do you understand, Lorcan?”

For the first time since his father died, Lorcan shook in fear. “Yes. Yes. I understand.” Tears slid down his face and he realized he hadn’t done that either since the death of his father.

“Good. Good. I do like when things are clear and concise. It’s just in my nature.” It patted his back almost lovingly. “We have so many plans to make. There will be much bloodshed soon. But you just rest now, my pet. You will have your sister soon enough.”

Lorcan cried silently and prayed for oblivion.

Annwyl stared up at the cave ceiling, her hands behind her head. The dragon’s even breathing causing his scales to move gently beneath her. He’d let her climb up his back and lie there. He didn’t complain and she let herself enjoy the moment. His mane of hair spread across his scales and felt silky next to her bare skin. She wore nothing but her recently mended leather leggings and her bindings. She’d spent another day entangled with her knight. They had barely trained in days. Instead choosing to rut around the glen like two dogs in heat. But she couldn’t help herself. The man did things to her body; made her feel things; took her to heights she never thought possible. And every evening, as the shadows darkened, she’d leave him and return to her dragon. Shame she couldn’t live her life in this manner for the next thousand years or so.

“How was your training today?” His low voice rumbled through his body, vibrating against her flesh.

“Fine,” she lied. She hadn’t touched a sword—at least one made of metal—in two days.

“Good.”