Bring the Heat

When he found no one, he looked back at the queen and pointed at his chest with his spoon. “Are you . . . are you talking to me?”

“Yes, you!” she snapped. “Who else would I be . . . ? What other Gaius is . . . ? What is wrong with everyone?”

That’s when the queen spotted Dagmar Reinholdt as she suddenly floated into the room with Lady Talaith and Princess Morfyd. Dagmar had always looked so out of place here at Garbhán Isle. An elegant Northland female among the brawny Southlanders. Quiet. Intelligent. And dangerously plotting. She always seemed to belong somewhere less . . . full of yelling.

Dagmar Reinholdt placed her small hand against her chest. “Me? What have I done, my queen?”

The queen snarled and took a step, but her son quickly pulled her back. “Hello, Auntie Dagmar.”

The Battle Lord went up on her toes and kissed her nephew-by-mating on the cheek. “Talan. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. We brought visitors back with us.” He gestured toward Gaius with a tilt of his head.

“King Gaius.” She moved past the others and over to Gaius’s side. He stood, took her outstretched hand, and kissed the back of it.

“My Lady Dagmar. Always good to see you again.”

“And you, of course. Although I have to say I am a bit surprised you’re here.”

“Had a spot of trouble. Nothing to worry about.”

A snort from Kachka had Gaius glancing over, an eyebrow raised. “Something you’d like to say, Lady Kachka?”

Now Dagmar laughed, and Kachka, snarling a little, pulled away from poor Zoya, her sister almost crumbling under the weight of the much bigger woman.

“Cousin!” Tatyana exclaimed, quickly moving in to help Elina before she was lost under the massiveness of Zoya.

“Something you want to say to me, tiny Northlander, with tiny head I can crush between hands?”

Dagmar, never one to back away from much of anything, stepped directly into Kachka’s space, quiet demeanor still in place.

“I’d like to see you try, Outerplains slut.”

“Fucking your nephew once does not make me slut. It makes your nephew very lucky.”

They had their hands around each other’s throats by the time Gaius and Lady Talaith reached them. Talaith handled Dagmar, yanking her back one way, while Gaius yanked Kachka the other.

“Stay away from my nephew!” Dagmar yelled as Talaith dragged her from the hall.

“I already fucked him, Northlander! I promise I am done with him!”

Dagmar screeched and managed to pull herself out of Talaith’s grasp, but the former assassin—a Southlander secret Gaius had known about for years—lifted her up and carried her out the front doors.

“Dagmar Reinholdt’s nephew?” he softly asked Kachka. “A little young for you, isn’t he?”

“He had to learn from someone. And a boy that pretty to have me . . . ? It was honor for him.”

Before Gaius could respond to that, Annwyl took hold of Gaius’s forearm. It surprised him. He didn’t think Annwyl had ever touched him before. He wasn’t sure why she was touching him now. He felt the need to duck . . . or simply prepare for death.

Thankfully, however, none of that was necessary. The queen simply said, “Come on. Let’s talk.”

Gaius nodded, ready to follow.

“Wait,” a still bleeding Zoya called out.

The queen looked over to the Rider, waited until her Outerplains sisters had helped her to Annwyl’s side. Then the poor, battered woman went down on one knee, all of them cringing a bit at the sounds of bones grinding together.

Annwyl watched silently, the hand holding Gaius’s forearm tightening a bit in confusion.

“I apologize, Annwyl the Bloody, for what I said earlier. And for doubting you. Your strength is great. And I, Zoya Kolesova of the Mountain Movers of the Lands of Pain in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains, will fight for you and your queendom as long as I have breath.”

Annwyl gazed down at Zoya, then glanced around at everyone else, then back at Zoya. After a long pause, she finally said, “Uh . . . all right then.”

After another pause, Annwyl started to walk off, leading Gaius behind her, but she did toss over her shoulder, “Let Morfyd and Talaith take care of your wounds, Zoya . . . whatever whatever.”

Gaius silently followed until they reached a large room. There were chairs scattered around and a large table with maps strewn across it. Once the door was closed securely behind them, the pair stared at each for several long seconds, until they both started laughing.

“Mountain Movers?” the queen asked, her laughter light and completely sane.

“I have to say, Queen Annwyl,” Gaius said around his own laughter, “although my sister would never agree, I always have the most entertaining time when I come here.”

Chapter Ten

“Any idea why you were taken?”

Gaius sipped his wine before replying, “I truly don’t know. But the torc that priestess put on me . . . it didn’t just keep me human. It drained me. Sucked me dry.” He shook his head. “That seemed particularly cruel. Even for them.”

“Not really. Have you heard about their”—Annwyl pursed her lips as if she tasted something vile—“purifications? These are people who enjoy being cruel for cruelty’s sake.”

“Perhaps, but . . .”

“But?”

“It was clearly killing me. Slowly, but killing me. Yet they were taking me somewhere.”

“So if you didn’t reach your destination, you would definitely die.”

“Right. Which sounds like they wanted to make sure that happened no matter what.”

“They must have wanted something from you, though, otherwise they would have killed you immediately.”

“Yes. But I have no idea what that was. What they were looking for. What they think I have.”

Annwyl studied him a moment before asking, “When Kachka found you, did she tell you anything about why she was back in the Outerplains?”

“No. But she did debate killing me when I asked her about it.”

Annwyl laughed, her smile wide and relaxed. Pretty. It reminded him that Annwyl hadn’t started out as a royal. She’d been plucked from her town by the warlord father she’d never known and forced to live with him and his evil son as the new rulers of the Southlands.

No one had been sure why her father had bothered. Many human royals left bastard children everywhere they went; they rarely acknowledged them, much less dragged them back to their homes. Then, he’d died and his son had taken over, eventually trying to use his hated sister to secure an alliance with another important royal. Annwyl hadn’t taken to that very well, and she’d ended up fighting her brother for the Garbhán Isle throne.

She was a strong warlord, but things could have gone either way since her brother had many allies. Then Annwyl had met Fearghus, and he and his siblings had ridden into one last battle against her brother. Annwyl had won the day and the throne . . . and her own dragon mate.

It had been the talk of the Provinces all those years ago. That the eldest son and heir to his mother’s throne had mated for life with a human. Little did any of them know what their bond would really lead to.