Angry green eyes locked on to him, and he’d wished he’d run like Danelin. When he still had the chance. “Brastias. My friend.” Uh-oh, this couldn’t be good. “Do you lie to me?”
“Uh . . . no.”
“See? That’s a lie!”
“Annwyl, calm down. Tell me what happened.”
“Happened? Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything is just fine. Perfect. Better than perfect.”
Brastias wanted to pursue this further, and probably take his life in his hands, when he heard the screams of the men from outside the tent.
“Lorcan.” He ran out of the tent and slammed into Danelin, who couldn’t move. He stood trapped. In fear. Fear of the mammoth black dragon that landed in the middle of their camp.
“By the gods.”
The dragon looked around at the surrounding troops, but still hadn’t sent anyone to hell.
“Annwyl!”
“Oh, gods. It’s . . . talking.” Danelin looked like he would piss himself any moment.
But fear for Annwyl kept Brastias moving. He drew his sword, intent on challenging the creature when she stormed out of the tent. He seized her arm in what he thought a powerful grip to stop her, but with her formidable anger she easily pulled away, stomping off to face the dragon.
The men watched as Annwyl the Bloody took a stand against something from their darkest nightmares. Too afraid to fight, but too terrified for their leader to run away.
And then Brastias saw the girl do something he would never forget.
She kicked the beast. Right in the knee.
Brastias and Danelin exchanged glances.
“Well, you always thought she was insane,” Brastias offered.
“I didn’t think I was right.”
“You lying toe-rag!” she yelled up at him.
“Let me explain.”
“Go to hell!”
“Annwyl.”
“No!” She headed back to her tent. “Leave me, dragon. I never want to see you, or your family, again. Ever!”
Danelin glanced at Brastias. “Family?”
“Don’t ask.”
The dragon silently watched Annwyl’s retreating form. He began chanting and flame surrounded him. That’s when Brastias wondered if he would die this day. The flames grew, enveloping the beast, but eventually the flames died away, leaving a very large, very naked man.With a growl, he followed after Annwyl, disappearing into the tent after her.
“So they can shape-shift then?” Danelin asked quietly.
“Seems so.”
“Should we go after him?”
Brastias looked at Danelin. It took him awhile, but he’d finally figured out what he’d just witnessed. A lover’s quarrel. Leave it to Annwyl.
“Uh . . . I think not. We need to ready the troops. And let’s ready them somewhere away from camp, I think.”
He glanced at the tent, shook his head, and walked off. A quaking Danelin followed quietly behind.
“Why won’t you talk to me?”
“You want me to talk? Fine. How’s your father?”
“How do you think he is? You stabbed him in the foot.”
“I would have aimed for his heart, but I wasn’t sure he actually had one. Do any of you have one?”
“Annwyl, I couldn’t tell you the truth.”
“Why?”
“I . . . uh . . .” He didn’t know this would be so hard. Was he joking? Of course, he knew it would be this hard!
“Still waiting.” He got the feeling he could claim being one of the few who actually got her this angry. Funny, that didn’t seem like such a good thing to him at the moment.
“I was going to tell you. I swear.”
“Really? You were going to tell me?” Her sarcasm thick, her bitterness filled the tent. He couldn’t blame her. He’d asked for this.
“Yes, Annwyl, I was. Today. My father just beat me to it.”
“And why didn’t you tell me before?”
He moved into the room toward her. She took a step back, drawing her sword. “Everything changed.”
He stood before her now, her blade at his throat. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Annwyl. I wanted you, more than anything. And I didn’t know how to tell you the truth without losing you. You trusted the dragon, but you absolutely hated the man. I needed you to accept all of me. Today I thought maybe you could.”
He took a step forward and felt the tip of the blade just pierce his flesh. A trickle of blood eased down his neck to his chest. Annwyl’s breath came out in short gasps as she stared into his eyes. “You could kill me now. Easily. If that’s what you want.” He moved in a bit more. Any more and the blade would tear through his throat and kill him. “Is that what you want, Annwyl?”
She stared at him for several long moments. “Yes, Fearghus,” she growled out. “It is.”
Not the answer he’d hoped for, but he was quickly distracted by the pain in his knee where she kicked him.
He barked in agony as she pushed him out of her way and moved a safe distance from him, against the far tent wall beside her bed. “Luckily for you, I owe you my life. Bastard.”
Annwyl knew her rage could snap loose at any moment.
She wanted to run the lying bastard through. Wanted him to know the pain she’d suffered when she’d realized the truth. Fearghus knew she had little knowledge of dragons except they were something to fear. She had no idea they could turn human. Live as human. And, based on what they’d been doing all over his glen recently, mate as human. She felt like a fool. A whore and a fool. And she hated him for making her feel that way. So, yes. She did want to see him dead. His blood on her sword. And although he gave her the perfect opportunity, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. At the moment, she hated herself for that weakness.