Gods.
Briec pulled away from Talaith’s neck and looked down at her. Her smile was soft and content, her eyes dreamy.
It had been years since Briec had studied the ways of a Dragonmage, but he still had some skills. And that’s why she’d told him like this, knowing he’d understand without her having to say a word.
Emotions he’d never felt before ripped through him, making him feel slightly drunk and extremely panicked. He knew there were all sorts of things a dragon would say to a dragoness at a time like this, but Talaith was no dragoness. And that’s what worried him.
“I can’t lose you,” he said simply.
Her brown gaze turned to him in surprise. “What are you talking about?”
“What Annwyl went through. If Eirianwen hadn’t stepped in, brought her back, Fearghus would have lost her. I can’t lose you. I won’t. You mean everything to me, Talaith.”
“Sssh.” She turned in his arms, rising up on her knees, her hands framing his face. “It’ll be all right.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. I know. This isn’t Rhydderch Hael using my body for his experiments as he did with Annwyl. This is different. I’m different. I have strength Annwyl doesn’t have. Powers that will protect me, and are already moving into place to protect the child. Our child.”
“Are you sure? I won’t allow myself to be miserable, Lady Difficult.”
“Because it’s all about you, Lord Arrogant.” Her grin was wide and bright. She wanted this child. “Trust me. I’ll not say I won’t be as happy or as miserable as any other woman full with child, but what happened to Annwyl won’t happen to me. The hard part is over now. The walls have been broken, gods of every type and pantheon roam through the worlds freely, and what was once unthinkable … will one day be quite common.”
“I don’t care about one day. I care about you.”
“I know.” She kissed him, her mouth soft against his. “Your love and faith in me is why I know I’ll be fine. That we’ll be fine.”
“And what of Izzy?”
“We tell her nothing.”
He pulled back, startled. “Talaith.”
“You know what she’ll do if we tell her.” Yes. Briec knew. He knew his daughter would change her plans to leave with the Eighteenth Legion because she’d fear leaving her mother’s side. She’d want to be here for Talaith, even if it meant giving up what she wanted. “I won’t have that hanging over my head, Briec, or have her resent me because of it. She’ll learn about all this soon enough, just not yet.”
“If you’re sure.”
She sighed, frustrated, and leaned back. “Must you question me?” she suddenly barked, irrationally annoyed in his opinion.
“I’ll question you if I want! And is this how it’s going to be from now until you are blessed with having my offspring? One moody-cow moment after another?”
“Oh, trust well, Lord Arrogant, that I plan on making your life a living hell.”
“Who says you don’t already?”
“I haven’t even begun!”
“Uncaring wench!”
Difficult bastard!“
Then they were kissing, their mouths fused, their tongues teasing and stroking while they ripped each other’s clothes off.
And that’s how Briec knew Talaith spoke true—everything would be just fine.
* * *
Dagmar slammed a small jar of ointment on the desk and bent over it, giving Gwenvael complete access to her ass.
“Get to work,” she ordered.
“I’ll need a basin and cloth. Don’t forget my lecture on hygiene.”
“That is not what this is for, you disgusting bastard. It still hurts.”
“Sorry about that.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No. I’m not. Especially when I saw Fal sniffing around you yet again.”
“Fal’s a boy. I’d never be interested in him.”
“So me, Briec, and Fearghus didn’t need to throw him off the top of the building?”
Dagmar straightened. “You did what?”
“He’s unclear on boundaries. And don’t look at me like that. He’s still alive.”
Dismissing it all with a wave, she walked to the bed and removed her dress and her shift. She lay across the bedding, face down. And, like the royal she was, Dagmar waited for him to do as she bid.
Taking her foot, Gwenvael slowly rolled her over onto her back. She winced and glared. “What are you doing?”
He carefully bent her legs back until they touched her chest. “I bet if you don’t move it doesn’t hurt.”
“So?”
Gwenvael pushed her bent legs apart and settled in between, his face by her pu**y. “Guess you better not move then.”
Panting, she shook her head. “Don’t.”
“Too late. I have to have you. Have to taste you. But you have to keep still. No squirming, writhing, or anything else.”
He licked his lips. “No matter what I do to this sweet little pu**y—don’t move.”
Her hands gripped the bedding. “You’re a bastard.”
“And you love me for it, don’t you?”
“Reason help me, but I do.”
Gwenvael smiled, happier than he’d ever been before. “And I love you, Beast. Now, remember,” he teased, enjoying how she couldn’t help but squirm anyway, “don’t move.”