Dragon Actually (21 page)

“Aye, brother. That bitch caught me by surprise, is all.”

“Well, watch your back, pup. I’ll never hear the end of it if anything happens to you. You she likes.”

Éibhear took to the air once again, going after the bitch dragon who had just tried to kill him.

“Morfyd!” Fearghus flew to his sister. “Hefaidd-Hen. Where is he?”

His sister closed her eyes and tried to reach out with her Magick to find the dragon. Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she looked at her brother.

“What is it?”

“Annwyl.”

Annwyl tore through her brother’s troops. Most of them she beheaded as was her way. She only wasted time with arms and legs when the head wasn’t readily available. And she only took those limbs to slow the enemy down long enough so she could take the head.

A soldier dived for her. She blocked his blow and brought her other sword down cleaving off half his skull and silencing the man’s screams. She turned as another soldier hoped to sneak up on her from behind. She gutted him, which she also liked to do. Especially when her blade released the entrails.

She realized with a smile that she truly did earn her name. She really
was
Annwyl the Bloody. And proud of it. But she tired of wasting herself on these men. She wanted her brother. She wanted
his
head. And by the gods, she would have it.

She killed off two more soldiers stupid enough to get in her way, and then charged up the ridge, screaming for Lorcan. As she made it to the top, she slid to a halt in the wet grass. Lorcan waited for her. Waited for her with his dragon.

She glanced behind her and realized that more of his troops blocked her escape.

Annwyl glared at her brother. “Afraid to face me yourself, Lorcan?” He wouldn’t even meet her eyes. “Can’t you answer me, brother?”

“You can direct your questions to me, Lady Annwyl.”

She looked at what could only be Hefaidd-Hen. Unlike Fearghus and his kin, she saw no beauty in this beast. No sense of grace or elegance. Just a cold-blooded killer. His dragon body appeared almost skeletal. His color a sickening maggot white. His dragon eyes a pale, watery blue. Just looking at him made her skin crawl.

“Are you ruler of Dark Plains now, Hefaidd-Hen?”

“I am merely counsel to Lorcan.”

“And what has been your counsel to my brother?”

“That he should not waste his time killing you. He should leave that to me.”

Annwyl stilled her panic. The queen supposedly gave her a gift that would help her fight Hefaidd-Hen. She had no idea what her flames would do, but she prayed that the queen really did help her. She prayed hard. For although she could hear Brastias calling to his men, hear them battling to get through the line of troops separating her from them, she still knew. She knew, as Hefaidd-Hen reared back to take in a lungful of air, that they would never get to her in time.

She looked at her brother. “No matter what happens, this isn’t over, brother.”

Fearghus flew as fast as he could, Morfyd doing her best to keep up with him, calling his name. He ignored her. Morfyd saw the ambush. An ambush for Annwyl only. As strong as she was now, she would never be able to face Hefaidd-Hen down. Never be able to win against him. He wasn’t just a dragon, but a wizard as well. His flame, like Morfyd’s on occasion, would be rife with Magick.

But as he closed in on the ridge his woman now stood on, he could see he wouldn’t be in time. No matter how fast he flew. No matter what he did. He would lose her.

Brastias couldn’t clear the enemy troops and make it up the ridge before the foul beast sent a blast that completely covered his leader in a white-hot flame. And no ordinary flame, like the one he saw her dragon-lover spew. But something different. And seemingly a waste of Magick, considering she was just a girl.

But when the flame and smoke cleared, there she still stood. Her eyes shut tight, her face turned away. Everything as it should be. Even her chainmail and surcoat.

Brastias stopped. That wasn’t possible. There should be nothing of her left. Not even ash.

He saw the dragon rear back in confusion as Annwyl slowly opened her eyes and looked around. She most likely expected to see those of her ancestors welcoming her to the next world. Instead her eyes focused on a startled and a little bit disturbed Brastias.

She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at him. “She’s bloody mad,” he whispered as she swung around and looked at the dragon.

“Did you miss?” she asked sweetly.

The dragon looked as if he were about to answer, but he never got the chance. Fearghus swooped down and snatched him up. The beautiful Morfyd right behind him.

Brastias threw himself back into the fray, but not before he heard Annwyl address Lorcan. “I guess it’s just us then. Eh, brother?”

Lorcan smiled. Things had turned in his favor. He knew he couldn’t battle Hefaidd-Hen on his own. He’d killed dragons before. But Hefaidd-Hen wasn’t just a dragon. He was something completely different. Unnatural. Unholy. Evil. But with Hefaidd-Hen off battling his own kind, Lorcan could finally do what he’d wanted to do since the day the little bitch became part of his life.

He would kill his only sister.

Lorcan brought his blade up and charged.

Annwyl dodged the blade, slicing her brother’s back as he passed her. But the blade barely touched him. He swung around to face her again.

“You’ve become fast, little sister.” He openly leered. “Did the dragon teach you that before he pushed you to your knees?”

The siblings shadowed each other. Moving slowly, purposely. Waiting for the other to make the next move.

Annwyl knew exactly what her brother was doing. He was baiting her. And it would have worked . . . a few weeks ago

“He taught me many things, brother. Although I think it is you that has become the bitch of a dragon. Did Hefaidd-Hen make you moan as he took you?”

Lorcan began to growl, but quickly it became a fullblown roar. He attacked. A straight thrust to her belly. Annwyl parried with one blade and slashed his midsection with the other. She danced back away from him.

Her brother looked down at the blood seeping from under his garments. Annwyl knew the damage was slight. But Lorcan’s shock went to the fact that few ever came that close to striking him before. And that’s when she knew she had him.

His rage exploded out, surrounding her. She knew she should be scared. Or angry. She felt neither. His anger calmed her. Soothed her. She knew the control belonged to her, while he drowned in his own rage.

She stayed on the defensive, letting him come to her. He attacked again, this time swinging at her neck. She blocked the blade and slammed her body into him. Lorcan stumbled back. He righted himself quick enough, though, and brutally backhanded Annwyl. Her body flew several feet before landing. Yet her dragon had hit her like that before while training, so she barely felt Lorcan’s fist. She scrambled to her feet before he ever reached her.

After fighting Fearghus, Lorcan’s moves seemed slow and blocky. Not the fluid movements of her dragon. Suddenly she couldn’t understand what she’d so greatly feared all these years. Hell, she’d faced Bercelak the Great and almost destroyed him. Was her brother really that much of a challenge?

She found herself getting calmer. Seeing his moves long before he ever made them. She could also see his rage burning through his body. He wanted her dead so badly his attacks became sloppier. Soon blood covered him. And none of it belonged to her.

Fearghus took Hefaidd-Hen up toward the suns, his talons digging into the soft white underbelly. He no longer had the protective scales of their breed.

What did this dragon do to himself?

Hefaidd-Hen spat out a spell and an almost unbearable pain racked Fearghus’s body. A pain that came from within. Now he saw that the beast gave parts of himself for the Magick that coursed through his veins. The Magick that Hefaidd-Hen now used on him. But Fearghus wouldn’t let the bastard go. He’d only go after Annwyl again. He couldn’t risk that. So he kept his claws dug deep into Hefaidd-Hen’s flesh and held on.

Another wave of pain tore through Fearghus’s body. He roared. But his roar could never match Hefaidd-Hen’s brutal scream. He opened his eyes to see that Morfyd had attached herself to Hefaidd-Hen’s back. Her claws dug in deep to the white flesh as she spoke a spell that set the beast on fire. And without scales, he had no protection from the unholy flames Morfyd unleashed.

“Now, Fearghus! Now!”

Fearghus dug his claws deeper into Hefaidd-Hen’s lower body and opened him up from bowel to throat.

Hefaidd-Hen screamed. A scream of surprise and utter pain. Fearghus and Morfyd released his body. The unnatural beast plummeted to the ground, vainly attempting to keep his entrails in and put out the fire that covered him. Morfyd spewed another spell at the retreating form and Hefaidd-Hen burst into pieces.

Fearghus glanced at his sister. “That was a bit much, don’t you think?”

She gave an innocent shrug. “I like to be certain.”

Annwyl saw an opening and took it. She lunged and thrust her blade into his thigh. Lorcan roared in pain and slapped her across the face, his gauntleted hand opening a slash across her cheek. She went down on her belly and he straddled her from behind, his two hands on her throat. His rage had him out of control, but she never thought he’d use his bare hands to kill her. She only had seconds before she blacked out. She pulled her dagger from her side and slashed backward. Screaming, he stumbled off her.

Jumping up before Lorcan could recover, Annwyl turned and saw her brother’s hand over his face, blood pouring from between his fingers. She’d slashed him across his eye. Quickly, not wanting to give him any time to attack again, she moved behind him while he kneeled on the ground, cradling his bleeding eye. Her father always taught her that if one destroys a man’s legs, you’ve destroyed the man. Remembering that, she slashed the tendons on the back of Lorcan’s ankles. She ignored his screaming as it intensified tenfold. Knowing that he couldn’t walk or run, she kicked him in the back, knocking him to the ground.

Annwyl straddled him, just as he’d done to her. Snatching off the strip of leather she used to bind her hair back, she pushed her brother’s hands out of her way and wrapped it around his throat. She pulled the ends tight and ignored his flailing arms, keeping the pressure up.

There would be no noble death for him. She would not take his head while he still breathed as she would have any other warrior. He deserved no such courtesy. Instead, she gritted her teeth and kept up the pressure.

Soon his movements slowed and desperate needy sounds came from the back of his throat. She waited until he dropped off unconscious and with one strong pull, she snapped his neck.

She released him, and his lifeless body dropped to the ground. She realized that it took less time than she thought it would. The task of actually killing her own brother.

“Annwyl.”

Annwyl tore her eyes away from her brother’s body and looked up at the looming form of her dragon-lover.

“You need to turn the tide of this battle.”

She glanced over the battlefield and saw that her men and Lorcan’s were at a standstill. Both sides fighting equally well. Neither side giving up any ground.

She nodded as she retrieved her sword. “You are right.”

Brastias raised his ax to cleave another man in two when he heard her voice. Clear and strong, booming over the battlefield and the land.

“Hear me!”

On her command, they all stopped fighting and focused their attention on her. Even the enemy paused. She stood upon the black dragon’s back as if she were born to be there.

“I lead Dark Plains! I lead these troops! And now Garbhán Isle belongs
to me
!” With that final screech, she raised her brother’s head high in the air.

Her men screamed her name as Brastias turned to the soldier before him. “Now where were we?” he asked, just before cleaving the man in two.

Fearghus sank deep into the metal tub someone placed into Annwyl’s tent. He let the hot water wrap around his human body, soaking the aching muscles. He would rather be back at his lake, but this would do for now. Besides, he would be home soon enough.

“Annwyl?” Morfyd entered the tent, but stopped short on sight of her brother. “Oh. You.”

“Yes. Me.”

“Where’s Annwyl?”

“Still celebrating with her men, I presume.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the tub. “Did the family leave?”

“All except Gwenvael. He’s enjoying the camp girls, I think.”

“That better be all he’s enjoying,” Fearghus growled out.

Morfyd chuckled. “He tried, but I hear Annwyl handled it.”

“Does he still have his head?”

“For the moment.”

“Sister, I need to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“How did Annwyl survive the flames? Hefaidd-Hen’s flames?”

“Uh . . . well, you know . . . um . . .”

Fearghus jumped up and out of the tub, grabbing his sister by her arms and snatching her completely into the tent. “
You let Annwyl face her alone, didn’t you
?”

“It was a risk she was willing to take!” Morfyd pulled her arms away and pushed her brother.

“But not a risk that
I
was willing to take! Not with her life!” Fearghus pushed her back.

“I feel no guilt for what I did. I had to protect her, and the family agreed.”

“I didn’t agree!”

“We didn’t
ask
you!” She punched her brother in the chest.

“But Annwyl belongs to me.” He slapped his hand over his sister’s face and shoved her.

Morfyd stumbled back and glared at him. “No. She doesn’t.” Morfyd smirked at him. “You haven’t Claimed her.” Fearghus winced at that. His sister spoke true. Until he performed the Claiming Ceremony, Annwyl was as unshackled as a virgin. “You haven’t marked her as your own. So she belongs to no one. Although the way Gwenvael has been looking at her lately, you never know.”

The siblings growled at each other. Then Fearghus pulled his sister into a headlock.