Dragon Actually
Page 11
She bared her teeth, and he didn’t try to hide his smile. How could he when he knew how it irritated her so? “I think we’ve practiced enough for the day. At least I have. And the dragon now has a scouting party for his dinner. But I’ll be back tomorrow. Be ready, Annwyl the Bloody. This won’t get any easier.”
Fearghus entered what he now considered her chamber, but immediately ducked the book flung at his head. Clearly she’d been waiting for him. And she was not happy.
“He’s the one supposed to be helping me?” she roared at him.
“Did you just throw a book at me? In my own den?”
“Yes. And I’d throw it again!”
Fearghus scratched his head in confusion. He’d never met a human brave enough—or stupid enough, depending on your point of view—to challenge him. “But,” he croaked out, amazed, “I’m a dragon.”
“And I have tits. It means nothing to me!”
“What exactly is wrong with you?”
“That . . . that . . .”
“Knight?”
“Bastard!”
“Me or the knight?”
“Both of you!”
His anger crawled up his spine and settled itself against the back of his neck. He briefly closed his eyes, taking in a deep soothing breath. She was making him angry, and Fearghus the Destroyer didn’t get angry. “I’ll come back when you’ve calmed down.” He turned to go, but she seized his tail . . . and pulled.
“Oi! Don’t walk away from me!”
If Annwyl could have punched herself in the face, she would have. Anything had to be better than watching the dragon turn, oh so slowly, to face her. She had clearly angered him. Really angered him. And when he just as slowly walked over to her, Annwyl knew that she might finally see her ancestors waiting to welcome her home. But no matter, Annwyl planned to stand her ground. She wasn’t going to let some dangerously grumpy dragon make her cower. Of course, she did let him back her up against the far cave wall. But she had no choice—he just kept coming.
Annwyl thought briefly about panicking, but that seemed about as useful as punching herself in the face. Instead she straightened her shoulders and looked directly into the dragon’s dark eyes.
“You don’t scare me, you know.” Impressive. She almost sounded as if she meant that.
“Really?” His tail appeared and the dangerously sharp point smashed into the cave wall right beside her head. Her body tensed as bits of stone hit the side of her face. He placed the tip of one of his wings on the other side of her, effectively boxing her in. He leaned in close to her, the flaring nostrils of his snout almost touching her face. “I should scare you, beautiful one. I can turn you to ash where you stand.”
The beast had a point, but no use backing down now. “Then do it if you’re going to.”
The dragon’s eyes dragged across the entire length of her body. Then he breathed in deep, his eyes closed, as if he were sniffing a really good meal. . . . Well, that’s not a soothing thought.
“No one’s ever thrown anything at me,” he finally got out as his dark eyes again focused on her.
“Well, you deserved it. You should have warned me about him.”
Fearghus took a step back. She realized that she’d held her breath the entire time. She let it out as the beast took another step away from her. She guessed he’d decided not to eat her . . . today. “Was it really that bad, Annwyl?” His anger seemed to have dissipated. She wondered how he did that. Control his rage. She envied him the skill.
“Yes. It was.”
“But did you learn anything?”
Damn dragon with his bloody life lessons. “That’s beside the point.”
“Annwyl?”
“All right. Maybe a little.” He chuckled and Annwyl, without meaning to, smiled in response. “I’ve always been better than anyone I’ve ever fought.” Not that she had a choice. Her father knew teaching her to fight was the only way she would ever survive her childhood. Her brother had actively tried to kill her on more than one occasion and she had a tendency to say things that caused some men to want to see her dead. She guessed, though, that none of the men—including her father—expected her to be as good or as brutal a fighter as she turned out to be. “But your knight. He made me feel like I couldn’t fight off a ten year old boy.”
Fearghus sighed. “Give it time. He’s . . . uh . . . doing what I asked him to.” She didn’t want to give it time. Or give the knight a chance. She found him . . . disconcerting. And she didn’t like that feeling one bit. And she hated him for making her feel that way. She hated him a lot.
“You sure?”
“Positive.” He studied her. “All right?” She shrugged. “Annwyl. Answer me.” Gods, he could be commanding. He didn’t yell. He didn’t have to. And it had nothing to do with the size of him. It sent a delicious little shiver throughout her entire body.
Gods, Annwyl. Get control of yourself!
“Yes. All right.” She glared at him, even as her rage slipped away. “But I won’t be nice!”
The dragon looked her up and down. “I don’t think he’ll mind much.”
She rolled her eyes. “Probably not.” She stepped away from the dragon. “Men are disgusting.”
Fearghus couldn’t believe how angry she’d made him. He didn’t get angry. Annoyed? Definitely. Stern? Absolutely. But to lose his temper? He didn’t do that. Ever. Until her. And it didn’t help that when she was angry, she gave off that scent . . . a musk, maybe. Something that called to him. He’d smelled it before when, as the knight, he’d annoyed the hell out of her. He’d worked hard to ignore that smell. But this time he leaned in and enjoyed her scent. Let it pulsate through his veins. It gave him all sorts of visions. Things he could do to her. Things she could do to him. It didn’t help his resolve.
Fearghus entered what he now considered her chamber, but immediately ducked the book flung at his head. Clearly she’d been waiting for him. And she was not happy.
“He’s the one supposed to be helping me?” she roared at him.
“Did you just throw a book at me? In my own den?”
“Yes. And I’d throw it again!”
Fearghus scratched his head in confusion. He’d never met a human brave enough—or stupid enough, depending on your point of view—to challenge him. “But,” he croaked out, amazed, “I’m a dragon.”
“And I have tits. It means nothing to me!”
“What exactly is wrong with you?”
“That . . . that . . .”
“Knight?”
“Bastard!”
“Me or the knight?”
“Both of you!”
His anger crawled up his spine and settled itself against the back of his neck. He briefly closed his eyes, taking in a deep soothing breath. She was making him angry, and Fearghus the Destroyer didn’t get angry. “I’ll come back when you’ve calmed down.” He turned to go, but she seized his tail . . . and pulled.
“Oi! Don’t walk away from me!”
If Annwyl could have punched herself in the face, she would have. Anything had to be better than watching the dragon turn, oh so slowly, to face her. She had clearly angered him. Really angered him. And when he just as slowly walked over to her, Annwyl knew that she might finally see her ancestors waiting to welcome her home. But no matter, Annwyl planned to stand her ground. She wasn’t going to let some dangerously grumpy dragon make her cower. Of course, she did let him back her up against the far cave wall. But she had no choice—he just kept coming.
Annwyl thought briefly about panicking, but that seemed about as useful as punching herself in the face. Instead she straightened her shoulders and looked directly into the dragon’s dark eyes.
“You don’t scare me, you know.” Impressive. She almost sounded as if she meant that.
“Really?” His tail appeared and the dangerously sharp point smashed into the cave wall right beside her head. Her body tensed as bits of stone hit the side of her face. He placed the tip of one of his wings on the other side of her, effectively boxing her in. He leaned in close to her, the flaring nostrils of his snout almost touching her face. “I should scare you, beautiful one. I can turn you to ash where you stand.”
The beast had a point, but no use backing down now. “Then do it if you’re going to.”
The dragon’s eyes dragged across the entire length of her body. Then he breathed in deep, his eyes closed, as if he were sniffing a really good meal. . . . Well, that’s not a soothing thought.
“No one’s ever thrown anything at me,” he finally got out as his dark eyes again focused on her.
“Well, you deserved it. You should have warned me about him.”
Fearghus took a step back. She realized that she’d held her breath the entire time. She let it out as the beast took another step away from her. She guessed he’d decided not to eat her . . . today. “Was it really that bad, Annwyl?” His anger seemed to have dissipated. She wondered how he did that. Control his rage. She envied him the skill.
“Yes. It was.”
“But did you learn anything?”
Damn dragon with his bloody life lessons. “That’s beside the point.”
“Annwyl?”
“All right. Maybe a little.” He chuckled and Annwyl, without meaning to, smiled in response. “I’ve always been better than anyone I’ve ever fought.” Not that she had a choice. Her father knew teaching her to fight was the only way she would ever survive her childhood. Her brother had actively tried to kill her on more than one occasion and she had a tendency to say things that caused some men to want to see her dead. She guessed, though, that none of the men—including her father—expected her to be as good or as brutal a fighter as she turned out to be. “But your knight. He made me feel like I couldn’t fight off a ten year old boy.”
Fearghus sighed. “Give it time. He’s . . . uh . . . doing what I asked him to.” She didn’t want to give it time. Or give the knight a chance. She found him . . . disconcerting. And she didn’t like that feeling one bit. And she hated him for making her feel that way. She hated him a lot.
“You sure?”
“Positive.” He studied her. “All right?” She shrugged. “Annwyl. Answer me.” Gods, he could be commanding. He didn’t yell. He didn’t have to. And it had nothing to do with the size of him. It sent a delicious little shiver throughout her entire body.
Gods, Annwyl. Get control of yourself!
“Yes. All right.” She glared at him, even as her rage slipped away. “But I won’t be nice!”
The dragon looked her up and down. “I don’t think he’ll mind much.”
She rolled her eyes. “Probably not.” She stepped away from the dragon. “Men are disgusting.”
Fearghus couldn’t believe how angry she’d made him. He didn’t get angry. Annoyed? Definitely. Stern? Absolutely. But to lose his temper? He didn’t do that. Ever. Until her. And it didn’t help that when she was angry, she gave off that scent . . . a musk, maybe. Something that called to him. He’d smelled it before when, as the knight, he’d annoyed the hell out of her. He’d worked hard to ignore that smell. But this time he leaned in and enjoyed her scent. Let it pulsate through his veins. It gave him all sorts of visions. Things he could do to her. Things she could do to him. It didn’t help his resolve.
