Dragon Actually (17 page)

“What if she’s still healing? She’ll be no use to us if she can’t fight.”

Brastias walked out of the tent, Danelin beside him. “I want the men prepared and ready. When Lorcan moves, I don’t want us surprised. By anything.”

“I understand.”

The two men stepped aside as a woman pushed past them heading to Annwyl’s tent.

Brastias stopped. “Was that . . . ?”

“I . . . think so.”

Brastias and Danelin followed. They found Annwyl just as she threw a chair across the room.

“Lying, conniving, toe-rag!”

Danelin gave Brastias a look, turned, and ran.

“Annwyl?”

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.

He rubbed his knee and looked at her. “I need you to calm down so we can talk about this.”

“I hate you.”

He stood to his full height, already recovered from the blow. Clearly he wasn’t that easy to kill as human. Any other man would be nursing a shattered knee from that practiced kick.

“Can’t you give me a chance?”

“No.” He seemed startled by that.

“Can’t you even try?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me you feel nothing for me?”

“I felt for the dragon who rescued me. Took care of me.”

“And the man?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what I felt for him . . . you . . . whatever.”

For the first time, she was lying. She knew exactly what her feelings for the man were. Lust. Pure, simple, and quite exquisite. But she couldn’t tell him that. She could never admit that to him now. Even as she had to cross her arms in front of her chest to hide her hardening nipples or that damn distracting pulse coming from between her thighs. No, she could never admit any of that to him.

But when she glanced up at him, she realized he already knew. Just by the expression on his handsome face.

Fearghus moved to her again so that he stood in front of her.
Brave man
, she thought with intense bitterness. He looked down at her, then lowered his head until his forehead rested against hers. He didn’t try to kiss or grab her. He simply rested against her. And it felt wonderful.

She stood stock still, wondering exactly what he was up to until she heard him whisper, “I’m so sorry, Annwyl. Please. Please forgive me.”

No. He wouldn’t get out of this with a simple apology. Not in a million years. Even with an apology as sweet and heartfelt as that.

“There is nothing you can ever say or do that will make me forgive you,” she whispered back.

He pulled away from her and stared. She wondered what he was thinking, but she wasn’t expecting the grin that spread across his face.

“Was that a challenge, Lady Annwyl?”

Her face grew hot as she pushed away from him. “It was most certainly not!” She scrambled away from him, scooting around the table. He stood on the other side, his hands resting against the hard wood.

“It sounded like a challenge.”

“It was
not
a challenge, but a statement of fact. I will never forgive you.”

“Challenge.”

“Stop saying that!” She tried to look away from him, but she kept seeing his gloriously naked body. But when she looked up into his eyes, she kept seeing him. His soul. Staring at her.

She moved around the table again and he slowly followed, every muscle moving, anticipating the chase.

He looked at her and she found herself marveling at how long those black lashes of his were.

“I bet I can
make you
forgive me.”

Damn him to hell
. She hated him. She hated him with every fiber of her being. But her damn treacherous body responded like never before. She kept forcing herself to move away from him, but it became harder and harder. Especially when all her body wanted to do was climb onto the wood table that separated them and let him climb onto her.

“I’m not going to do this.” She cringed. That probably would have sounded a lot more convincing if she weren’t panting when she said it.

“Do what?”

“Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“You know most men try not to get me this angry.”

He stopped, his dark eyes burning into her very soul. “I’m not most men. I’m not a man at all.”

And that’s when Annwyl charged for the tent opening, but he caught hold of her before she could even get within arm’s length of it.

He pulled her to him, her back against his chest. He snatched the sword from her hand and tossed it across the tent. He leaned in close to her ear, while the hand on her waist skimmed under her shirt. “Forgive me, Annwyl.”

“No.”

His free hand pulled her long hair out of the way. His fingers brushing against the skin of her throat, causing her entire body to shudder. Her damn treacherous body. Then his hot mouth was on her neck, his tongue running along the side. The hand under her shirt went right for her bindings, gliding under them, pushing them out of the way.

It felt like her head and her body were completely separate. Her head kept screaming at her to pull away. Telling her to make him stop. While her body ignored her head. Instead, her body did things like reach her arms back so she could dig her fingers into his hair, while also stretching the entire length of her taut so his fingers against her swollen breasts would feel that much more wonderful. She hated her body. Hated its weakness. Clearly her body only thought about her immediate pleasure and not what this would all mean later. No, only her poor head thought about that.

He gripped her nipples with both of his large hands as he gently bit the flesh at her throat. He let the bite get a little harder, and Annwyl realized with horror that she rewarded his actions with a moan.

“Forgive me, Annwyl,” he said again, his voice a dark, husky whisper in her ear.

She knew she should just say it and get it over with. But she wanted him to make her say it, and he had a way to go before that happened.

“Never.”

No female had ever made him feel this way. Dragon or human. But Annwyl stood apart from the others. She wasn’t dragon. She wasn’t human. She was something more. She was his.

He pulled the shirt off her body and tore the bindings from her back. He turned her around, his gaze immediately falling on those breasts that he so loved. He gripped her close, leaning his head down, sucking a nipple into his mouth.

She moaned and leaned back, both her hands in his hair. He ran his tongue over the already hard nipple again and again, teasing it. Teasing her. Her grip on his hair tightened.

“Say it, Annwyl,” he demanded against her hot flesh. “Say you forgive me.”

“No.”

He slammed her against the wood table and ripped the breeches from her body. She let out a startled, hungry gasp and he leaned into her, running his tongue up her neck until he reached her mouth. He swiped his tongue along her full bottom lip. She leaned up, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss. Her tongue sliding along his teeth, gliding along the inside of his mouth.

He ran his hand down her body and between her legs. Her head fell back as he slipped his finger inside of her, slowly moving in and out.

“Tell me, woman.”

“Go to hell.”

He jerked back startled. She stared up at him, her eyes full of lust and challenge.

“Want it that way, do you?”

He pinned her to the table with his body while his eyes wandered around the room. As the leader of the rebellion she received the best of what they could manage. That meant she had an actual bed. Made of a solid wood frame, it wasn’t very large, but long enough to suit her height. It would do quite nicely.

In seconds, he caught sight of what he needed lying on the floor, conveniently beside the bed.

“Come on then.”

He gripped her wrists in one hand, stepped back, and pulled her up.

She watched him with wary eyes as he dragged her to the bed. But when he reached down and snatched up a good length of rope that someone had been practicing knots on, she burst into laughter and began to fight at the same time.

“Not on your life, dragon!”

“You started this.”

“No I did not!”

He leered at her as he held her tight. Ignoring her struggles, he hauled her to the bed and threw her face down on the fur coverings. His knee, well placed, held her down.

“You bastard! Let me go!”

“No.” He mimicked her recent simple delivery as he took her wrists, bound them securely with the rope, and tied the end of the rope to the wood frame.

“Fearghus, let me go! Now!”

He ignored her, instead crouching by the bed and running his hand along the entire length of her body. She closed her eyes and gave a shuddering moan.