Last Dragon Standing (45 page)

Izzy again dashed across the floor, her arms outstretched to catch the babes, but Ebba had no intention of letting them actually hit the floor. At least not until they were much sturdier.

Izzy’s hands slid under her cousins, but the toddlers hovered inches over them. And Ebba kept them there.

Shifting back to human, she sat on the edge of one of the small beds, adjusting Rhi so she was cradled in the crook of her arm, and said to Izzy, “I think this position will suit me well. Don’t you?” Her grin wide and quite beautiful, Izzy nodded. “Oh, yes, I think this position is
perfect
for you.”

Keita watched her baby brother closely. He’d come down to first meal and, without his usual greeting, sat at the full table and stared at the food sitting in front of him. He didn’t eat. He didn’t talk. He didn’t do anything but stare at his food.

Éibhear’s reaction was so strange that Keita even stopped glaring at 298

Ragnar over his reaction to Ebba. Considering she didn’t understand what this strange, new, and quite unpleasant feeling was, the fact that her brother could distract her from it said much.

First, thinking her brothers were behind Éibhear’s mood, Keita looked to them. But, as usual, they were oblivious. Then she looked to Morfyd, who watched their brother as Keita did. When Keita looked around the table, it was her sisters—those by blood and those by mating—who saw the difference in Éibhear the Blue. And, to her surprise, the Northlanders.

Ragnar caught her attention and motioned to Éibhear. She could only shrug, unsure of what was wrong or what she could do to fix it. Keita would admit it, she liked to fix things. Especially when it involved her baby brother. Yet she’d never seen him like this. Not once in almost a century.

“Morning, all!” Izzy said, tearing down the stairs. She stopped at the table long enough to grab a loaf of bread, glancing around. “Anyone seen my puppy?”

“If you got him from my kennel, brat, he’s not your anything,” Dagmar reminded their niece.

“Oops,” Izzy laughed. Then she gushed. “I love the new nanny! She’s a centaur!”

Keita ignored the pointed look she received from Ragnar.

“All right. I’m off to run up Flower Hill with Branwen.” Keita frowned and briefly re-focused her attention on her young niece.

“Whatever for?”

“Have you seen that hill?” she demanded. “Go up that thing a few times a day, I’ll have legs like iron.”

“You already have legs like iron.”

“All right. Steel then. Steel’s harder than iron, I think.”

“Come on, ya fat sow,” Branwen called from outside. “Move that shiftless ass!”

“
Fat?
” Izzy screamed back. Then she took off running, and Keita heard her cousin squeal in a very non dragonesslike manner before, Keita was sure, running for her life.

Giving a little giggle, Keita began to eat again, only to stop when she saw that her brother’s gaze was locked on the door through which Izzy had run out.

Now, of course, it was all making more sense. Had Izzy teased him?

Insulted him? What had Mistress Brat done
now
to Lord Sensitive?

As if in answer, and without a word, Éibhear pushed back from the table, stood, and walked out.

By now, her dim-witted elder brothers had caught on that something 299

was amiss, and as one group all at the table stood and silently followed. Izzy and Branwen had run off to the left toward Flower Hill. Éibhear, however, turned right. Together, and from a distance, the group followed her brother as he walked out the east exit and down the worn path leading to the lakes.

His pace was steady and calm, his body relaxed. But something was terribly wrong, and they all knew it. But it seemed no one knew what to do about it.

They followed him over the small hills and past several small lakes and a stream until he reached the big lake where most of the Cadwaladr Clan made their temporary and occasional home.

“Éibhear! Wonderful morning to you!” Ghleanna greeted him. She and Addolgar must have arrived that morning or the night before. They looked tired but happy to see their kin. But Ghleanna’s cheerful greeting received nothing more than a nod from Éibhear while he walked right by her. She blinked in surprise and watched her nephew pass all his kin, each stopping what he or she was doing to watch him.

He continued on, passing uncles, aunts, cousins, distant cousins, those related only by mating—he ignored them all. Until he reached Celyn.

“Ho, cousin!” Celyn called out, looking quite chipper this morning, and Keita cringed because she had the distinct feeling she knew why. “What brings you down to—”

Éibhear had him by the throat, lifting Celyn off his big feet. Gasping in horror, Morfyd reached for her brother, but Keita caught her left arm and Briec caught her right, holding her back. Good thing, too. For Éibhear pulled his arm back and shot-putted Celyn into the closest tree.

Keita cringed, hearing something break, but since Celyn managed to get back to his feet, she didn’t worry it was his head.

Celyn twisted his neck, the bones cracking. “Wanna do this now, cousin? You sure?”

Éibhear glanced at the ground, picked up one of the training shields that Keita’s kin used when in their dragon form and chucked it at Celyn with such force, it shoved her cousin’s human body through the tree he’d been standing next to.

“Guess he’s sure then,” Fearghus muttered.

Annwyl knew none of the dragons would get in the middle of this.

The Cadwaladrs wouldn’t because this was how they handled things. And Fearghus’s siblings wouldn’t because they knew this had to do with Izzy.

Did any of them, but especially Éibhear, really expect that girl to stay a virgin forever? They couldn’t compare Izzy to Annwyl. True, Fearghus 300

had been her one and her only, but that came more down to twenty-three years under her father’s protection and two years of her troops’ fear of her.

Had Fearghus made her wait worth it? Absolutely. Did that mean she would have waited if offered the chance with someone she truly liked before she’d met him? Probably not.

And Éibhear had made it perfectly clear he “didn’t think of Izzy like that.”

Perhaps not, but something told her that a beating from Izzy’s father wouldn’t be this bad and Briec was a mean bastard when it came to his women.

No. It looked like she’d have to do something about this on her own.

Still, as insane as Annwyl knew the world thought her, she wasn’t about to jump between two battling dragons. She might be insane, but she wasn’t stupid. True, both dragons seemed to be staying human for this fight, but that could change in a moment. And unless she was willing to fight to the death, she preferred strict rules of engagement when fighting her dragon kin. Otherwise she risked hurting something that even Morfyd couldn’t repair. And life staring out a window and drooling held no appeal to her. So Annwyl turned and ran the other way.

She hard-charged past the gates of her home, into the forest, past Dagmar’s little house, and straight through until she hit the western fields.

She kept going until she saw Flower Hill. She charged toward it and up. Izzy was right about this hill, too. Annwyl ran it every day, several times, until her legs were screaming in pain. But then every night Fearghus ran his hands over them, growled a little, and muttered something like, “Your legs drive me wild.”

Thank the gods for dragon males. She was relatively certain there were few human males who’d feel the same about their women.

“Oy!” She dashed past the females and stopped.

“Annwyl!” Izzy cheered. “Come to join us?”

“I think you forgot to tell me something.”

“I did?”

“About Celyn?”

Scowling, Izzy looked at Branwen.

“It wasn’t me!”

“It wasn’t Branwen,” Annwyl confirmed. “It was Éibhear.” Izzy’s eyes grew wide. “Wha-what? But he doesn’t know.”

“He’s telling everyone right now—”

“
What?
”

“—by beating the life from his cousin.”

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“Oh, gods.” Izzy’s hand went to her stomach. “Oh, gods!”

“Don’t just stand there!” Annwyl ordered. “Move!”

“How long have you known?” Briec asked his mate while keeping an eye on the damage his brother was doing to Celyn. Although Celyn had finally gotten back to his feet and was now putting up a fight.

“Since I saw them together when he arrived. They didn’t do anything,” she added. “But a mother knows.”

“And you said nothing to her?”

“Say what to her? I had her when I was sixteen. She’s nineteen, and as long as she’s careful—”

“You could have told me.”

Talaith smirked. “A beating is one thing, Lord Arrogance. Your family will forgive Éibhear that. Especially since the only ones who don’t seem to know how he feels about my eldest daughter are Éibhear and Izzy.

But a dead Celyn is something they’d never forgive you for.” And gods-dammit if she wasn’t right.

“I had no idea,” Ragnar admitted.

“Nor I.” Vigholf leaned back against a tree trunk, his arms crossed over his chest. “Who knew the boy had it in him?”

“I knew.” And the brothers looked over at their cousin. “I knew it was waiting there to be released.”

Blood slashed across Meinhard’s face, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. “He’s got a rage in him, that one. He just don’t know it yet.”

“He knows it now.”

“Nah. He has all sorts of excuses for this. But whatever set him off is only part of it.”

“Why didn’t we set him off earlier?” Vigholf asked. “We could have used
this
royal in a few battles to do more than clear trees.”

“Who would have taken that beating? Which of our kin would you have saddled with being beaten by Éibhear the Chivalrous? It’s better this way. A Southlander gets him started, and now, if he comes back with us, we can start to really hone that rage until he’s like a living, breathing weapon we can unleash at our whim.”

Ragnar tipped his head to his brother. “Told you the armies should report to Meinhard.”

“And report they shall.”

“You named him the Chivalrous?” Dagmar asked from behind them, 302

and all three males winced.

“Dagmar—”

“That was rather petty of you.” To those who did not know her, those words probably didn’t sound nearly as harsh as they actually were.

Her mate’s gaze moved back and forth among the Northland group.

“What’s wrong with chivalrous?”

“You get a name like that in the north, it just means you’re weak. Too nice to fight.” Dagmar shook her head. “And he has no idea, does he?”

“If it helps”—Ragnar watched Éibhear slam his cousin to the ground face first and hold him down with one hand, while twisting his arm around to his back until something broke—“I doubt he’ll be keeping that name much longer.”

Cursing, and with a broken arm, the cousin got Éibhear off him by slamming the back of his head into the Blue’s face. Then he faced him and got in a few good punches to Éibhear’s head, too, with his sound arm. But those hits only seemed to piss Éibhear off more. The blue dragon head-butted his cousin so hard that the sound cracked across the lake and everyone in earshot flinched. Then the royal caught hold of his cousin’s throat with one hand and began to pummel him in the face with the other.

What impressed Ragnar the most was that both managed to stay human during the whole thing. That was a skill even Ragnar didn’t think he had.

His ability to stay human often hinged on whether he felt like it or not.

He looked over and saw Keita watching. She cringed at every blow, winced at every hit. Although she wouldn’t get involved, she still didn’t like it.

Ragnar motioned to his brother and cousin. “We should stop this.”

“Why?” Vigholf asked. “Even their kin aren’t getting in the middle of it.”

“I know. That’s why we should stop it. We have no emotional stake in this.”

“No,” Meinhard said. “But I’m guessing she does.” Iseabail pushed past everyone in her way and briefly watched Éibhear and Celyn. At this point, the cousin’s face was nothing more than a bloody mess, but still Éibhear held him steady in one hand while he continued to hit his cousin over and over again. Not exactly chivalrous, now was it?

Then again, Ragnar had the feeling the cousin had stopped putting up a fight simply because Izzy was standing there.

Snarling, Izzy stomped over to them, yanking her arms from kin who tried to stop her. As she neared the two battling Fire Breathers, she grabbed up another training shield in both her hands.

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“Gods,” Vigholf said in awe, and Ragnar had to silently agree with him. A training shield might not be made of solid steel, but it was made for dragons who trained every day to be warriors. He remembered his first one and how tired his forearms got from holding it those first few months of training.

And yet here was this human—a female, no less—who swung that shield like she’d been born wielding one, somehow ignoring the fact that the shield was several inches taller than she and probably weighed the same. She swung it and slammed Éibhear’s side, knocking him off his feet and right into a few of his kin who stood nearby. For the first time, Ragnar realized exactly how little chance his father had had when he’d faced and died at the hands of this girl and her witch mother, Talaith.

Yet it was a tribute to the hardheadedness of these fire-breathing royals that Éibhear did nothing but rub the side of his head and scowl at Izzy as if she were one of the dark gods herself.

“You stupid bastard!” Izzy accused, throwing the shield down and making the ground shake just enough to have every dragon marveling at her.

“
Did you even think about who you were fucking?
” the Blue thundered at her.

“Oh, I thought about it,” she replied, venom dripping from every word. “I thought about it and
enjoyed
every second of it.”

“Damn,” Vigholf muttered at Izzy’s words. “You know that one had to hurt.”

Izzy reached down and, with the help of her cousin Branwen, pulled the battered cousin to his feet. With one arm around Izzy’s shoulders and the other held close to his body, Branwen pressing into him to give leverage, the dragon let them walk him back to the fortress. He was weak, losing a lot of blood, but he made sure to look back over his shoulder one last time so that he could give his cousin a blood-filled smile.