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Authors: G.A. Aiken

BOOK: The Dragon Who Loved Me
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“What was that for?” she demanded, pulling herself out of the river.
“Because,” Vigholf answered for both him and the mare, “sometimes you ain’t half a dimwitted twit.”
“Me?” she nearly screeched. “Me?
I’m
the dimwitted twit, O Great Feeder of the Horses?”
“I was trying to
bond
!”
“Well, bloody good job you’re doing with that.” Rhona held her arms out at her sides. “Look at me! It’ll take forever for my clothes to dry. Arrrgh!” She glared at him. “I should set you on fire!”
“I wasn’t the one who pushed you in. Although I
wanted
to.”
“Oh, really? Well, I’d like to see you try.”
And, with a shrug, Vigholf shoved Rhona back into the river. He took great satisfaction in hearing that splash.
The mare, shaking her head, walked back to the stallion.
“She dared me,” he argued, holding his hand out for Rhona to grasp so he could help her out of the river. “I couldn’t ignore a dare.”
Then again, he couldn’t ignore that fist to the jaw either. And gods-dammit that female had a mighty right hook!
“You’re just lucky,” Rhona told him as she got out of the river by herself, “that I respect your brother too much to bring him back your corpse!”
Vigholf rubbed his jaw. “The punch was unnecessary,” he muttered.
“Shut up.” She walked around him. “Just . . . shut up.”
“We’re not done talking, Rhona,” he said to her back.
“What else is there to talk about? You’re an insane Lightning and that mare has no bloody loyalty. All seems clear to me.”
Fed up, frustrated, and out of ideas, Vigholf just admitted the truth.
“I want you, Rhona.”
She stripped off her soaking-wet fur cape and put it over a low-hanging branch near her bedroll. “You want me to do what?”
At that point, Vigholf was at a loss. He raised his hands in defeat, his mouth open as he gawked at her.
When he didn’t reply to her stupid question, Rhona looked at him. “Why are you staring at me like . . .” She blinked. Twice. “Oh. You mean . . .” Her eyes widened. “Oh!” Narrowed. “Oh.” Shook her head, appearing a bit disgusted. “Oh.” Then she smiled a bit. “Oh.” Then she sort of slumped and sighed. “Oh.”
“What was all that?” he demanded.
“It means I’ll not settle.”
Vigholf felt rage suddenly explode through his veins. She’d said something like that before, and he hadn’t much liked it then either. “And with me you’d be settling?” he bit out between clenched teeth.
“Well, we’d both be settling, wouldn’t we?”
“What?”
“No need to bellow. But it’s plain, yeah? I’m here. I’m unattached.” She pointed at her crotch. “I’ve got a pus—”
“Yes,” Vigholf cut in. “I’m well aware of what you have.”
“That’s it then. You have needs. I understand that. But I’ll not let some dragon fuck me because I happen to be here. Get yourself a barmaid.”
“Is that what you think?” Vigholf asked her. “That I only want you because you’re here?”
“You expect me to believe a Northlander would be seriously interested in one of us?”
“Us? You mean a Southland female? The ones you constantly accuse us of stealing?”
“No. I mean us. The scarred-up, less-than-reputable, drink-too-much, curse-too-often Cadwaladr females. The ones you lot
never
steal.”
“We did once. And do you know what happened?” Vigholf asked her. “While one of your bloody aunts was removing the lungs from her captors, your Uncle Bercelak was kidnapping and dismembering the eldest sons of all the Horde leaders . . . until she was returned. Soooo, stealing Cadwaladr females. Not something we do anymore.”
“Oh.” Rhona rubbed her nose, and he knew she was trying not to laugh. “Right. Heard about that. That was my Aunt—”
“Don’t care,” he admitted. “But if you want to know why my kin were specifically
not
giving
you
a second glance—that was because I told them not to.”
“You . . . you told them not to?”
“
Strongly
told them not to. With great force.”
 
 
Rhona shook her head, confused. “What does that mean?”
“It means I told them to stay away from what was mine.”
Wait . . . what?
“Yours?”
“Mine. I told them that if they wanted to keep their eyes in their heads and scales on their backs—they’d stay as far away from you as possible.”
“But—”
He started walking toward her. “And, as my kind often does, my younger brother tried to test me. Kept looking at you. Growling inappropriately.”
“How does one growl inappropriate—”
“Lusting after what was mine.”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you—”
“So I cracked his bloody head open with my hammer.”
Rhona froze and focused on the seething male before her. “You did what?”
“He survived. His head was kind of flat anyway.”
“He’s your brother!” she yelled.
“Then he shouldn’t have looked!” Vigholf yelled back at her.
Disgusted, she turned from him and returned to her bedroll. “You’re worse than Éibhear and Celyn!”
“I am not,” he shot back, insulted. “Unlike that Blue baby, I made it clear from the very beginning I had interest in you. The fact that my brother chose to ignore that was his own damn mistake.”
“Oh, well, I guess that makes it all right then.”
“As far as Northlanders are concerned, it does.” He followed her. “You might as well accept that I knew what my intentions toward you were from the very beginning. And the fact that you’re a Cadwaladr was simply my burden to bear.”
“Your burden to . . .” No. Best not get into that or she’d hit him again. So Rhona took a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest. “And when exactly was the beginning of this great want? An hour or so? Two? When you kissed me this morning?”
“No. Since that night you got drunk with your cousins at Garbhán Isle.”
Rolling her eyes, Rhona reminded him, “That happened . . . what? Two
days
ago?”
“Not that time. The other time. When me, Ragnar, and Meinhard brought Éibhear and Keita back from the Northlands and Outer Plains.”
Frowning, “What the hells are you talking about?”
“I was sitting up one night, staring out the window . . . missing my damn hair.” And gods, the glare she got when she laughed. “When I saw all these dragons flying low—all of you for some reason wearing eye patches—when you suddenly dropped Keita like a sack of grain.” Rhona winced at the memory. Although it was more about those ridiculous homemade eye patches than dropping Keita, but that involved a long explanation she wasn’t about to get into.
“The others went up and over the building, but you . . . you flew right into the wall by my window. Damaged the stone with that hard head of yours.”
“Oy!”
“But all I could think was, ‘Look at the tail on that one.’ You know why? Because that was
my
tail. And since you seem to be the only one completely oblivious to that—even after that damn kiss—let me make it clear for you . . .” He stood right in front of her and yelled, “
My tail!
”
 
 
Rhona let out a breath and stepped away from him, turning her back.
Vigholf gritted his teeth, now angry with himself rather than her. This hadn’t been how he’d planned things. But the female was just so damn frustrating and confusing he had no idea where she was coming from or going!
For instance who knew she’d slam him in the knee with the butt of her gods-damn spear, forcing him down? Then who knew she’d press the tip of that spear to his throat? But that’s exactly what she did.
Vigholf gazed up at her, staring at the pretty face with the small scar on her cheek.
“All right,” he said, trying not to move. “I’m a prat. That don’t change how I feel, Rhona.”
“Good. That makes this a bit easier then, don’t it?”
Then she leaned down and kissed him—making Vigholf even
more
confused!
Chapter 19
 
All this would have been so much easier if Vigholf had been just a tad clearer. Complaining about her spear and calling her Babysitter were
not
acceptable ways to show interest. At least not for Rhona.
Because Rhona was not a subtle female and she didn’t know how to read subtle either. How to understand it. She was a straightforward dragoness, and she expected that straightforwardness returned in kind.
And once she was clear on his intentions, understood them, well, then . . . the rest was quite easy. At least for her.
So Rhona kissed him. Hard. Her tongue sliding into his mouth, tasting and teasing, her lips desperately pressed to his, surprising herself with the intensity of it all. But there really was something about this dragon that she very much liked. Perhaps more than she was willing to admit. But now, out here, far away from wars and battles and troops and kin and all the other distractions that could ruin a day, all Rhona had to worry about, to
think
about—for once—was her and Vigholf.
And truly, it was the best feeling ever.
 
 
Vigholf never expected her to kiss him. And her kiss was desperate, demanding, which was exactly how Vigholf felt. How he’d been feeling since a tumble of brown wings, hair, and talons had slammed into the castle wall beside his room, damaging the brick and stone and his equilibrium.
Her tongue invaded his mouth and her hands pulled at his clothes. This wasn’t what Vigholf had expected when he’d stood there staring at her ten minutes ago. Maybe another kiss he’d hoped for. A kiss that perhaps she’d return this time. One that she actually responded to. But this . . . this was even better. And completely surprising. Especially since this was not how things were done in the north. In the north it was kissing first, fucking later. Sometimes much later. The females of their Hordes were so protected that for them to have more than one or two lovers before their Claiming was rare. For many of the males it meant finding human pets to entertain them until they found the She-dragon they would mate with for life. But the courting process was relatively simple with actual physical contact not made until commitments had been sworn to. Even then, if there was more than one male interested—and often there was—then an event referred to as The Honour would take place. A battle until the death—or at least till a single dragon had beaten all the others into unconsciousness—so that the final dragon could claim the prize. Although since the death of Vigholf’s father, The Honour rarely took place these days among the Olgeirsson Horde.
Still, all these were long and complex steps that one must take to secure themselves a dragoness. An average, everyday, run-of-the-mill dragoness.
Then the Cadwaladr females had come along and that all seemed to change. Since taking their place beside the Northlanders to fight the Irons, the Clan females had been known to fuck whom they liked, when they liked. After a particularly rousing battle, a Cadwaladr female might simply grab the tail of some unsuspecting Northland male and drag him off to a quiet alcove somewhere. None of this the Northland males minded in the least. But it was what happened afterward that they did not favor.
For once done with males, the She-dragons wanted nothing more to do with them. Although, if the male made a good impression, she may tell her kin and the male may find himself busy nearly every night between battles. Which would be fine . . . if the Horde males didn’t have a tendency to get attached to females. Nothing was worse for them than to get lost in the scales of a female, only to find out the next morning the She-dragon wouldn’t even talk to him. Sometimes wouldn’t even acknowledge him. And gods forbid a male got a little pushy. A little demanding. The She-dragons, Vigholf had quickly learned, watched out for each other. A dragon became a little too pushy or demanding and he’d find himself on the wrong side of a Cadwaladr She-dragon attack. A “Tea and Kick Party” they all affectionately called it. It was never pretty and it was hard for the male to ever get his reputation back among his own kin.
Vigholf had seen Rhona dish out quite a few of those attacks in the name of one of her cousins or sisters. She didn’t like pushy males, which was why Vigholf had never been pushy. Or at least not very pushy. Not
extremely
pushy, anyway. Just . . . sort of pushy. But only to keep Rhona safe.
The question for Vigholf, though, was what did he do now, with Rhona in his arms, her human body pressed into his? Did he hold off, wait to see if what she was feeling went beyond the mere physical?
Or perhaps he should shut up and let her grip his cock the way she was doing now.
Vigholf closed his eyes, let out a breath while Rhona kissed a line across his jaw until she stopped and pressed her forehead against it.
Yes, all good intentions would have to wait. At least for a little while.
 
 
His eyes closed, his breathing shallow, Vigholf’s whole body tensed when she gripped his cock. All those muscles going rigid. Taut, as if just one thing, one touch, one move would have him snapping like a tightly coiled line.
Rhona squeezed and air rushed out of him. Then his hands were on her, lifting her up, turning, and shoving her back into the closest tree. He pinned her there with his body, his mouth searching out hers and finding it.
Rhona returned his kiss, enjoying that desperation she’d never seen from him before. Because he was a Northland warrior dragon, desperation was the last thing one ever saw from Vigholf the Abhorrent. Unless, of course, it was the desperation to kill you. Never a good situation to be in.
And yet, even with his desperation, she could tell he was holding back. Afraid of what? Scaring her off? She had no desire to stop him from what he was doing, to push him away as she’d been doing for the last five years when she’d just thought he was being a pest. An annoying pest who had an unhealthy obsession with her spear. But that was yesterday, last week, last month. And this was now.
Knowing and understanding Vigholf’s strength of will, Rhona knew she had to make what she wanted clear to the dragon. Yet she’d never been one for a lot of words. Especially during fucking. So she gripped his hand—marveling at the size of the fingers tangling with her own—and led that hand under her leggings and between her thighs. She pressed his fingers against her and released him, leaving the rest to him. Praying he wasn’t as oblivious as some of his kin could be. As sometimes he could be—especially when it came to horses.
His hand relaxed and for a moment she thought he was going to pull away. But his fingers curled, teasing, gently scraping, and then he pressed his middle finger against her clit, making small circles against it.
With her legs wrapped around Vigholf and his other arm holding her up, Rhona was free to grip the tree behind her. She dug her fingers into the bark while Vigholf stroked her. Making her wet and squirm. He took her mouth again, silencing what had become persistent whimpers. When she moved her hands from the tree and wrapped her arms around his neck, he pressed hard against her clit, still making those damn little circles.
She ended up screaming into their kiss, her legs tightening around him, and her body shaking as Vigholf made her come with those ridiculously large fingers of his.
Before she even finished, her leggings were torn from her and before she could say a word, think about anything but how long it had been since she’d come like that, she felt his cock pressing against her, then in her.
She gasped, her arms tightening around his neck. Never before could she remember being so grateful to have a cock inside her, ramming its way through still-pulsating-and-grasping muscle. The entire time he never stopped kissing her. That demanding, desperate, and oddly sweet kiss that had her knees shaking.
His hands slid under her now bare ass and gripped her tight, holding her steady while he dragged his cock slowly out of her, both of them groaning at the feel of it.
Then Vigholf was plunging back in, Rhona unable to stop the little squeal that came out from him filling her up, nearly stretching her out. Gods, was it her imagination or had a cock never felt so good before? It was true, it had been a while, but the gods be damned, this felt so good.
And Vigholf’s inordinately large body keeping her pinned to that blasted tree . . . aye, that felt
really
good too.
 
 
She held him so tight with her arms and legs and yet that was nothing when compared to the viselike grip she had on his cock. Did she train her muscles to do that? Whether she did or didn’t, he knew he’d been right. This tail belonged to him. But how he would keep the one making his eyes cross and his knees weak was a thought for another day. Right now, right here—he had all he needed. Rhona in his arms, her hot wet pussy wrapped around his cock, and her breath in his ear as she panted and made this delightful little squeal every time he thrust into her. Gods of fire and death, he could listen to that sound until the end of time.
But when she squeaked rather than squealed, he knew she was about to come. Her arms and legs tightening even more, her body shaking and twisting in his arms. He sought out her mouth again, pressed his tongue inside and licked and sucked his way to paradise. He finally came when she squeaked one more time, the sound dragging him over the edge. And he was glad that she was right there with him. Unable to imagine anyone else but Rhona ever being there again.
He leaned his head back and found her peering at him, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. He nearly laughed, realizing that they’d been so busy ripping at each other’s clothes, they didn’t even think about or discuss whether to shift back. But that was something they could save for another time since he enjoyed taking her as human so much.
Rhona took in a breath, about to say something when that large and round fruit slammed into the back of Vigholf’s head, turning Rhona’s words into a fit of laughter.
Vigholf glared over his shoulder at the stallion standing a few feet away.
“Jealous bastard,” he sneered before he had to drop both him and Rhona to the ground, another piece of fruit winging its way right toward them.

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