About a Dragon

Gwenvael stared down at the sight for several long seconds and then, unable to stop himself, he burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it.

This? This was The Beast? Terrifying scourge of the Northlands? Battle Lord and Destroyer? This?

“Something amuses you, dragon?”

Round pieces of glass held between a wire frame rested upon The Beast’s small nose and cold grey eyes stared at him. The pieces of glass slipped down a bit only to be pushed back by a well-placed finger.

“You?” Gwenvael managed between bouts of laughter. “You are The Beast?”

“That is what they call me.”

Gwenvael stared down at the tiny woman before him. Smaller than even Briec’s Talaith, there was nothing about this female that said warrior or assassin or witch or anything of any threat whatsoever. She wore a painfully plain, long-sleeved grey dress and fur boots. She had a small eating dagger attached to the girdle on her hips and waist-length brown hair tied into a plait.

The woman couldn’t be more plain or boring or uninteresting if she actually put effort into it. And Gwenvael couldn’t help it but he laughed harder. So hard he finally laid out on his back and rolled around for a bit, his dragon limbs flailing.

For months he’d heard about this female as a male and he didn’t half expect another Hamish or Annwyl’s brother, Lorcan. Or, at the very least, his mother.

Something dangerous and blood-covered. This woman looked like she never left the library.

After several minutes, Gwenvael somehow got himself under control. He stopped laughing but didn’t get back up because she stood right beside him. That impressed him. Most humans went out of their way to avoid him when he was in dragonform.

She stared down at him with those cold grey eyes made larger by the glass over each one. He did find those interesting. He’d never seen anything like that before. He wondered why she wore them.

“Are you done?” she asked coldly.

“Sorry, uh…Beast.” He snorted out another laugh, but choked it back.

“Dagmar will do. Dagmar Reinholdt. Thirteenth child of The Reinholdt and his only female.”

Northerners mostly breeded males, often forced to steal their females from the south. Even the lightning dragons mostly hatched males. It was as if the land was too cold and desolate for females to be born here.

“I asked your queen here because I have news that may save her life and the lives of her unborn whelps.”

Gwenvael frowned, not appreciating anyone referring to his brother’s little bastards as “whelps”.

“Tell me, sweet Dagmar,” he mocked. “And I’ll tell her.”

The female blinked. Once. “No.”

Gwenvael pushed himself up a bit so that his snout was barely inches from her nose. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, you’ve insulted me. You’ve insulted my kin. And you’ve insulted The Reinholdt. So you can return to your bitch queen and you can watch her die.”

With that, Dagmar Reinholdt turned on her heel and walked away from him. She stopped after a few feet, glancing at him over her shoulder, and said, “Now that, dragon…that’s funny.”

She walked back into the fortress and the soldiers closed rank. Gwenvael scrambled to his feet and stared at Sigmar Reinholdt, but the no-neck clan leader only shook his head.

“You are a bit of a dumb bastard, aren’t ya, dragon?” he said without a bit of pity. “We don’ call her The Beast cause we’re bored, ya know? She’ll tell ya nothin’ now.”

With a resigned sigh, the man followed after his daughter and his sons followed after him.

The soldiers closed up ranks with their weapons drawn. They now blocked the gates and Gwenvael knew they’d never willingly let him enter.

Not sure what else to do, Gwenvael took to the skies, his mind racing. He couldn’t go back to Dark Plains and his kin with, “I pissed her off so much she wouldn’t tell me anything.” Fearghus would have his ass for supper. Not only that, but he wouldn’t allow anyone to harm Annwyl or her children. No matter what they might or might not be, they were still his kin and he’d protect the little bastards like he would any of his siblings’ hatchlings.

Unfortunately, he had only one option. He’d wait until dark and then snatch the little bitch from the fortress. She was female after all, and if there was one thing Gwenvael the Handsome knew how to do—it was how to handle a female.

Gwenvael grinned, his fangs showing as he headed for the safety of the mountains and nightfall. A few hours with him and he’d have The Beast begging to tell him what she knew—and then he’d just have her begging.