About a Dragon

He worked at untying the knots she created, but he could feel her eyes on him. Her words still startled him, though. “I like you on your knees, dragon.”

Briec dug in and decided not to look at her, instead concentrating on the knots before him.

“I don’t think you’re necessarily better looking on your knees,” she continued, “but I find you almost charming there.”

“Talaith, I need you to stop talking now.”

“Why? Am I shocking you?”

No. She wasn’t shocking him. But she was making him hard. From this position, he could do all sorts of things to her and with her. But he wasn’t about to take advantage of her while she was flying high on his father’s homemade liquor. He liked his women sober and willing. Not passing out in the middle of it or, even worse, throwing up on him. Besides, hadn’t she done enough of that already?

“Don’t you want to f**k me, dragon?”

He dropped his head on her still-clothed chest. “Where did a nice witch like you learn words like that?”

“Did you forget? Peasant village. I know all sorts of words after living with those people. Want me to list them?”

“No!” He cleared his throat. “No,” he said more calmly. “Just stay quiet…or pass out. Anything that will stop you from talking.”

She stopped speaking.

Then she started again. “Does your dragon c**k have scales?”

“That’s it.” He took firm hold of her bodice and ripped it in half. He pulled the dress down, practically flipping her off the bed in his desperation to get it off her. Once done, he tossed the ruined dress into the pitfire.

“Look!” She stood on the bed, arms over her head. “I’m naked!”

He grabbed Talaith to him—ignoring how good her warm flesh felt against his—and lifted her up off her feet with one arm. With the other, he dragged the fur covers back and dropped her onto the bed. He covered up her luscious body as quickly as he could manage.

“Go to sleep, woman.”

He turned and walked several steps away. Stopped. Turned. And walked returned to her. She looked up at him and smiled.

“Big bastard,” she giggled.

“Annoying harpie,” he growled back. Then he leaned down and kissed her mouth hard. She moaned and her hands dug into his hair, clinging to him.

Unfortunately, he had to stop. He had to. Or he’d be inside her in seconds.

“I want you sleeping in the next two minutes,” he ordered.

“Or what?”

He bared fangs, two long ones in the front. He hated doing it, mostly because they tore up his lip due to their size. But the crazy witch made him absolutely insane.

She shrunk away from him. “All right. All right. No need to get mean.”

Moving toward the exit as fast as the erection pushing against his breeches would allow, he said, “Sadly, little witch, you seem to understand nothing else.”

But by then, he could already hear her light snoring.

Chapter Eight

For three straight days, the storms raged. Ice-cold rain beating down, brutal winds blowing, plus powerful lightning ensured Talaith wouldn’t leave the dragon’s cave.

And after her first thwarted escape and drunken escapade—did I really stand on the bed and say “I’m naked”?—Briec wouldn’t let her out of his sight. So for three solid days she’d been stuck with him and his kin. Although, she did have to admit it had definitely been an interesting three days trapped in a cave with three related dragons who seemed hell-bent on torturing each other.

She thought for sure Gwenvael would never forgive her for what she did to him. But he healed fast enough and didn’t seem to care, especially when irritating the living hell out of his brother clearly took precedence.

As soon as he realized merely being close to Talaith annoyed Briec, the gold dragon went out of his way to not only forgive Talaith, but to show her as much affection as he could manage.

It seemed Gwenvael enjoyed lounging around or on her. Of course, all this closeness only seemed to happen when Briec was in the vicinity. Gwenvael would stretch out beside her, sometimes human and sometimes dragon. As human, Gwenvael would lay his handsome head in her lap, ignoring the fact she would be in the middle of reading something. As dragon, he’d lay his snout. Either way, when Briec found him it always turned ugly. She’d gotten to the point that as long as stones didn’t drop from the ceiling onto her head, she didn’t worry.

As for Éibhear, he couldn’t seem to do enough for her. He made sure she ate well, had warm clothes, clean bedding, and books to read. He had to be the kindest being she’d ever known. Plus, very funny and very smart. She’d begun to call him Éibhear the Diplomat. He was the only one who could calm his brothers when they went into one of their arguments. He seemed to like everything and everyone peaceful.

Still, he did have his occasional mood changes, but he never directed those her way. His brothers received the brunt and they didn’t seem to notice. Gwenvael finally told her that, among his kind, Éibhear was young. “Not yet a hundred,” Gwenvael would tease, knowing to a human—even a Nolwenn witch with their long lives—that sounded strange. In a few more years Éibhear would finally grow into his true dragon self. She already mourned the loss of the sweet, endearing bear of a dragon who loved to make her laugh.

And then there was Briec.

After her little escape attempt and their kiss, he circled around her like a bird of prey. If his brothers got too close, he was there to move them. If she got lost in the enormous caverns and tunnels of Gwenvael’s home—which, unfortunately, happened more than once—he’d find her and lead her back.