How to Drive a Dragon Crazy

“That’s what I thought.” He unbuckled the leather straps holding on her steel breast plate. “You’ll need another one of these before you return to combat.”

“Well—”

“I’ll take care of it. Marcus still refuses to deal with you.”

“For a burly blacksmith, he’s awfully sensitive.”

Sighing in disgust, Sam added, “And someone will need to sew up that arm. I’ll get the healer.” He headed to the exit but stopped before walking out and glared at Izzy. “Don’t move until I return.”

Of course, when he turned his back, Izzy began to shimmy, stopping when he looked at her over his shoulder.

She could see him trying not to laugh and she winked at him before he walked out to get her fresh armor.

Stretching her tired shoulders, Izzy first poured herself a mug of water to drink, then another to pour over her bleeding arm. It hurt, and she was becoming concerned about the amount of blood she seemed to be losing, but then she decided that instead of worrying about that, she would pour herself a mug of ale. Perhaps the ale would help the wound.

With drink in hand, she headed toward her favorite chair, her mind already plotting her next moves to finish off the ogres in this region while simultaneously attempting to force out the image of one big, blue, idiot dragon flat on his back and looking gods-damn delicious.

The bastard. What was he doing here anyway? After ten years of never seeing him, he suddenly appeared. Back in her life. How bloody annoying!

She turned, about to drop into her chair when she abruptly realized she was no longer in her tent. In fact, she could be wrong, but she felt relatively certain she was no longer in her world but rather in the most beautiful glen she’d ever seen. But she wasn’t alone.

“Hello, little Izzy.”

Slowly, Izzy turned and faced what was behind her. And what was behind her was a god. A dragon god, specifically. With black scales, twelve horns on his massive head, and long black hair streaked with every color in the dragon pantheon. She wished she could say he was an ugly demon from the underworld, but he was, as always, beautiful.

“Your arm,” he noted, pointing a talon at her wound. “You’re losing much blood.” When she didn’t say anything, he drew his talon down her arm and she knew immediately that he’d healed her.

“Better?” he asked. When she didn’t respond to that either—“Izzy? Have you nothing to say to me?”

Did she have anything to say to him? Well, since he’d asked . . .

“Where is she?” Éibhear asked his cousin and, in answer, Branwen crossed her arms over her chest, pursed her lips, and snorted.

“I want an answer, cousin.”

“And I want a longer tail, but we can’t always get what we want, now can we?”

Éibhear’s eyes narrowed. His cousin had passed the Trials three years ago, officially making her one of the elite Dragonwarriors. And since then, it seemed, she’d become quite the snobby cow.

“Maybe you’d like me and my mates to tear your human camp apart until I find her?” Éibhear asked. “Because you know I will.”

“Your mates,” she sneered. “The Mì-runach.”

“The tone seems unnecessary,” Aidan joked.

“Shut up, royal.”

“Éibhear’s a royal, too.”

“He’s kin so I overlook the flaw.”

“I’m not a royal.” They all looked at Uther and he shrugged. “Well . . . I’m not.”

Brannie sighed and focused back on Éibhear. “What are you doing here, Éibhear?”

“That’s for me to discuss with Izzy.”

Brannie’s pursed lips returned, one foot tapping. Knowing how stubborn the females in his family could be, Éibhear grabbed one of the human soldiers by the throat, ignoring the man’s panicked scream, and held him up in front of his cousin’s face.

She snorted. “If Izzy wants to see you—”

Éibhear tightened his grip and the soldier began kicking and trying to pry Éibhear’s fingers off his throat.

Disgusted, Brannie snarled, “You have become such a mean bastard.”

“Izzy. Now. Take me to her.”

“Put him down first.”

Éibhear flung the soldier away and gestured for his cousin to move. She did, but not before tossing over her shoulder, “You’ve become just like your father!”

He stared after Brannie. “Well, that was just mean.”

“And then,” Izzy went on while pacing in front of the god, “you not only impregnated Annwyl against her will, but you also deserted her when she needed you most!”

By now Rhydderch Hael had rolled to his back, his gaze up at the big sky, annoyed sighs echoing throughout the world he’d dragged her to.

“I mean, who does that?” she demanded. “And then you planned to take Annwyl’s twins away from her rather than bringing Annwyl back from the dead, which we both know you could have done, but when my dear sweet Aunt Dagmar pissed you off, you tossed her and the children into a pit with Minotaurs!”

“You know, Izzy, my memory’s excellent. I remember all—”

She pointed a finger at him. “You wanted me to talk . . . so I’m talking!” She began to pace again and continued, “And then . . .”

Éibhear followed Brannie into a tent, but he took one look around and raised his arms. “Where the hells is she?”