How to Drive a Dragon Crazy

“I’m with you until this is over, Princess.”

“It’s General, you big bastard.”

“Calling me mean names will not change anything either.”

“I should just slit your throat and be done with it.”

“But then I’ll shift back to dragon and ruin your bed.”

Her eyes crossed and she turned from him just as the tent flap was pulled back. One of her soldiers walked in, but he stopped when he saw Éibhear lounging there.

“Should I come back?” he asked.

“Only if you want to lose a body part.” She glanced at the human. “Did you find Dai?”

“He was with Macsen, as you said.”

She faced the man. “Where’s Macsen?”

“Outside.”

“Let him in.”

The man glanced at Éibhear and back at Izzy. “Are you sure?”

She shrugged, headed back to her desk. “It’s his tent too.”

“Macsen,” the soldier called out. “Macsen!”

Izzy had a man? It couldn’t be a husband. That, he was sure, his kin would have told him. But a man she lived with? Another soldier? Well . . . good for her. She should have a mate. Someone she felt close to and could rely on. Aye. That was a very good thing indeed. Because he was sure that Izzy would pick someone loyal and worthy of her.

Éibhear again placed both hands behind his head and waited for this “worthy male” to enter, but he only had a moment to hear extreme, heavy panting before something large and furry charged through the tent flap and launched itself directly at Éibhear’s face.

Izzy watched the animal she’d found bloody and dying three years ago crash chest first onto Éibhear the Blue’s face.

Macsen was not a trained battle dog. He was definitely not one of Dagmar’s carefully bred canines. Instead, Izzy had found him after a battle. He’d been only a puppy, his battered body curled into the hollow of a tree trunk. Whimpering and shuddering, he’d been a pitiful-looking thing that Izzy simply couldn’t ignore. Covered in open wounds, he’d also been missing part of his left ear and his eye had been so damaged it was still nothing more than a milky white spot in his head. She’d picked his shaking body up and brought him back to her tent, tending to him herself. She’d cleaned and cared for his wounds, fed him by hand until he could eat on his own, and kept him warm at night by letting him sleep by her side. And, as each day passed, the puppy had grown stronger and, she soon realized, bigger. Very big. Big enough that she’d wondered if he was actually a dog or some other beast she was unaware of. Wolves weren’t as big as Macsen. His fangs were longer, his bite stronger, his fur shaggier, than any canine she’d ever seen. Yet he was blindingly loyal to her, fought with her in every battle, and protected her horse when she or Samuel could not.

And woe to any who dared enter her tent without permission.

But to Macsen, it must have seemed that Éibhear was there with permission because he didn’t bother to attack. Yet he was annoyed that someone other than Izzy was in his space, which meant he did what he always did to males that he felt didn’t belong.

“Gods!” Éibhear demanded, trying to push Macsen off. “What is that smell?”

“Oh . . .” Izzy smirked. “He must have gotten into the beans again.”

“He does like beans,” Samuel added, his hand under his nose to block out the smell. Considering all the hard years Samuel had done in the military, forced in by his father when he was barely nine, it always amazed Izzy that he couldn’t tolerate a few farts from a dog.

Then again . . . it seemed that Éibhear couldn’t either.

The dragon threw Macsen across the room and tried to sit up, but Macsen only scrambled back to his really big feet and launched himself again at Éibhear’s head.

By now, Izzy had her hand over her mouth, her body shaking as she hysterically laughed, Samuel leaning against her, his laughter ringing out.

“Don’t just stand there, woman! Get him off me!” He threw Macsen again, but, as was Macsen’s way, he merely bounced back and came at Éibhear once more. That was the thing about Macsen, the thing that many enemy soldiers had learned over the years . . . Macsen didn’t go down easy and once down, he didn’t stay down. It simply wasn’t in his nature.

The dog was just going for Éibhear again when Fionn stepped in, motioning to Izzy.

“What?” she asked once she stood next to the woman.

“We have a problem.”

When Éibhear finally had the dog pinned to the floor he realized that, except for the animal, he was alone.

Feeling something gnawing on his booted foot, Éibhear looked down at the dog. At least, he felt sure it was a dog of some kind. At the moment, it was trying to tear off the thick leather.

Éibhear pressed down harder and, instead of calming down, the beast only became more irritated, fought harder. Impressed, Éibhear lifted his foot and the dog scrambled away, before spinning around to face him and squaring off again.

Studying the thing’s size, Éibhear leaned down a bit and asked, “You’re not a god, are you?”

With a snarl, it launched its body at him and Éibhear swung his fist, knocking the dog across the tent and out the back.

Satisfied, Éibhear sniffed the air and followed Izzy’s scent. She hadn’t gone far. Only a few feet away from her tent, surrounded by her officers. A small contingent of soldiers stood at the ready, and another officer was on his knees, two soldiers guarding him.