Last Dragon Standing
“Stop,” she cut in.
Dagmar looked off for a moment, and he knew she was getting her thoughts organized as she liked to do. No dramatic emotional moments for her, and that was fine with him.
When she returned her gaze to his, it was calm and controlled. Just like her. “I’ll admit that finding out that you’d lied to me did hurt. It hurt me in a way, I imagine, no one else could have. But I’ve also come to understand why you did it. More importantly, I now know and understand that everything you’ve ever done for me, ever shown or taught me, has led me to this. Has led me to a place where I can be who I am without fear or worry. For that alone, Lord Ragnar, all past transgressions are forgiven, and I strongly suggest we leave the past where it is and move on from there.” A weight that had been on his shoulders for far too long lifted. “Do you understand, my Lady Dagmar, that you will always be one of my greatest triumphs?”
Her smile was small but powerful, yet whatever she was about to say in return was cut off when her dog got to his feet and began to bark hysterically at the front door. A moment later, the gold dragon who held Dagmar’s heart threw the front door open and stormed in.
Ignoring the frothing dog right in front of him, Gwenvael the Ruiner focused on Ragnar. “The Liar Monk has returned, I see.” Since it appeared they would not even pretend to honor the basic rules of greeting, Ragnar replied, “Ruiner.”
Gwenvael’s eyes locked on where Ragnar held Dagmar’s hand. “I’m beginning to feel the need to start hurting things,” the Fire Breather announced.
“Quiet.” And it took Ragnar a moment to realize Dagmar was actually talking to Canute. The dog stopped barking, but he kept growling, his eyes fixed on Gwenvael’s throat.
Noticing the dog, the Fire Breather leaned in and asked it, “Miss me, old friend?”
The barking started again, and with a sigh, Dagmar pulled her hand away from Ragnar and walked to the door. She held it open and gestured to Canute. “Out. Now.”
Snarling and reluctant, the dog went outside, where it would most likely stare at the door until it opened again and he could be near his mistress once more.
“Why do you taunt him?” Dagmar demanded, slamming the door once the beast had gone.
“I wasn’t. That was me being nice to him.”
“Then we have much work to do, I fear. Because while you may be replaceable, Defiler, Canute is not!”
“It’s Ruiner! Even this idiot gets it right! And another thing,” the Gold went on, “when I gave you this house, my lady, I never expected you to entertain peasant males who may come wandering in unannounced, and I have to say I am extremely displeased at…cookies!” His apparent rage gone as quickly as it had come, Gwenvael walked to the table and reached into the tin. And that’s when Dagmar slammed the lid on his hand.
“Ow! Viperous female!”
“You’re lucky I didn’t add blades to the lid so that they’d remove your fingers altogether.”
Sucking on his wounded body parts, the Fire Breather said around them, “As much as you love what I can do with my fingers? You’d only be hurting yourself in the long run.”
Dagmar slashed her hands through the air. “And now we’re done!” She grabbed the tin of cookies and held it to her chest.
Gwenvael snorted and leered, his eyes focused on Dagmar’s chest.
“Like that’ll stop me.”
Not really wanting to see any of that sort of thing, Ragnar stood and said, “I guess I’ll be—”
“Why are you here, Lightning?” the Gold asked.
Ragnar had thought Keita’s moods and whims were impossible to follow. But this dragon…Ragnar had no idea how Dagmar tolerated the bastard.
“Your mother sent for me,” he replied.
“Are you her puppet warlord chief now—ow!” He grabbed his forearm and glared at his mate. “Pinching? Now we’re pinching?” In even less of a mood for a fight than for leering, Ragnar confessed,
“She asked me to pick up her sister Esyld in the Outerplains.” The couple stared at each other for a moment before slowly focusing on him.
“Why did she want Esyld?” Dagmar asked.
“And you dragged her here?” Gwenvael demanded.
“I have no idea why she wanted to see Esyld,” he told Dagmar. “And I didn’t drag her anywhere,” he explained to her mate, “because she wasn’t there to be dragged.”
“She’s gone?”
“And has been for some time. Your mother seemed concerned about that. As did Keita. Perhaps you should talk to them about it.”
“I’m talking to you, Lightning.”
Ragnar smirked at Gwenvael. “Challenge me if you dare, Ruiner.
Although I’m sure Keita will miss your presence greatly. She seems fond of you.”
“That’s enough,” Dagmar said softly. “From both of you.” She gestured toward the door. “Let’s return to your brother and cousin, my lord. And then we can talk to Keita.” The two males continued to glare at each other until Dagmar added,
“Please don’t make me get terse.”
Ragnar could see from the Gold’s expression that he understood—as Ragnar did—that Dagmar’s terse was equivalent to a dragon army destroying an entire continent. They gestured to the front door and said to Dagmar together, “After you.”
Chapter Eighteen