The Dragon Who Loved Me

Then again, she was being pushed, wasn’t she? Always pushed.

When she heard people and dragons moving about, she guessed it was morning and went in search of some place to bathe. Izzy, after handing her some bread and cheese, told her she’d found an underground lake, but Annwyl had just nodded at that. She hadn’t been in the mood to find it.

She hadn’t been in the mood to feel water on her skin. Instead she stood in the middle of that big cavern and waited. Waited for the Rebel King to do what she needed him to do.

Yet when morning final y came she stil hadn’t gotten her way. So with time quickly running down, Annwyl searched out that lake. She was vaguely aware that, as she walked along, human and dragon alike moved out of her way. No one wanted to get near the “crazed queen.” There was a time Annwyl would laugh at that kind of reaction. She was only as crazy as she needed to be to get the job done, she’d often tel her mate. But these days, Annwyl was beginning to feel as crazy as everyone thought she was.

Probably the loss of sleep. She was pretty sure one needed sleep, a good sleep, to function properly. How could she expect to function properly when she couldn’t sleep? When they wouldn’t let her sleep. Why wouldn’t they let her sleep?

Annwyl found the lake and stripped off her clothes and dived in. She scrubbed her scalp, realizing she stil had bits and pieces of the Sovereign soldiers who’d taken her stuck in her hair and on her body. Her original plan had been to kidnap the commander of one of the Sovereign units and find out the information she needed to track down Gaius, but she had to al ow herself to be taken instead. That’s what she’d been told to do.

She was tired of being told to do things.

Dragging her body out of the water, Annwyl sat on the edge of the lake naked and soaking wet, her arms wrapped around her raised legs, her forehead resting on her knees. She began to rock back and forth. She tried not to do that—it seemed to upset everyone when she did—but it felt soothing to her somehow. So she rocked and she tried to think. But her mind . . . it was so tired.

It was usual y when it got this bad that he showed up. He did what he always did. Laid down next to her, pressed his head against her.

“He won’t help,” she told him. “Your Rebel King that you were so sure about. He won’t help.” She began to rock more, harder. “I could just go there myself without him.” And she knew she was babbling—again. But she couldn’t stop. “I could just go there and kil everyone. Everyone in the Provinces. I could kil them. The soldiers, the guards, the women, the children. I could kil them al until I get what you want. Until I kil the one you want. You just want the head, right? I could bring that to you. I could stab and stab until I get the gods-damn head! I could—” He licked her. Giant, wet, disgusting tongue, slathering across her forehead.

She leaned away from him, but then she blinked, and everything sort of came into focus. She stopped rocking. She stopped babbling.

Annwyl looked at what sat next to her. “You should have come sooner,” she said, calmly. “I’m relatively certain I’ve destroyed any hope we had he was going to help.”

She took a breath. It felt so good to think again without al the screaming that went on inside her poor brain. “Look, if al you need is for me to kil

—”

He pressed his snout against her cheek and that’s when Annwyl heard that voice in her head. He only talked to her like this. Probably because he was a big, shaggy wolf-god. The one time he’d softly “moofed” around her, Annwyl’s ears had bled for days. She thought for sure she’d be deaf forever. So he did this instead. Told her things in her mind and she listened. She had no choice.

Because Thracius had a god on his side, too. Helping him fight and win, unless Annwyl did something. Unless Annwyl went against everything she believed in and gave her soul to a god. At least she liked dogs. That helped.

“Al right,” she told him when he’d finished tel ing her what to do. “I’l suggest it. But when this is over”—she looked at the god lying beside her—“I want my life back.”

He nodded, then pushed his body into hers.

“Is that real y necessary?” she demanded. “I’m not some whore who wil just do things on command. I’m a bloody queen!” But her protests were ignored and he pushed her again.

Sighing, Annwyl got to her knees. “I’m doing this,” she said, “But if you ever tel Fearghus—I’l find a way to destroy you.” With a quick glance around to make sure they were alone, Annwyl gripped the wolf-god, Nannulf was his name, on either side of his head behind his ears and proceeded to dig her fingers in and scratch and scratch and scratch.

The wolf-god rol ed to his side, Annwyl’s hands stil on him, his tongue hanging out, his eyes closed, and a low growl rumbling from his chest that managed to shake the cave wal s.

“Shameless, ya are,” Annwyl told him, even as she couldn’t help but smile a little. “Bloody shameless!” Rhona was getting dressed when the cave wal s shook a bit. She glanced over at Vigholf. “Earthquake?” she asked.

“Sounds like it. But minor.” Finished pul ing on his boots, he stood. “I’m—”

“Yes. I know. You’re starving.” She laughed, shook her head. “Go, find food. I’l be along in a minute.” Vigholf left and Rhona closed her eyes and sent out her thoughts to her sisters. Any of them. Then her brothers. She stil heard nothing back and she tried hard not to panic.