What a Dragon Should Know
“Quiet,” she softly ordered.
Canute stopped barking, but he didn’t stop the growling.
“What do you want?” she asked the stranger, curious as to whom he was. He couldn’t be from the Northlands. His skin was too golden from exposure to the suns, and the gold hair that reached past his knees was loose and wild around his face. The Northland men didn’t wear their hair that long or free from their single braid except when they slept.
He slowly stood … and he kept standing until he towered over her more than her brothers did and that said something. Unlike their father, The Reinholdt’s sons were all tall, strapping men. But this one was unreasonably tall. And big. Large, powerful muscles rippled under his chain-mail shirt and leggings, the pale-red surcoat tight across his chest.
Oddly, he stared at her in such a way as to make her feel … but no. No man looked at Dagmar like that. Yet there was something so undeniably familiar about him—had she met him before? Long ago?
While she tried to remember where she’d seen or met him, he grinned.
And it was that grin she recognized. That damn mocking, rude grin. Even without the elongated muzzle or sharp fangs, she’d recognized that rude grin!
“You,” she said flatly.
His brow went up in surprise. “Very good. Most humans never put the two together.”
“I thought I made myself clear earlier.”
“Yes, but I have needs.”
She blinked, keeping her expression blank. He has needs? What did that even mean?
“Your needs are not my concern.”
“But are you not lady of this house?”
He did have a point. Without a new wife for her father, etiquette demanded the task fall to Dagmar.
“And as lady of the house, isn’t it your job to care for your visitor?”
“Except I asked you to leave.”
“I did leave. Then I came back. As I’m sure you knew I would.” He rested his elbow on the gate, his chin in his palm. “I’m hungry.”
The way he said that … honestly! Dagmar simply didn’t know what to make of this dragon.
He glanced over her shoulder. “Think I can have one of those?”
Dagmar looked behind her and saw her dogs snarling and snapping in their direction while poor Johann stood around, completely baffled. For once the dogs ignored his commands, and he had no idea why.
“Have one?” she asked, also baffled.
“Aye. I’m hungry and—”
Her head snapped around and she slapped her hand over his mouth. “If you say what I think you’re about to say,” she warned softly. “I’ll be forced to have you killed. So stop speaking.”
She felt it. Against her hand. That damn smile again. She ignored the feeling of another being’s flesh against her own. It had been so long that it felt disconcertingly strange to her.
She pulled her hand away and blatantly wiped her palm against her dress. “Leave.”
“Why?”
“Because the mere sight of you frightens my dogs.”
He leaned in closer to her. “And what does the mere sight of me do to you?”
She stared up at him and stated flatly, “Besides disgust me, you mean?”
His smug smile fell. “Sorry?”
“Disgust. Although you can hardly be surprised. You come to my father’s stronghold disguised as a human when in fact that’s nothing but a lie. But I wonder how many unsuspecting females fell for that insipid charm you believe yourself to have only to later realize they’d done nothing but bed a giant slimy lizard. So you, as human, disgust me.” She sneered a bit. “Now aren’t you glad you asked?”
Actually … no he wasn’t glad. How rude! She was rude! Gwenvael liked mean women, but he didn’t much like rude ones. Slimy? He was not slimy!
And if she wanted to play this way, fine.
He leaned in closer, studying her face. He could tell by the way her entire body tightened at his approach that she wasn’t remotely comfortable with him getting so close. He knew he could use that to his advantage if necessary. “What are those things on your face?”
Beyond a tiny little tic in her cheek, the rest of her face remained remarkably blank. “What exactly are you talking about?”
Gwenvael’s head tilted to the side a bit, not sure what else she thought he could mean. “The glass.” He went to poke one, but she slapped his hand away.
“They’re my spectacles.”
“Do you mean like a ‘spectacle of bad’? Or a ‘spectacle of horror’?”
“No,” she replied flatly. “They’re so I can see.”
“Are you blind?” He waved his hands in front of her face. “Can you see me?” he shouted, causing all those delicious-looking dogs to bark and snarl louder.
That constantly cold façade abruptly dropped as she again, but more viciously, slapped his hands away. “I am not blind. Nor am I deaf!”
“No need to get testy.”
“I don’t get testy.”
“Except around me.”
“Perhaps you bring out the worst in people, which is not anything one should be proud of.”
“You haven’t met my family. We’re proud of the oddest things.”
Her lip curled. “There are more of you?”
“None quite like me. I’m unbearably unique and, dare I say, adorable. But I do have kin.” He shrugged. “I’m so very sorry about earlier,” he lied. “And I’m hoping you’ll help me.”