What a Dragon Should Know

“Lie to anyone else if you wish. Lie to them, play with them, tell them what they want to hear. But not with me. Never with me. Never again.”

She pushed his hands off. “Why?” She stepped away from him. “Because you’re so bloody special?”

He followed her, kept pace with her as he always did. “See? You understand completely. Now, don’t fight me. Be a good Beast and come here.”

She lifted her skirt and crawled up onto the bed, moving away from him as he placed his hands on the bedding. “Oh, no. Northland women lie down for no one.”

“Then you best get into practice.”

Gwenvael stepped back off the bed and Dagmar frowned. “Now what are you doing?

“Just thinking …”

“Are you in great physical pain, or is that your thinking expression?”

Gods, she was so mean—he adored that.

“I’ll need to improvise a bit,” he went on.

“Improvise? For what? And why are you locking the door?”

“Privacy. My kin don’t understand those simple boundaries.” He walked toward one side of the room, keeping his eye on her as he did. She moved back on the bed, watching his every move. He found linen bedsheets in the closet and quickly tore them into strips.

“What are you doing?”

“You should take your spectacles off.”

“Why?”

“A simple suggestion.” He dumped the strips on the bed, quickly counting them. Stepping back, he examined the bed “How are we going to do this without bedposts?”

Dagmar stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

He snapped his fingers. “I know.” Gwenvael quickly tied the strips end to end. As he did, he explained, “I realize I should prove my love to you. For humans, that usually means killing someone or something, but dragons do that all the time, so it’s simply not that special to us.”

“Which means?”

“Which means giving you a proper Claiming.”

“Proper?”

He finished tying off the strips and went flat on the floor. He laid one end on the bed and tossed the other end across the floor until it came out the other side. Standing, he moved around the bed and pulled the end out, placing it on top of the bedding. “Now this bit is your choice …”

“My choice?”

He loved the sound of confusion and frustration in her voice. It wasn’t an easy thing to catch The Beast unawares.

“Now your choices are: you can take your clothes off and submit—I think that’s what my grandmother did—or we can go toe-to-toe.” He held up his fists in a standard boxing pose, enjoying how she began to laugh, then stopped herself, going back to a haughty frown. “That’s what Annwyl did. Or you can make a run for it.”

Dagmar’s frown grew worse as did her confusion. She looked at the torn sheets on the bed and back at Gwenvael. He raised a brow, and her expression cleared.

And that’s when she tried to make a run for it.

How did she get herself into these situations? And why did she insist on enjoying them? But what else could she do when she got to the door, her hands reaching for the lock, only to have Gwenvael grab her around the waist. She slammed her foot against his instep and pushed him back.

“Ow! You viper!”

“I believe that’s your mother.”

She went for the lock again, but he was right behind her. She dodged under his arms and ran across the room. The dragon was only seconds behind her, so she charged toward the bed, leaping on it and running over it to the other side.

Dagmar ran right into his arms. Physically, she was slow on her best day, but she’d still never met anyone who moved as fast as the dragons. Especially when they were human.

Gwenvael forced Dagmar into the wall, his impatient hands tearing off her dress, his mouth ravaging hers. She struck at his shoulders with her fists and his shins and knees with her feet. She knew she’d hit something with meaning when he grunted and pulled back. But it only allowed him to turn her around and force her back against the wall.

He pressed his body into hers, holding her in place while he finished ripping the dress and shift from her body. She groaned when he licked the back of her neck and yelped when he nipped her shoulder blade.

His hand slipped between her thighs, two of his fingers sliding inside her. Dagmar’s body trembled and she took hold of the other hand pressed to her shoulder. She brought it to her mouth, kissing it, licking his fingers until his hand relaxed. That’s when she bit down on the flesh between his thumb and forefinger.

Gwenvael cried out and scrambled away, releasing her. He tried to pull his hand away, but she wouldn’t let go, smiling around the flesh she’d dug her teeth into.

“Unleash me, woman!”

Her smile grew, much to his annoyance.

Gwenvael reached for her with his free hand, but she kept stepping back or moving to the side. Anything to keep out of his reach.

He scowled, staring at his hand. “Is that blood?”

She nodded happily.

“Crazy female,” he muttered. “Beast, you are!”

Dagmar shrugged, enjoying herself entirely too much. Who had time for this sort of violent silliness? There were plans to make, supplies to arrange for, messages to be sent. There were always important things to do, and this was not one of them. And yet, she was having so much fun. Did it really matter if every once in a while she had a little fun that didn’t involve the manipulation of others and the eventual peace or war of her people? Was it wrong to take a little time for herself and the dragon she adored? That she loved?