Authors: G. A. Aiken
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Romance, #dragons
“Back up a bit so I can see the whole dress.”
She took several steps back. “Well?”
“Nice gown. You look amazing in red.”
“I do?”
“Aye.” His gaze swept her from head to foot and back again. “You do.”
Morfyd felt her confidence grow under that gaze. Blossom. “Thank you.”
He stretched out on the bed and let out a wonderfully contented sigh, his gaze never leaving hers. “It’s a tragic shame you won’t be wearing it for long, though.”
Walking toward him, her fingers already sliding the sleeves of the dress off her shoulders, she said, “Aye, Brastias. A tragic shame.”
Gwenvael shook his hair out of that stupid braid and began to pace his room.
“Of course,” he muttered to himself, “don’t send Gwenvael. He’ll just muck it up. Useless, worthless Gwenvael.”
From one of his three brothers, Morfyd’s comment could and would have been dismissed. But from either Morfyd or his younger sister, Keita, it hurt. Deeply. For them to think he didn’t take any of this seriously hurt. Annwyl meant the world to him, and he wouldn’t risk her or the twins. So why did his family not see it? Was it because he refused to face every challenge as some grim test to the death? Should he constantly glower at every living thing like Fearghus? Or show nothing but constant disdain like Briec? Or perhaps be constantly wide-eyed and openly earnest like Éibhear? Could his kin only then take him seriously? How, after all these years, could they still not see?
And he refused to hear any longer that it was his “whoring” as his father loved to call it. None of his kin had been monks, though Morfyd was the closest to that ideal than any of the others.
Yet when it was all said and done, it was only Annwyl, a human he hadn’t even known five years, much less two centuries or more, who seemed to understand his worth. Only she had any true faith in him.
Because of that, she would be the reason he would not fail.
A knock pulled him from his rather depressing thoughts—and the gods knew he hated being maudlin—and he walked across the room to open the thick, sturdy wooden door. When he thought about it, most things in the north seemed made of wood and sturdy. Even the people.
Gwenvael blinked down at the servant girl standing in the hallway.
“Aye?” When she frowned, he said, “Yes?”
“I…uh…” She looked him over and shivered a bit before she boldly walked into his room. “Is there something I can help you with, love?”
“I’m a gift,” she said, already pulling off her dress. “A gift for you, my lord.”
Her gaze devoured him. She wanted his cock, but he wasn’t exactly surprised by that.
“Are you now? A gift from whom?”
“The Reinholdt, of course.”
“I see.” Gwenvael walked across the room and leaned his back against the wall by the window, his arms crossed over his chest. “And what kind of gift are you?”
Her dress fell to the floor, and she stood before him confident and beautifully naked.
His body stirred, but that wasn’t surprising either. It
had
been awhile. Nearly a whole week! And yet—
Gwenvael abruptly pivoted toward the window and watched as Dagmar Reinholdt slipped out of the shadows beside one of the stables, walking away from the fortress gates. She was dressed warmly in a wool cape and gloves, a satchel over her shoulder.
Now where is she going?
He had to admit, he found the Lady Dagmar quite diverting. At dinner she seemed confused by what he was up to, but intrigued—and thoroughly entertained. The image of a cat with hidden claws always seemed to come to mind when he saw her. Especially when he watched those cold, grey eyes look around the room, taking everything in, processing, and sorting what she saw.
So what was a demure Only Daughter to a Northland warlord doing wandering about in the evening?
He had to know!
“My lord?”
Gwenvael scowled at the girl, and she stepped back. To be honest, he’d forgotten she was in the room.
He smoothed over the scowl with a perfectly acceptable smile. The kind he kept for elderly ladies and detestable small children. “Sorry, love. Can’t tonight.”
“What?”
He picked up her dress, pushed it into her arms, and as gently as possible shoved her toward the door.
“I do, however, really appreciate you stopping by. Very nice of you.” He opened the door and pushed her out into the hall. “Tell Lord Sigmar thanks and, uh…nice tits.”
Then he closed the door and locked it. He stripped off his clothes and walked to the window, throwing it open. By the time he slipped outside into the cold Northland night, he’d shifted to dragon, his claws digging into the stone walls. He then blended into his surroundings and went off after Dagmar Reinholdt.
Eymund and his brothers watched as the lovely Lagertha came tumbling into the hallway from the dragon’s room, as the door was slammed shut and immediately bolted. She was naked but had her dress held up in front of her. She hadn’t been in there three minutes. That wasn’t even time enough for a good suck, in his estimation, much less a worthy fuck.
He motioned to her, and she ran over, her face red and her body shaking.
“That bastard tossed me out.
Me!
” There had been few men on Reinholdt lands who had not had their time in Lagertha’s bed. She enjoyed a good ride and made no apologies for it. When they’d pointed out the dragon as he’d been heading back to his room, she’d practically tripped over her tongue with lust, and readily agreed to be his “gift.”
“What did he say to you? Did he give you a reason?”
“No. He just wasn’t interested.”
Eymund looked at his brothers and they were equally as confused. How could the bastard, even a dragon pretending to be human, not be interested in free pussy? What male wasn’t?
“Maybe he only likes his own kind,” one of his brothers reasoned. “Can’t say I’d be too comfortable bedding one of them dragon females, though.”
“I don’t think it’s only because he wants a dragoness,” said Valdís. “More like he only wants Eymund.”
And that’s what worried him. Usually it was Dagmar they felt the need to protect from strangers from the outside. But for once she seemed to be at no risk at all. “I’m going to see Father,” Eymund said abruptly.
And off they all went to the pub.
Dagmar got herself comfortable on the roof of one of the army barracks. She had extra furs because she knew she’d get cold. Plus in her favorite satchel she had a bottle of wine, the dessert from the earlier evening’s meal, and a chalice. With everything set into place, she crossed her legs and pulled her plain but comfortably warm skirt over her knees and feet. Then she waited for the entertainment to begin.
She didn’t have to wait long.
Kikka tiptoed from the shadows, looking this way and that, making sure no one could see her. But she wore the expensive cape she’d insisted on buying. It was bright yellow and although dark out, there was enough light coming from the different buildings to make her stand out like a spot on one of the bloody suns.
Foolish girl
.
Since she’d come to the Reinholdt Fortress to be Eymund’s bride, Kikka had made it her business to bring Dagmar to heel. She didn’t trust her, didn’t like her, and felt threatened by her. Fair enough, since Dagmar felt the same way about her. The difference, however, was that Kikka was stupid. Dagmar wondered if there was a brain at all in her addled little head. While Kikka tried to sweet-talk Sigmar into sending Dagmar away and seduce her husband into pushing the issue, Dagmar had a lovely and growing list of all Kikka’s lovers in the last five months, including locations, times, and positions.
True, she could have revealed Kikka’s whoring ages ago, but why waste the power? More importantly, Kikka kept her brother happy with more brats while Sigmar worried less about the state of his sons’ marriages and more about important things like Jökull.
And, she could admit to herself, while she sat up here on the barrack roof, that Kikka did provide a form of entertainment Dagmar could not indulge in otherwise.
She enjoyed watching. It was a flaw, but she only used it against those who would try to take what she’d fought so hard for all these years. As long as Kikka remained ineffectual, her secrets were safe with Dagmar.
Kikka slipped into the stablemaster’s room. Horses were so important in the Northlands, so revered by the warriors that the position of stablemaster paid incredibly well and often included a house on the grounds.
Thankfully this stablemaster’s small house included lovely windows that he never closed the small wooden doors on. When he moved toward Kikka, his intentions clear, Dagmar reached into her satchel and pulled out the specially made spectacles Brother Ragnar had given her several years ago. Unlike the ones she wore on her face, these were much larger, needing both her hands to hold them. Nor did she wear them per se, but simply held them up to her eyes, the leather they were encased in allowing her a wonderful grip. While her regular spectacles were merely to see what she should normally see in front of her, these were so she could see much farther away…and in fascinating detail.
She grinned when she saw the stablemaster tear off Kikka’s gown. How would the girl explain the state of her dress when she returned to the fortress? And she had to know by now that Eymund would realize another gown had been “accidentally” damaged. Her brother was stingy with his coin and Kikka’s allure had worn off long ago. Much to Kikka’s growing dismay, if Dagmar was guessing right. The servants told Dagmar of nasty arguments and her brother spending more and more time in the local pubs with his comrades and kinsmen—and bar wenches.
With Kikka’s dress and shift torn open, the stablemaster, Valtemar, bent her over his arm and feasted on her absurdly large breasts. As Dagmar watched, enjoying herself thoroughly, she still grimaced a little at his performance.
“He is lacking technique, isn’t he?”
Mortified and shocked all at the same time, Dagmar lowered the big spectacles to her lap and turned her head to the left. She blinked, looked behind her, then to her right.
“He has eagerness, but he also has a bit of…well…slobber.”
Again, she looked to her left. But all she could see were the tops of other buildings close by, the tops of trees off in the distance. But even though she couldn’t see anything beside her, she still felt…
Stretching out her hand, she hit something hard and smooth. Her hand slid down the surface, trying to understand what she was touching.
“That feels wonderful.”
Dagmar snatched her hand back. “Show yourself, dragon.”
The darkness shimmered and what was not there was now there. Gold scales, large wings tight against his body, talons, fangs. He was facing her, his back to the world behind him, his long tail with the clean blunt end swung lazily back and forth over the edge of the roof.
“Lady Dagmar. It is a beautiful night.”
She didn’t reply; she was too annoyed he’d found her. Too annoyed he’d seen her.
Fire surrounded the dragon, and Dagmar quickly turned her head, the heat of it feeling much too close for her comfort. Then, moments later, he sat down beside her. As human.
And naked.
Like he had in his bedroom, he placed his arms behind him to prop up his upper body, his palms flat against the roof slats. His long legs were bent at the knees, his ridiculously large feet planted firmly in front of him. But it was his sizable cock, lying lazily against his thigh that had the saliva in her mouth drying up immediately.
Mighty reason, if that’s him flaccid…
Forcing herself to look away, she asked, “Are you not chilly?”
“No.”
She handed him one of her fur blankets. “Put this on anyway.”
He chuckled, spreading the fur out over his lap. “Did you even peek?”
“I don’t need to. I see naked men everyday.”
“But none as superb as I.” That was truth, but she’d not admit it out loud.
“Why are you here?”
“Came to see the sights. Just as you have.” Dagmar didn’t reply to his glib remark; instead she analyzed how bad this could get for her.
He could try to use this against her, but only if she allowed him to. Her father would not be pleased, but no matter which way she examined it, it all seemed to be worse for Kikka, which could easily distract attention from Dagmar. It was Kikka who was betraying Eymund. It was Kikka who was—
“You can stop.”
Dagmar glanced at him. “I can stop what?”
“Trying to figure out how I’ll use this against you.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Because I won’t be.”
Dagmar closed her mouth, stared straight ahead. “You won’t?”
“No. Is that wine?” He leaned across her and grabbed the bottle.
“Why?”
“Why what?” He unhooked the top, took a long gulp—and choked. “Gods in the underworld! What is this?”
“My father’s wine. It’s not as smooth as the wines from the south.”