“She heard Brannie call out to her, but she ignored her as well and kept going. Kept going with visions of a bloody and limb-missing Éibhear dancing through her head. Gods! What if they cut off his wings? Or removed his scales? Oh, by the gods, what if they shaved his head? What if they shaved his head? Nooooo!”

“His affection for the human grew steadily by the day. Sometimes by the minute. And it wasn’t simply her beauty, but her utter lack of fear of everything and anything except her brother. She didn’t fear dying. She didn’t fear battle. And, most importantly, she didn’t fear Fearghus. She touched him. Ran her hands across his scales and through his mane.But it was when he covered her up with the fur and she sighed his name in her sleep, that he lost his heart.”

“A small fireball hit him in the face. He again looked at his sister, smoke still curling out from her human nostrils. "What brat?""I said she'll want to return to her men as soon as she can.""I know." His sister smiled up at him. "And will you be ready for that, idiot?""It's Lord Idiot to you." Fearghus rested his head on his crossed forearms. "And yes, brat. I will be.”

“Fearghus entered what he now considered her chamber, but immediately ducked the book flung at his head. Clearly she’d been waiting for him. And she was not happy.“He’s the one supposed to be helping me,” she roared at him.“Did you just throw a book at me? In my own den?”“Yes. And I’d throw it again!”Fearghus scratched his head in confusion. He’d never met a human brave enough—or stupid enough, depending on your point of view—to challenge him. “But,” he croaked out, amazed, “I’m a dragon.”“And I have tits. It means nothing to me!”

“So, Lord Dragon, what are your plans for this evening?" He adjusted his body awkwardly and the end of his dealy tail landed gently in her lap."Well, I thought we could do that thing again.""That thing?" Annwyl desperately fought a smile as she ran her hand across the scaled tip. Its very edge shaped like an arrowhead and as sharp. She briefly wondered if teh dragon ever needed to sharpen it with a stone. "Do youmean talking?""Yes. Yes. Whatever it is.”

“Fighting her smile, his sister reached over and ran her hand through his hair. “That, my sweet brother, is called heartbreak.”He glanced down at his chest. “Will that be a physical deformity?”

“He smiled at her. “Now, are you going to thank me properly?”“I said ‘thank you.’ That’s considered in some cultures as thanking you properly.”“I was hoping for a little more than that.”She studied him for a long moment before she nodded.“All right.” She scooted down a bit on the bed, pulled her gown up high on her thighs, and relaxed back into the mattress. “If you could make it quick before the food gets here, that would be great.”Gwenvael felt a small twitch beneath his eye. He often got something similar right on his eyelid but only when he had to deal with his father. Apparently a new one had developed that belonged only to Lady Dagmar. “That’s not what I meant.”“I hope you’re not expecting me to get on my knees because I don’t think the healer—”“No!” Good gods, this woman! “That’s not what I meant, either.”“That’s always what men mean when they ask to be thanked properly.”“Your world frightens me. I want us to be clear on that.” He leaned over and grabbed her waist, lifting her until her back again rested on the propped-up pillows.“I’m unclear as to what you want, then.”“A kiss,” he said, pulling her dress back down to her ankles. “A simple kiss.”