How to Drive a Dragon Crazy
Page 34

Izzy went under the water once more, hoping the cold would make her forget everything. It didn’t.
But as she walked to shore, she smiled at the woman serenely waiting for her by her clothes.
“Lady Dagmar,” she greeted.
“General Iseabail.”
“Something wrong?”
“There is some . . . thing in my dog kennels. Eating metal, wood, and rocks. And shitting. Everywhere.”
“Is he shitting metal, wood, and rocks? Because that would be fascinating.”
Prim lips pursed, Dagmar tapped one toe and Izzy giggled.
“I hate that thing, Izzy!” Dagmar finally exclaimed, laughing with her. “Hate it.”
“He is loyal and I love him. You said the loyalty of a dog is all.”
“I lied,” the Northlander told Izzy flatly. “He’s ugly. He farts. Constantly. He drools. He’s always dragging that giant penis of his around!”
“How is that his fault? And what am I supposed to do about that? Force him to wear doggie leggings?”
“Well, do something because the first thing he did was escape from his run and then try to mount every one of my in-heat bitches he could get next to.”
“Was Mum upset about that? Annwyl? Because they are Claimed by others.”
The toe-tapping began again, but Dagmar was having a hard time with that smile. She couldn’t quite hide it. “Not those bitches, dear niece. The four-legged ones.”
“Ahh.”
They both laughed and Izzy hugged her aunt. “Don’t worry. I’ll take him to my house. I’ll probably stay there anyway while I’m home.”
“You’re getting me soaked,” Dagmar complained, playfully pushing Izzy away. “I can’t be coldly calculating when I’m covered in lake water.”
“Never fear, dear aunt. You’re coldly calculating no matter what you do.”
“You’re staying at your house?” Dagmar asked, never one to let something slip by her.
“I like my house. Gwenvael had it built for me.”
“He did. But you only stay there when you’re meeting with some man—”
“Dagmar!”
“—or you’re avoiding another fight with your mother. But usually it takes a little time for you two to get into a good, frothy battle of wills, and I haven’t heard anything about you sleeping with anyone at the moment—”
“Wait. How do you know when I’m sleep—”
“—so that leaves a third option, which I’m going to assume is you’re avoiding dear, sweet Éibhear.”
“Dear, sweet who?”
Éibhear stepped out of the tub and grabbed a giant cloth to dry himself off.
Home only a few hours and already two fights with his brothers and a tit grab with Izzy. Although the tit grab had been an accident. Not that his brothers wanted to hear that. They just wanted to believe he was the kind of bastard who would run around grabbing a woman’s breast without compunction.
Of course, if it had been anyone else, he would have immediately released that breast, but his hand had been comfortable. So what was a dragon to do? Besides, Izzy hadn’t seemed to mind too much and it was her breast after all.
But leave it to his kin to turn something so innocent into the worst offense ever known to dragon or god.
Bastards.
Éibhear pulled on a pair of black leggings. Clothes that he’d left behind a decade ago and, to his annoyance, his brothers were right. He’d grown since he last stayed in this room. His hips were still narrow, but his thighs barely fit into the material and he wouldn’t discuss how the bottom of the leggings did not reach to his ankles. They barely covered his calves.
“I need to get new clothes,” he decided, reaching for the things he’d just taken off to have his bath. He loathed putting them back on since they were covered in travel dirt, but at least they didn’t make him look foolish. His kin made him look foolish enough, no need to assist them further with that. But before he could get his hands on the calfskin leggings, there was a knock at his door.
“What?”
The door opened and the wounded male he’d seen earlier in the Great Hall walked in. Éibhear wouldn’t say he recognized the tall boy as someone he knew, but he recognized those black eyes.
The boy looked him over. Smirked. “Uncle Éibhear?”
“Talan.”
“Yeah.” He walked in, closing the door behind him. “Aunt Dagmar said you may need these.” The boy handed him a stack of clothes. “And I see by those leggings . . . she was right.”
Éibhear chuckled, shrugged. “I seem to have outgrown the clothes I left behind.”
“Clearly.”
While Éibhear changed into the clothes—and thank the gods, they actually fit—the boy lifted the fur cape Éibhear had lying across the bed.
“What is this made of?”
“Buffalo. They’re all over the Ice Lands, used for their meat and hides. There’s little the Ice Landers don’t make good use of.”
“What’s it like there?”
“Cold. Very, very cold.”
“Did you hate it there?”
“No.” And realizing that surprised Éibhear. “I wouldn’t like to set up a cave there. Or live there in my later years.” He moved his shoulder around and cringed when he added, “Our scales tend to freeze together. I can’t express to you how unpleasant that can be. Especially when you’re about to go into a fight.”