How to Drive a Dragon Crazy
Page 55

Éibhear shook his head. “No. It doesn’t. I did try not to get close to anyone ever again. Made the whole dramatic commitment to myself and everything.”
Izzy laughed and Éibhear joined her.
“Doesn’t seem to have worked, though, if your three friends are any indication.”
“There’s truth to that. Aidan and I traveled to the Ice Lands together. We met Cas and Uther during a pit fight.”
“Pit fight? Is that popular in the Ice Lands?”
“Don’t know. It was a Mì-runach pit fight.”
“You lot have pit fights? Between you? Whatever for?”
“Sort out issues.”
“Issues?”
“Gambling debts, arguments—”
“Women?”
Éibhear lifted his gaze to Izzy’s. “Occasionally,” he replied slowly. “But mostly gambling debts.”
“Do you have any regrets?” she asked.
Frowning, he asked, “About pit fights?”
“No.” She took the mug he held in his hand. “No more ale for you.”
“I’d already decided on that.”
“I mean do you have any regrets in general?”
“I’m a little young for regrets, don’t you think? I’m not even a hundred and fifty yet.”
“All right.”
“Why? Do you?”
“Just one.”
“And what’s that?”
“That I never got a chance to kiss you.”
Éibhear studied her for a moment and took the cup out of her hand. “And no more ale for you, I’m afraid.”
Izzy laughed. “I’m not drunk, Éibhear.”
“I didn’t say you were. Just don’t want this to get . . . uncomfortable. And, by the gods of death and pain, what is that smell?”
Sighing, Izzy leaned over a bit and snapped her fingers. “Oy. You. Out.”
Macsen whined, but Izzy didn’t want to hear it. “Out,” she pushed. “Now. Go for a walk or go kill something.”
Her dog dragged his long body out from under the table and headed out. But he stopped long enough to snap at Éibhear, his fangs near the dragon’s face.
“I hate that dog,” he muttered once Macsen was out the door. “I really hate that dog.”
“He’s loyal and I love him. There’ll always be room in my bunk for him.”
Éibhear shuddered. “I had no idea you wanted to live your life alone.”
Izzy chuckled, propped her elbow on her knee and her chin on her raised fist. “So did I make you feel uncomfortable with my answer to your question?”
“No. Should I feel uncomfortable?”
“I don’t think so. But haven’t I always made you feel uncomfortable?”
“No, you haven’t.”
“You are such a liar. And a bad one.”
“Over the years I’ve become a very good liar.”
“As good as Gwenvael?”
“No one’s as good as Gwenvael. Except maybe Dagmar.”
Izzy sat up straight and lowered her arm. “Well, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For making you feel uncomfortable . . . again. It’s just something I do, it seems. Although it only seems to come out with you.”
“You didn’t and have never made me feel uncomfortable.”
“Good.” She turned and uncrossed her legs, hanging them over the table’s edge. “I’m off to bed. We’ll need to get an early start.” She slid off the table. “If we don’t get there before midday, Bram will start pacing. Ghleanna hates when he paces.”
She glanced back at him, smiled. “Night.”
When he didn’t say anything, Izzy walked toward the stairs that would take her to the second floor and the room she used whenever she came to visit with Brannie. She didn’t worry about Macsen. He’d find something to kill, eat, and cover himself with blood; run through a nearby stream to get some of the blood off; and finally return to her a few hours before dawn so that he could snuggle up to the back of her knees and snore until it was time to head out again.
Honestly, that dog was the most reliable thing in her life besides Brannie, her squire, and her horse.
Izzy reached the stairs, but before she had her foot on the first step, Éibhear said from behind her, “I lied.”
“About what?” she asked around a yawn.
“You did make me uncomfortable.”
She snorted a little. “I know.”
“Because I’ve always wanted to kiss you.”
Izzy’s hand landed on the banister, her fingers gripping the worn wood. “Oh?”
“The problem is, I grew tired of feeling uncomfortable a long time ago.”
Slowly, Izzy faced the dragon. He was standing now, watching her from under all that damn blue hair. Gods! That hair! It would be the death of her. And unlike some humans, the dragons never seemed to lose their hair. It might grey, like her grandfather Bercelak’s, but his was still long and thick and shiny and mostly black.
Bastards. Every last one of those damn dragons . . . bastards.
Well . . . was she just going to stand there and stare at him? What was he supposed to make of all that staring? Especially when she kept frowning at him like that. Or maybe it was a glare. Hard to tell really.
“Are you saying you want to kiss me now?” she asked, and he had no idea what to make of that tone.