Last Dragon Standing
Page 107
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Before Ragnar could kick the beast gnawing at his foot, Annwyl swept the little demon up in her arms and held him against her chest. “Don’t you dare, you mad bastard!”
“He started it!”
“What’s wrong with you? He’s your son.”
“He’s your son, wench.” He pulled his daughter to him. “She’s mine.”
“You can have her.”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
“That’s enough.” Rhiannon moved in and took her grandson from Annwyl while Bercelak took Talwyn from Fearghus. “You two dance or something before the Northlanders get to see the future heir to my throne having a sword fight with his own mate.”
“When did you two get here?” Fearghus asked.
“Can’t we come and visit our kin and our beautiful grandchildren?” She smiled at the demon child, who sneered at Fearghus.
“Little bastard,” he muttered, earning a slap to the back of his head from his father. “Must you do that?”
“Don’t be an ass. Go. Dance. Fuck. Do something.” Fearghus grabbed Annwyl’s hand. She kissed her son’s head, scowled at their daughter, and smiled at his mother and then Bercelak. She started to walk to the dance floor when Fearghus yanked her back.
“What was that?” he demanded.
“What was what?”
“You. Smiling. At my father.”
“Would you have preferred I spit at him?”
“As a matter of fact…yes.”
Still holding his hand, she placed her other hand on her hip. “Fearghus the Destroyer, either dance with me or f**k me, but do something. ” Before he could answer, Gwenvael leapt to Annwyl’s side and said,
“If he’s not up for either, I’m sure I can—”
“Fuck off!” they both yelled.
Pouting, Gwenvael walked away. “You two certainly are moody these days.”
Once alone, they both looked at each other and smiled.
“Your sister scared off the last potential nanny,” Talaith complained as she dropped onto Briec’s lap uninvited.
“How did that happen?”
“Not sure. Brastias was a little vague, but it looks like we’re on the search again. Adding much to Annwyl’s prophecies of doom.”
“There’s no nanny? So you’ve left my perfect daughter—”
“If you call her that one more time…”
“—alone and defenseless?”
“No. Your mother and father are taking care of the children. I think they only come to these things now so that they can take care of the children.
And let’s be honest, my love, our daughter and the twins are hardly defenseless. Although when I find out which one of you idiots gave Talwyn that damn training sword…”
“That idiot would be her grandfather.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Briec demanded. “All Bercelak gets is an ‘oh,’ but if it was me or Fearghus or, gods forbid, Gwenvael, you’d have torn our heads off and shit down our necks?”
“Yes. There’s truth to that.”
“How is that fair?”
“Because it’s Bercelak. Sweet, caring, wonderful Bercelak, who takes excellent care of his grandchildren and— ow! ” Talaith yelped as her ass hit the floor from Briec standing up and walking away without warning.
But what exactly did she expect?
Sweet? Caring? Bercelak?
Morfyd was debating between several of the sweet desserts when her sister asked, “Sure your hips can afford that, sister? You are beginning to look like Mum from behind.”
Outraged, Morfyd spun around, a huge fireball ready to be unleashed, but Brastias stepped in front of her, his wide back blocking the sight of Keita’s perfect, unmarred face.
“Keita, your Northland guests are beginning to look panicked. You may want to check on them before they run screaming from the building.”
“Honestly,” Keita complained. “It’s only dancing.” Keita went off to rescue the Northlanders, at least one of which she was currently—and stupidly—bedding, and Brastias slowly faced Morfyd.
“Isn’t one slap fight a day enough for even beautiful dragons?”
“She starts it!” Morfyd accused.
“And you let her. Why? When you know she does it on purpose?”
“Because she deserves a good thrashing.”
Brastias leaned in and kissed her forehead, but she got the feeling he only did it to stop from laughing at her. Not that she blamed him. She and Keita were too old for this sort of thing, but there was something about her sister that simply pissed Morfyd off.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, his kiss lingering longer than was necessary. Not that she minded. She didn’t mind. In fact, she liked it very much.
“Thank you.”
“Do we have to stay long?”
“No.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat, her eyes briefly closing. “It’s not a feast or anything. Simply an after-dinner get-together.”
“Then why don’t we”—he kissed her cheek—“head up to our room”—he kissed her jaw, her throat—“and retire for the evening?”
“That sounds—” Morfyd almost saw him too late. Gwenvael walking past and spying the pair, his eyes narrowing on Brastias’s back as he watched the couple cuddle. Gods, he was being such a baby about all this!
“He started it!”
“What’s wrong with you? He’s your son.”
“He’s your son, wench.” He pulled his daughter to him. “She’s mine.”
“You can have her.”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
“That’s enough.” Rhiannon moved in and took her grandson from Annwyl while Bercelak took Talwyn from Fearghus. “You two dance or something before the Northlanders get to see the future heir to my throne having a sword fight with his own mate.”
“When did you two get here?” Fearghus asked.
“Can’t we come and visit our kin and our beautiful grandchildren?” She smiled at the demon child, who sneered at Fearghus.
“Little bastard,” he muttered, earning a slap to the back of his head from his father. “Must you do that?”
“Don’t be an ass. Go. Dance. Fuck. Do something.” Fearghus grabbed Annwyl’s hand. She kissed her son’s head, scowled at their daughter, and smiled at his mother and then Bercelak. She started to walk to the dance floor when Fearghus yanked her back.
“What was that?” he demanded.
“What was what?”
“You. Smiling. At my father.”
“Would you have preferred I spit at him?”
“As a matter of fact…yes.”
Still holding his hand, she placed her other hand on her hip. “Fearghus the Destroyer, either dance with me or f**k me, but do something. ” Before he could answer, Gwenvael leapt to Annwyl’s side and said,
“If he’s not up for either, I’m sure I can—”
“Fuck off!” they both yelled.
Pouting, Gwenvael walked away. “You two certainly are moody these days.”
Once alone, they both looked at each other and smiled.
“Your sister scared off the last potential nanny,” Talaith complained as she dropped onto Briec’s lap uninvited.
“How did that happen?”
“Not sure. Brastias was a little vague, but it looks like we’re on the search again. Adding much to Annwyl’s prophecies of doom.”
“There’s no nanny? So you’ve left my perfect daughter—”
“If you call her that one more time…”
“—alone and defenseless?”
“No. Your mother and father are taking care of the children. I think they only come to these things now so that they can take care of the children.
And let’s be honest, my love, our daughter and the twins are hardly defenseless. Although when I find out which one of you idiots gave Talwyn that damn training sword…”
“That idiot would be her grandfather.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Briec demanded. “All Bercelak gets is an ‘oh,’ but if it was me or Fearghus or, gods forbid, Gwenvael, you’d have torn our heads off and shit down our necks?”
“Yes. There’s truth to that.”
“How is that fair?”
“Because it’s Bercelak. Sweet, caring, wonderful Bercelak, who takes excellent care of his grandchildren and— ow! ” Talaith yelped as her ass hit the floor from Briec standing up and walking away without warning.
But what exactly did she expect?
Sweet? Caring? Bercelak?
Morfyd was debating between several of the sweet desserts when her sister asked, “Sure your hips can afford that, sister? You are beginning to look like Mum from behind.”
Outraged, Morfyd spun around, a huge fireball ready to be unleashed, but Brastias stepped in front of her, his wide back blocking the sight of Keita’s perfect, unmarred face.
“Keita, your Northland guests are beginning to look panicked. You may want to check on them before they run screaming from the building.”
“Honestly,” Keita complained. “It’s only dancing.” Keita went off to rescue the Northlanders, at least one of which she was currently—and stupidly—bedding, and Brastias slowly faced Morfyd.
“Isn’t one slap fight a day enough for even beautiful dragons?”
“She starts it!” Morfyd accused.
“And you let her. Why? When you know she does it on purpose?”
“Because she deserves a good thrashing.”
Brastias leaned in and kissed her forehead, but she got the feeling he only did it to stop from laughing at her. Not that she blamed him. She and Keita were too old for this sort of thing, but there was something about her sister that simply pissed Morfyd off.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, his kiss lingering longer than was necessary. Not that she minded. She didn’t mind. In fact, she liked it very much.
“Thank you.”
“Do we have to stay long?”
“No.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat, her eyes briefly closing. “It’s not a feast or anything. Simply an after-dinner get-together.”
“Then why don’t we”—he kissed her cheek—“head up to our room”—he kissed her jaw, her throat—“and retire for the evening?”
“That sounds—” Morfyd almost saw him too late. Gwenvael walking past and spying the pair, his eyes narrowing on Brastias’s back as he watched the couple cuddle. Gods, he was being such a baby about all this!
