“So,” she cut him off before the litany of his mother’s titles forced her to stab herself in the neck, “you’re actually Prince Éibhear.”

“I guess.” He rested his head on her lap and instinctively Talaith dragged her hands through his blue hair, which no longer seemed that strange a thing to do.

“And Briec is Prince Briec?”

“Aye.” He snuggled in closer, his eyes drifting shut. “Now don’t you feel special, Lady Talaith? You’ve been kidnapped by royalty.”

Chuckling, Talaith continued to stroke Éibhear’s hair. “Oh, aye. This entire kidnapping takes on a whole new meaning, my friend.”

Éibhear sighed, relaxing into her. “My mother used to do that.”

“Do what? Be sarcastic?”

“No, no. No one does that quite like you. I mean—” He yawned. A big one. “She used to stroke my head like you’re doing.”

“She doesn’t anymore?”

“No. She says I’m too old.” His voice began to fade.

“Perhaps, but that’s no worry to me, now is it?”

He didn’t respond and she leaned over to see Éibhear had fallen dead asleep.

Smiling, she relaxed back and started to again read her book while gently stroking Éibhear’s head.

* * *

At first he’d felt nothing but intense jealousy while he stayed back in the shadows and watched the pair. Especially when his little witch began petting his baby brother’s head like that. But Éibhear’s words humbled him. He didn’t know his little brother thought so highly of him. Or bragged about him so. And, of course, seeing Talaith’s face when she found out they were royalty…well, one really couldn’t put a price on that.

Still, it was the way she stroked Éibhear’s head that fascinated him. Nothing lusty about it at all. In fact, it was very maternal and sweet and warmed his heart as nothing ever had before. Too often he and Gwenvael had to hurt those who would take advantage of Éibhear’s good nature. Or mock him for being kind. But Talaith, she let him be as kind as he wanted and never made fun of him for it or tried to take advantage.

Now the question became, how did he get Talaith this comfortable with him but without her feeling maternal? There had to be a way to get her to soften toward him. But the only time she seemed unafraid of him was when they were fighting. Gods, but the woman did love to fight.

Of course, when Briec thought about it, so did he.

* * *

If he were remotely human, he’d never see or hear her heading toward one of the lower exits out of his cave.

He should let her go. It wasn’t wrong Briec took her from that village because he was truly rescuing her. But not to let her go once he got her to safety—only Briec would think that was perfectly acceptable.

Still, leaving without letting any of them know bothered him. And Éibhear was so fond of her, too. Plus, Gwenvael truly enjoyed the way she tortured his older brother. He’d pay her to stay if she would keep that up.

Her body melded into the shadows—she’d changed into all black—and she moved silently. Yes, her skills truly did impress him and now Gwenvael understood why Briec seemed to constantly question her.

This woman was no mere peasant.

She stood a stone’s throw from the mouth of the cave, but she wouldn’t move. Her eyes scanned around. She sensed him. Very impressive. He waited, wondering how long before she caught sight of him. For another minute or so, she continued to search the area with her eyes. She knew he was there, she just didn’t know where.

Finally, she stood up straight and her head fell back so she looked up at the ceiling—and him.

“Talaith.”

Even though he kept his voice calm, because he felt no anger at her escape attempt—she wasn’t his female—she still screamed. Like a banshee.

She ran, too. Right toward the exit and the ongoing storm outside. But he ran along the ceiling until he passed her, then he dropped down in front of her, shaking the cave walls and blocking her way out.

“Oh, no you don’t.” He sat back on his haunches and stared at her.

She quickly crouched before him, a dagger drawn, and inched back step by step. This was a woman who knew how to protect herself. He liked that. Weak females bored his kind, so Briec had chosen well.

“Move, dragon.”

He fought his urge to laugh at her order. What exactly did she expect to do with that tiny blade? Especially with her usually powerful voice sounding shaky from fear.

“I can’t. My brother would have my head.”

“I don’t belong to him.”

“No, but you’ll have to fight that fight yourself, beautiful. Now,” he motioned in the opposite direction with the tip of his tail, “go back to Briec.”

“I’m not a dog. And what is wrong with your tail?” She frowned. “It’s missing something.”

Unwilling to discuss the betrayal of his kin and the day those bastard brothers of his cut off the tip, Gwenvael brought his tail up so he could wrap it around her waist and carry her back to his brother. But she latched onto it with one hand and used the other to plant her blade between her teeth. While Gwenvael was still trying to understand what the hell she may be up to, he raised his tail, allowing her to jump from it to his forearm. Next thing he knew, she climbed onto his snout and over the top of his head.

“What in bloody—”