“All right! All right!” Keita yelled, finally yanking her hand away. “I get it. You’re sorry. But whatever you’re doing is making me nauseous. So stop it.” She turned, but tossed at her, “And put some clothes on. Those giant tits of yours are making Aidan the Divine drool.”

“Actually,” Aidan said softly, “I think that was simply a reaction to my near-death experience.”

“I missed your head, didn’t I?” Brannie demanded.

“Barely!”

She dismissed the whining dragon with a wave of her hand and turned back to her cousin. “Tell me what you have, dear Rhona. Tell me. Show me what you have.” She made a little squealing sound in her excitement. “I must see!”

Laughing, Rhona put her arm around Brannie’s shoulders and led her to another cart. “That apology was so epic . . . let’s see what we can find for you, my dearest cousin.”

* * *

Aidan watched Brannie and Rhona walk away. He was laughing because he couldn’t believe how excited the army captain was. Who got that happy over weaponry but a Cadwaladr? No one, that’s who.

To the rest of them, weapons were merely tools to perform their jobs in the best and quickest way they could. But to a Cadwaladr, and especially to Branwen the Awful . . . they were like the finest jewels.

It was rumored that Cadwaladr didn’t stock their caves with jewels and gold like most dragons. Instead, they used their spoils to purchase new weapons, and that’s what one would find piled high in their caverns.

And after seeing this . . . Aidan now believed that rumor.

Aidan watched the two She-dragons open a crate and begin to dig through it. He didn’t know what they were going to get, and he became completely distracted when he realized he was surrounded by three females.

Slowly turning, he nodded and greeted them. “Triplets.”

One of them frowned. “We have names.”

“Yes. But you all look alike and I can’t tell you apart.” He shrugged. “So I never bother to learn your names. It’s easier for me that way.”

“You’re very honest,” another said.

“I am. Much to my mother’s great annoyance.”

“We met your mother when we visited Devenallt Mountain. She’s very . . . um . . .”

“She’s a horrible female. Don’t spend time with her. She’ll sap your will to live.”

“That could explain why Auntie Rhiannon sent her and her daughters—your sisters—to Garbhán Isle and ordered Dagmar Reinholdt to manage them.”

“That was the word she used,” the first added. “Manage.”

Aidan couldn’t help but smile at that. If his mother thought she could run roughshod over the human Dagmar Reinholdt, who was known in the harsh Northlands as The Beast . . . well . . . heh.

“You were staring at our Brannie’s ass,” noted the third.

“She has a very nice ass. Very firm.”

“Do you like her?” asked the second.

“I don’t dislike her.”

“You should like her,” said the third.

“Your cousin’s a heartbreaker. And I’m very sensitive and beautiful.”

“She could use a sensitive male in her life.”

“And beautiful. Don’t forget beautiful.”

The first shook her head. “He thinks we’re joking, Nesta.”

“He’ll learn, Breena.” She patted his shoulder. “Because when it comes to our favorite cousins—”

“And few are our favorites.”

“—we are very serious.”

“Favorite cousin?” Aidan asked. “You were just trying to throttle her not fifteen minutes ago.”

“Not throttling. Showing her how far we’ve come since she used to train us how to throw knives when we were just little hatchlings.”

“I do love Cadwaladr family stories,” Aidan noted wistfully. “And how far you’ve come? It was like she was being attacked by screeching fleas.”

“Hmmm,” the first one said before turning and walking off.

“Huh,” the second said before following her sister.

And the third just sort of wandered away after staring at him for several silent seconds.

Caswyn joined him, punching his arm. “That whole clan is a bit . . . touched, yeah?” he asked.

Aidan glanced at his friend and pointed out, “You still have headless horse stuck between your teeth.”

“Damn.” Caswyn covered his mouth and quickly walked off before Brannie could see him and start threatening him again.

Chapter Nine

The sorting of weapons and armor took longer than Brannie thought it would. Took so long, in fact, it was decided they would camp in the nearby forest for the night. As soon as a fire was started, Brannie dove headfirst into all the wonderful weapons and armor her cousin and uncle had created. Eventually, though, she had to borrow Aidan’s surcoat to cover her nakedness so that Uther and Caswyn would stop staring.

Idiots.

Like she didn’t know how those two really felt about her as a dragoness. Apparently her tail was “too short.” Uther used to call her “Stubby” behind her back. And if they didn’t enjoy looking at her true form, what did she care if they lusted for her human one? They both went together and she loved every part of herself.

Why shouldn’t she? As she always told her brother Celyn . . . she was adorable!

What Brannie didn’t know . . . ? How Aidan felt about her. She’d never heard that Aidan had said anything about her one way or another. But when she’d suggested they’d have sex for a little stress relief, he hadn’t been remotely interested.

Strange. She’d always thought he kind of liked her. Not seriously, but enough to fuck a time or two. She wasn’t asking for a lifetime mating. She had no doubts she’d find her mate one day, but she was sure it would be another warrior like her. Loyal to the army and the troops. Another captain perhaps. Or even a general. That would be nice.

But until that happened—and she knew it was a long way off—she still had “needs” as her mother liked to call it when her youngest daughter had volunteered for Her Majesty’s Army.

“You’ll have needs,” Ghleanna had said, picking a quiet time when everyone, even Brannie’s father, was out somewhere else. “And there’s no shame in that. You just have to be careful who you choose. Don’t be like your grandfather or cousin Gwenvael and choose whatever piece of ass crosses your path. Pick someone kind, who won’t call you a beauty to your face and a whore behind your back.”

It seemed a strange conversation with her mum. Especially when Brannie found out Ghleanna’s conversation with Celyn was “Treat females like trash, and I’ll hunt you down and cut your prick off. Understand?”

But as Brannie advanced through the ranks, she’d kept her mother’s words in mind and found she was right. Those she’d chosen to share her bedroll with had been fun, nice, and discreet. Only one had decided to get drunk in a pub and expound on what a “great lay” Brannie was. Too bad for him, her cousin Éibhear had been standing behind him. It was before he’d become Mì-runach but he was already becoming known for his temper.

But you know . . . some dragons don’t need their wings. Or tail. Or right front claw.

Rhona walked up to Brannie, pulling her out of her thoughts. “I have something special for you, cousin.”

Brannie sat up straight and didn’t bother to hide her grin. “A halberd? To replace the one I lost.”

Rhona held out her hand and Brannie stared at it. “Oh . . . how nice,” she lied. “A stick.”

Rhona glared at her. “It’s not a stick.”

“Really? Because it looks like a stick.” The glare became worse, so Brannie took the metal stick from her cousin and held it under her cousin’s nose and demanded. “What do you see, Rhona? Because all I see is a bloody stick!”

“Perhaps,” Aidan decided to interject, “it’s a stick that turns into an actual weapon with a thought. I believe you have a spear like that, Rhona. Yes?”