Annwyl smiled and charged in, killing all that stood in her way and did not wear the colors of her army.

A bolt of lightning hit Fearghus dead in the chest. He flew back with a roar. Leave it to Hefaidd-Hen to find lightning dragons. Purple beasts from the Northlands with awesome powers, but he already tired of the stinging pain their lightning caused. Plus, he knew they were singeing his hair.

He could see Gwenvael coming up behind the dragon. He moved in again to distract him and barely missed the bolt the beast sent out. As the dragon reared back to send out another, Gwenvael wrapped his maw around his neck and held it. Fearghus dived in and slammed his talons into the beast’s groin and belly, ripping up. The dragon roared in pain as he lost his bowels over the battlefield. And when they released him he dropped to the ground, taking out some of Lorcan’s men in the process.

The two brothers stared at each other. They got along at no other time as when they were in battle together. And Fearghus finally admitted to himself it brought him joy that his family fought with him this day.

The two brothers separated and Fearghus went over to help Morfyd. But as she dispensed with two dragons, one with flame the other with a spell, he wasn’t quite sure why he’d bothered.

Then he saw Éibhear tumble past him. He caught his brother’s arm before he could fall to the ground while he hit the enemy dragon with flame, knocking the beast back.

“Éibhear! Are you all right?” he demanded in the ancient language of dragons.

“Aye, brother. That bitch caught me by surprise, is all.”

“Well, watch your back, pup. I’ll never hear the end of it if anything happens to you. You she likes.”

Éibhear took to the air once again, going after the bitch dragon who had just tried to kill him.

“Morfyd!” Fearghus flew to his sister. “Hefaidd-Hen. Where is he?”

His sister closed her eyes and tried to reach out with her Magick to find the dragon. Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she looked at her brother.

“What is it?”

“Annwyl.”

Annwyl tore through her brother’s troops. Most of them she beheaded as was her way. She only wasted time with arms and legs when the head wasn’t readily available. And she only took those limbs to slow the enemy down long enough so she could take the head.

A soldier dived for her. She blocked his blow and brought her other sword down cleaving off half his skull and silencing the man’s screams. She turned as another soldier hoped to sneak up on her from behind. She gutted him, which she also liked to do. Especially when her blade released the entrails.

She realized with a smile that she truly did earn her name. She really was Annwyl the Bloody. And proud of it. But she tired of wasting herself on these men. She wanted her brother. She wanted his head. And by the gods, she would have it.

She killed off two more soldiers stupid enough to get in her way, and then charged up the ridge, screaming for Lorcan. As she made it to the top, she slid to a halt in the wet grass. Lorcan waited for her. Waited for her with his dragon.

She glanced behind her and realized that more of his troops blocked her escape.

Annwyl glared at her brother. “Afraid to face me yourself, Lorcan?” He wouldn’t even meet her eyes. “Can’t you answer me, brother?”

“You can direct your questions to me, Lady Annwyl.”

She looked at what could only be Hefaidd-Hen. Unlike Fearghus and his kin, she saw no beauty in this beast. No sense of grace or elegance. Just a cold-blooded killer. His dragon body appeared almost skeletal. His color a sickening maggot white. His dragon eyes a pale, watery blue. Just looking at him made her skin crawl.

“Are you ruler of Dark Plains now, Hefaidd-Hen?”

“I am merely counsel to Lorcan.”

“And what has been your counsel to my brother?”

“That he should not waste his time killing you. He should leave that to me.”

Annwyl stilled her panic. The queen supposedly gave her a gift that would help her fight Hefaidd-Hen. She had no idea what her flames would do, but she prayed that the queen really did help her. She prayed hard. For although she could hear Brastias calling to his men, hear them battling to get through the line of troops separating her from them, she still knew. She knew, as Hefaidd-Hen reared back to take in a lungful of air, that they would never get to her in time.

She looked at her brother. “No matter what happens, this isn’t over, brother.”

Fearghus flew as fast as he could, Morfyd doing her best to keep up with him, calling his name. He ignored her. Morfyd saw the ambush. An ambush for Annwyl only. As strong as she was now, she would never be able to face Hefaidd-Hen down. Never be able to win against him. He wasn’t just a dragon, but a wizard as well. His flame, like Morfyd’s on occasion, would be rife with Magick.

But as he closed in on the ridge his woman now stood on, he could see he wouldn’t be in time. No matter how fast he flew. No matter what he did. He would lose her.

Brastias couldn’t clear the enemy troops and make it up the ridge before the foul beast sent a blast that completely covered his leader in a white-hot flame. And no ordinary flame, like the one he saw her dragon-lover spew. But something different. And seemingly a waste of Magick, considering she was just a girl.

But when the flame and smoke cleared, there she still stood. Her eyes shut tight, her face turned away. Everything as it should be. Even her chainmail and surcoat.

Brastias stopped. That wasn’t possible. There should be nothing of her left. Not even ash.