Supernatural Page 31

  “Mostly.”

  “No books to read?”

  “Don’t need any.”

  “No one to talk to?”

  “Too much chatter gets on my nerves.”

  “Do you ever find yourself wishing for an attack of some kind to help with the boredom?”

  “Not really.”

  Bram gazed at her. “You truly are a soldier, aren’t you?”

  “Me mum used to say I came out of my egg saluting and already in formation. Not sure I believe her, though.”

  Bram chuckled. “I adore your mother. One of the kindest dragons I’ve ever known.”

  “Aye. That she is.”

  “And skilled with the written word as well.”

  Ghleanna shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. Not much of a reader.”

  “Well, tell me, because there’s always been some debate among my friends and I, and your mother won’t admit anything one way or the other—did your mother help your father write those books of his?”

  Bram, finally enjoying their late-night conversation, thought it was an innocent enough question—until the tip of one of Ghleanna’s blades pressed against his throat, her black eyes angry as she glared at him.

  Apparently not an innocent question at all.

  Seething with rage, Ghleanna hissed, “You dare bring up those books to me, royal?” The series of books that had chronicled her father’s sexual escapades before he met Shalin—the damn things were still bestsellers. “Do you think I won’t cut your throat and leave you bleeding out on these steps like a cow used for sacrifice? Do you think Rhiannon can protect you from me?”

  His gaze on hers, his voice steady, the royal stated, “I meant no offense, Captain. Although I don’t know why you’d be so offended.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” she snapped back. “The daughter of a whore’s just a whore herself, right? You want to think I’m no more choosey about my bedmates than my father—fine. But don’t you dare bring my mother into it. She’s the purest thing my father’s had in his life and I’ll not have you sully it with your—”

  “Wait.” He was remarkably calm considering the fact that she had her favorite blade to his human throat—opening a main artery was a sure way to kill a dragon in human form. “I don’t think we understand each other.”

  “We understand each other quite well. No wonder you’ve been so bloody nice to me. You’re no better than the rest. Be nice to me, talk sweet to me, tell me my father adores me, then get me on my back or my knees, so you can run around telling everyone how you fucked the slag’s daughter. Isn’t that it, royal?”

  “Ghleanna,” he began slowly, speaking to her as if she were a very slow child, and she knew some centaur-shit soothing words would leave his mouth. He was well known throughout the kingdom for his ability to talk himself out of any situation. Yet she had to say . . . she was curious to see where he’d go. “I know that your father—and especially your mother—did not write the books you speak of. From what I understand, they were written without Ailean’s knowledge or consent. Those are not the books I meant.”

  Ghleanna frowned. “Then what are you talking about?”

  “The book your father wrote about handling close-quarter combat with Lightnings. Another about fighting human legions in open battlefields with no trees or mountains for cover. And there’s another on tactical maneuvers in the Western Mountains when fighting the barbarian tribes. He dedicated that one to you because of your work there a few decades back before you received your captain’s rank. But my favorite is about his peacekeeping efforts in the Outerplains between humans and dragons. He had some brilliant suggestions on how to use what he did there with all humans in the Southlands to ease negotiations. Of course, a lot of dragons think it’s a scandalous and outrageous book because his insane suggestions included things like not eating humans, not destroying their villages, not stomping on them for fun. Your father has some very unorthodox ideas,” Bram finished with a smile.

  Yet when Ghleanna could only gawk at him, the hand with the blade sitting limply in her lap, Bram asked, “You did know your father had written books on philosophy and war tactics, didn’t you?”

  As a matter of fact . . . no! She didn’t know. She’d had no clue. Her father? Writing books? Even with her mother’s help . . . her father barely read! Not that he was stupid. Far from it. But he’d always been so busy raising his offspring and teaching them how to protect themselves—mostly against him and his two brothers—that he’d never bothered to share his philosophy on anything other than what they should do the next time he and Uncle Arranz tossed their human forms off the roof.

  “Gods, Ghleanna, you didn’t know, did you?” Bram asked, sounding appalled. She knew the peacemaker’s family was very close and very . . . cultured. They probably sat around a dinner of roasted oxen and discussed world events. When her family got together, there was mostly just drinking and arguing, arguing and drinking. She loved it, though. Still . . . Bram would know if his father had written any books. And he would have read them. Bragged about them. Ghleanna, as much as she loved her father, also resented him because he hadn’t seemed to be able to keep his blasted cock in his pants before he’d taken her mother as his mate. A reputation that had haunted her since she was of an age to take lovers.

  Yet Ghleanna was still ashamed she hadn’t known something so important about her own father. “No. I didn’t.”

  “He never told you?”

  “No. But he did teach me how to use two axes at once to disembowel someone in seconds.”

  “Well . . . I’m sure that’s quite helpful, too.”

  She slid her blade back into her boot. “I wonder why he didn’t tell us.”

  “Maybe he thought . . .”

  “Thought what?”

  Bram shrugged. “Maybe that you wouldn’t care.”

  “Of course I would.” Ghleanna reached over and wiped the bit of blood away from Bram’s throat where the tip of her blade had dug in a little too deep. “He’s my father. No matter what, I love the old bastard.”

  “Aye,” Bram said with a sweet smile. “I can see that.”

  She planted her elbow on her knee and rested her chin on her raised fist. “Now I feel bad.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I should have known. I should have cared enough to find out.”

  “And when would you have done that, I wonder? During the Battle of Hoesgyn or perhaps the Battle of Prothero in the Medus Mountains? Or maybe during the Battle of—”

  “All right. All right. I get your point.” She gave a short laugh. “You certainly are Lord Know-It-All this evening, aren’t you?”

  “Only when necessary. Otherwise I try not to let my brilliance overshadow my giving and loving nature.”

  “Do you know that you’re not nearly as arrogant as most of my family?”

  “Actually . . . I do know.”

  She gazed at him. “I’m so sorry I thought . . .”

  “The worst of me?” he guessed.

  “Something like that.” She rubbed her hands across her face. “It’s been a very long few months. And not very good ones, I’m afraid.”

  “Want to tell me about it? I’m a very good listener.”

  “Tell you? So you can feel sorry for me, too?”

  “Ghleanna, you just had a blade to my throat. There are limits to my mercifulness I’m afraid.”

  That made her smile. A little. “I’m afraid there’s not much to tell really. I usually spend my time in battle. Dragons have few wars, but humans fight all the time. When one battle ended, there was always another. Another fight. Another war.” She briefly closed her eyes. “But one time . . . this one time in a very long decade, I . . .” She cracked her neck. “I took a chance.”

  “You loved him,” Bram said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

  She shook her head. “Gods, no. I didn’t love him. I don’t love him. I’m ashamed to say I was just lonely. And stupid. Very, very stupid.”


  “We all make mistakes, Ghleanna. The point is not to dwell on them.”

  “Easy enough for you. You probably never make mistakes. When you fart, I bet rainbows shoot out your ass.”

  “That is far from the truth,” he said around a laugh. “I’ve made my share of mistakes. Especially with females.”

  “Like what?”

  “Apparently I’m easily distracted—”

  “You are.”

  “I don’t need your help in listing my mistakes, Captain.”

  “It’s not a mistake. You have a lot on your mind. One just needs to be aware of it so you can be . . . managed.”

  “You manage me?”

  “Quite well. And is that it? Being distracted because your brilliant brain is constantly turning isn’t much of a mistake.”

  “I’m always involved in my precious books and papers.”

  “Not a mistake.”

  “And I spend more time doing things for the reigning queen than I do for anyone else in my life.”

  She blew out a breath. “Still waiting on those mistakes.”

  “Isn’t being a distractible dullard who’s never around mistake enough?”

  “Not to me. Sounds like you’re just very busy. You simply need to find someone who can handle that. Who respects your space without crowding you. Probably someone who has a job of her own so you don’t become her job. That’s where you probably get into problems, peacemaker. You need an independent female who’s not threatened by all the work you’re doing.”

  The royal blinked. “You mean someone like you?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. If you like, I can introduce you to a few of my cousins. I’m suggesting my cousins rather than my sisters because you don’t want to have to go through the gauntlet that is my brothers. It’s not fair to any dragon.” She raised her gaze, found the dragon staring at her, eyes narrowed a bit. “What? Are my cousins not good enough for you? Because they’re not of royal blood? Don’t be such a snob, Bram the Merciful.”

  With a sigh, the dragon stood. “On that note, I guess I’ll go back to bed. Try to get some sleep.”

  Ghleanna pulled a key from the top of her boot. “Here.” “What’s this?”

  “I reserved the room across the hall for myself but you can use it. See if you can get some sleep in there.”

  Bram took the key from her. “Are you sure?”

  “We have a long day of walking tomorrow. Many of the nearby towns are too dangerous to fly over. Plus you didn’t get much sleep last night. So go,” she insisted. “It’s fine.”

  “What about you?”

  “Addolgar will be up soon enough to take my place.”

  “But where will you sleep?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him and said, “In the room with you. Unless you snore.”

  And that’s when she saw it. When he was dragon, his scales just shined a bit more. But when he was human—his face turned red.

  “Wh-What?” he stammered. “No. No. I don’t snore.”

  “Then I don’t see a problem. Do you?”

  “No, no. That’s fine. I’ll leave it unlocked. Good-night.” Then he went into the room and closed the door.

  Grinning, Ghleanna went back to sharpening her weapons.

  Bram entered the simple room and sighed in relief. Had she noticed his sudden panic? And lust? No. No. He doubted that. She didn’t notice. She never noticed anything about him, including his attempt not to be overeager about the pair of them sharing a room.

  Nay. She hadn’t noticed a thing.

  Bram stepped into the room and smiled. Quiet. Lovely, lovely quiet. Without bothering to remove his clothes, he fell face first on the bed and tried to push thoughts of Ghleanna from his mind.

  Didn’t work, though. She was right there. Like always. Driving him mad.

  And then there was Feoras. She hadn’t said his name but Bram knew whom she’d been speaking of. Feoras the Fighter. So named because he always fought to find a way not to have to do anything. Always looking for the easy way ‘round. The easy way to earn gold, move up the ranks, whatever. Honestly, his name should be Feoras the Jealous. He wanted to be where Ghleanna was but he didn’t want to work for it. Not like she had. The constant training; battles with humans as human so she could hone her skills; taking any dangerous, sure-not-to-survive assignment that came her way. No. Feoras wasn’t willing to do that. But he’d still wanted to be a Captain. A Dragonwarrior Captain who received all the best assignments, led the most important battles. When that didn’t pan out, he’d fucked Ghleanna instead. Then ran around telling everyone. Including many of her soldiers in the Tenth Battalion, hoping to turn them against her. Ghleanna had been mortified and had disappeared for months.

  But what she still didn’t know was that her troops had not taken kindly to what Feoras had done. They’d not taken kindly to it at all. And they’d gone after him like rabid dogs after a bone. Last Bram had heard, Feoras was still on the run, hiding out somewhere in the Creese Mountains. And Bram hadn’t said a word to Ghleanna about it, because he’d hoped that Feoras would be tracked down and killed in short order so that it wouldn’t matter. It wasn’t very merciful, but as he’d told Ghleanna—his mercy only stretched so far.

  Then again, everyone learned that about him eventually.

  Ghleanna finished sharpening the blades of her axes, her sword, and her knives. By the time she slid the last blade into her boot, the door to the bedroom her brothers slept in opened—followed by a nightmarish amount of snoring—and closed.

  Yawning and rubbing his face with his hands, Addolgar dropped onto the stair right beneath Ghleanna. Unlike Bram, he’d never be able to sit next to her without his shoulders forcing her into the wall.

  “Anything?” he asked around a yawn.

  “Nope. Quiet.”

  “Get some sleep. We have a few hours before the suns rise. I can take it from here.”

  “You sure?”

  “Aye. Go, sister. Because nothing is worse in the morning than you without enough sleep. Cranky cow that you are.”

  “Thank you so much for that. The love of my kin simply overwhelms me.”

  Addolgar motioned her away with a flick of his hand and Ghleanna walked up to the room she’d put the royal in.

  “Oy,” her brother whispered. “What are you doing?”

  “Sleeping with the royal. It’s just for a few hours.”

  Her brother grinned. “Saucy wench.”

  “I just mean I’m staying in the same room, you dirty bastard.” She pointed at the room her younger brothers slept in. “You can’t expect me to put up with that for the next few hours?”

  “No, no. I really can’t.”

  Ghleanna stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The royal slept fully clothed on his stomach, his long silver hair reaching down his back, his head resting on his crossed arms. And, except for his breathing, he was silent.

  No. She’d not be sleeping in her brothers’ room this night. Not when she could sleep in wonderful silence without having to make herself deaf first with one of her blades.

  Ghleanna carefully placed her two axes and her sword on the wood chest at the foot of the bed—she still had blades strategically placed in her boots and inside her chainmail shirt and leggings should something need to be killed during the night—and eased onto the mattress beside Bram. He didn’t even move or wake up and she realized how exhausted he must be.

  Once she was stretched out on her back, one arm behind her head, the other at her side, Ghleanna let out a luxurious sigh. Now she’d be able to sleep like a baby.

  That is until Bram wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her in tight against his body. Ghleanna froze. Was he awake? She didn’t think so.

  She tried to remove his hand from her waist, but he only gripped her tighter. Then he moved closer, pushing into her side, resting his head on her shoulder, his face turned toward hers. His eyes were still closed and his breathing normal. He was asleep but . . . still. He
was awfully affectionate while he slept.

  “Bram?” she whispered, loath to wake him up, but . . . still. “Bram.”

  He moved around a bit, sighed out, “More oil. Bring me more oil so we can see all those delicious scars.”

  Good gods, what was he going on about? Or maybe she didn’t want to know.

  Deciding there were worse ways she could be spending the night—like in a room with her brothers—Ghleanna stopped worrying and went to sleep.

  It was the first good sleep she’d had without the help of ale in six bloody months.

  Chapter 6

  “Wake up!” a voice boomed, shocking Bram into wakefulness. “The two suns are nearly up and we must face the day!”

  “Shut up, Addolgar,” another, sweeter voice said from beside him.

  “Don’t have all day, sister. We need to get on the road. Many miles to go.”

  “I am quite aware. Now piss off!”

  “Suit yourself.”

  The door slammed shut and the body that sweet voice belonged to burrowed in deeper beside Bram.

  “Uh . . . Ghleanna?”

  “Just another five minutes,” she softly begged. “Just another five.”

  But in less than five minutes—more like ten seconds—Ghleanna jerked away from him, wide dark eyes gawking.

  “What are you—” she began.

  But Bram quickly cut in, “I was here first.”

  “You . . . oh. You were.” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “You got a bit clingy when I stretched out last night.”

  “Did I?” Bram sat up, ran his hand through his hair. “Sorry about that.”

  “No need to apologize. And you weren’t . . . I mean, your hands didn’t go . . . I mean . . .” She let out another breath. “You were quite proper is what I mean to say.”

  “Good. Good.” He threw his legs over the side of the bed. “Then we can forget it ever happened.”

  “Right. Good idea. It never happened. We were both just . . . tired.”

  “And all that snoring.”

  “Right! The snoring. How could anyone expect us to sleep with that lot snoring away? We had to sleep together. It was necessary.”