About A Dragon. G.A. Aiken

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      Talaith crouched on the highest branch that could hold her weight. It hadn’t been easy getting above him and out of his eye range so quickly…the beast was huge. She glared down at the big silver head of that arrogant idiot.

      Irritating? I’m irritating? Did he have absolutely no concept of what a bastard he was? Clearly not, otherwise he would have let her go.

      But he was “determined” to have her. No. No. No. That would not be happening. She’d done some strange and stupid things, but having a dragon between her legs would not be one of them.

      Concentrating, Talaith slowed her breathing and heart rate. Dragons had amazing hearing, her trainers said, so she used all her skills to make sure he wouldn’t hear her. She faded into the shadow of the branches and leaves, so his dragon eyes wouldn’t spot her.

      The only thing she couldn’t control was his keen sense of…

      The dragon sniffed the air, then looked right at her. “There you are, my little witch.”

      Dammit.

      Before she could even think about climbing back down, he grabbed hold of the tree with his two front claws and shook it. Screaming, Talaith went flying. But that damn tail of his caught her seconds before she hit the ground.

      “Now that was amazing, little witch. Tell me, where did you learn to move so fast and to disappear so well? In your little village after baking the morning bread?”

      He laughed at his own joke, walking again toward town with her still wrapped up in his tail.

      “Yes, I was right about you. You are fascinating. You and I will find such pleasure together, my little witch.”

      Could I hate him more? She thought about it for a moment. No, I could not hate him any more than I already do.

      Chapter 6

      The chatter in the pub they decided to go to for food was interesting, to say the least. Lots of talk about angry gods and horrible storms. Plus, they feared the coming of the Black Moon.

      Of course that wasn’t the correct name of the powerful moon, but she’d given up hope that the Northerners had any real knowledge of other cultures. Besides, she had bigger issues at the moment.

      The only thing she currently worried about was getting away from one annoyingly determined dragon. He leaned back in the booth they’d luckily found in a quiet corner. She’d feared they’d have to sit out at one of the long tables on a bench. As it was, the dragon was hard to miss. Even with the hood of his black cape covering that silver mane of hair and the chainmail shirt and leggings he wore—apparently one in that doomed caravan had been close to his size—he received looks wherever he went. How could he not? He towered over everyone. Add in that he practically had to drag her along behind him, and the two of them stood out quite loudly to the general populace.

      What she didn’t understand, what she would never understand, is why she hadn’t screamed yet. Why hadn’t she yelled for help? They’d passed a magistrate on their way to the pub. One of the few towns that actually had one, and although he watched them with intense interest, she never screamed or tried to pull away. Instead, she only stared back.

      Resting her chin in her hand, Talaith stared into her beer. She knew exactly why she didn’t yell for help. He might get hurt. Even killed. She didn’t want that. As much as she detested him—oh, and she did detest him—she still didn’t want to be responsible for his death. She merely wanted him to let her go. But if the town turned on him before he had a chance to shift or if he shifted and took the town with him…she’d never forgive herself either way.

      She could almost hear her mother whispering in her ear, “Talaith, Daughter of Haldane—you are an idiot.”

      And the dragon wondered why she didn’t run back to her mother for solace. She, of all people, knew that welcome home would be less than pleasant.

      “You’re deep in your thoughts, little witch. What worries you?”

      “You know if you keep calling me that someone will slash my face open.”

      He frowned in confusion. “That’s no longer the law.”

      “Really?”

      “Really. It has actually been against the law for about three years. Since the new…” he sniffed in that arrogant way he had and said, “…queen has been in power.”

      Talaith stared down at her mug and kept her face neutral even as her hand tightened around the cup. “A new queen?”

      “Aye. The Butcher of Garbhán Isle is long dead. His sister took his head and his throne.”

      “I see.”

      “Did you not know of this?”

      They told her it was coming—that she was coming—but no one had told her it had already happened. “No. Lord Hamish didn’t allow information in or out of the towns without his express approval. Those spreading rumors were usually dragged away in the middle of the night to his dungeons.”

      The dragon rolled his violet eyes in barely concealed disgust. “I don’t like that little man.”

      She finally smiled. “Only you would think him little.”

      “Very true.”

      She licked her lips and carefully asked, “Do you know the, uh, new queen?”

      “I choose not to speak of her,” he answered distractedly.

      He sat forward abruptly. “I itch to be off.”

      Talaith groaned, unable to hide her distaste for flying. “Can’t we walk?”

      “With storms coming? I think not, little witch. So drink up so we can be off. I grow weary of all these”—he glanced around—“humans.”

      “Trust me”—she sneered before tossing back her ale in one gulp—“that feeling has become mutual.”