About A Dragon. G.A. Aiken

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      For sixteen years this had been her life and it would continue to be her life until told otherwise.

      With a sigh, she righted the table, cleaned up the mess, ate a little of her own dinner—without the herbs she’d put in her husband’s meal—cleaned the grime of the day off her body, put on her white nightdress—after securing the dagger tied to her thigh—and finally crawled into bed.

      As she drifted to sleep she thought of violet eyes and arrogant men in chainmail.

      Chapter 2

      They dragged her from bed before the two suns even rose over the Caffyn Mountains. She fought as best she could, but the noose they’d wrapped around her throat cut off her ability to breathe, weakening her. And they bound her hands tightly with coarse rope because they feared she’d cast a spell on them. She had none to cast, but what really annoyed her was her inability to get the dagger still tied to her thigh.

      Of course, only she would get an entire town to try and kill her. Nice one, idiot.

      Strong men threw the end of the rope over a sturdy branch and slowly pulled her off her feet. They didn’t want her to die too quickly. They wanted to watch her hang for awhile, and it looked like they’d prepared a pyre for a good, old-fashioned witch burning.

      Lovely.

      The man she called husband screamed at her. He screamed how she was a witch. How she was evil. How they all knew the truth about her and now she would pay. If she weren’t fighting for her life, she’d roll her eyes in annoyance.

      But what truly galled her…what set her teeth absolutely on edge—other than choking to death—was that the goddess who sent her here all those years ago was the same one leaving her to die.

      She thought the evil bitch would at least protect her until she finally accomplished what she needed her to do. What she’d been training to do since she was sixteen.

      But Talaith, Daughter of Haldane, had learned long ago that no one was to be trusted. No one would ever protect her. No one would ever do anything but use her. Eventually she’d learned to trust no one but herself.

      Of course a few allies might have helped you this day, Talaith.

      She coughed and squirmed in her bonds, praying her neck would finally just break. She would definitely rather not die by burning. Talaith never considered flame a witch’s best friend.

      As she wondered what it would take to snap her neck using her own body weight, she saw him.

      He stood out like a jewel among pigs. Her arrogant, handsome knight, still in his chainmail with the bright red surcoat over it, but without the black cape he wore that shielded part of his face and hair from her sight. She wasn’t sure if it were her imagination or if her impending death had made her sight untrustworthy, but he had—silver?—yes. He had glossy silver hair that reached past his knees. But it wasn’t the silver hair of an old man. This beauty couldn’t be more than thirty winters. At most.

      Gods, and he was a beauty. The most beautiful thing Talaith had ever seen. Well, at least she’d leave this world with something pretty for her last vision.

      He walked up to one of the townsfolk and motioned toward her.

      “She is a witch, m’lord!” a woman—whose child Talaith saved from a poisonous snakebite the year before—screamed. “She’s in league with demons and the dark gods.”

      She wished. At least the dark gods protected their own.

      The knight stared at her for several moments. If she could, she wouldn’t have been too proud to beg for mercy. But, even if she could speak, she wouldn’t bother. Those cold violet eyes of his told her it would have done no good anyway.

      If only you’d fucked him like you wanted to, he might feel slightly obligated to help you. But you had to be a hard bitch.

      Of course, according to her husband, she was always a hard bitch.

      With a bored sigh, her knight turned and walked away, disappearing into the surrounding woods.

      Typical. Even a brave knight wouldn’t help her. Every day her life grew more and more pathetic.

      “Die, witch! Die!” How lovely. Her own “dear” husband started up that endearing chant. The bastard. She’d meet him on the other side when his time came and she’d make sure he suffered for eternity.

      The noose tightened a bit and she felt more of her life slip away while they continued to pile extra wood around the stake.

      Funny how one’s mind plays tricks when so close to dying.

      For instance, if she didn’t know better, she’d swear that was a giant silver dragon ambling out of the forest. An enormous, amazing creature, with a silver mane of hair that gleamed in the morning sunshine and nearly swept the shaking ground at its feet. Two massive white horns sat atop its head and a long tail, with what looked to be a dagger-sharp tip, swung lazily behind him.

      Silently, he stood behind the townspeople. So focused on her, they were completely unaware of his presence. Who knew I could be so fascinating as to distract an entire town? Of course, they could also be ignoring the dragon because it was simply a figment of her imagination. A dream of a grand rescue that would never come.

      Her fantasy dragon leaned forward and nudged Julius the baker with the tip of his snout. Julius glanced behind him, nodded and turned back to her. Then he froze where he stood…just before he pissed himself. That’s when his wife glanced at him and behind him. She screamed, grabbed her son, who had been seconds away from throwing a rather large rock at Talaith, and ran. Soon after, the rest of the townsfolk caught sight of her fantasy dragon, screamed and bolted away.

      She frowned. Perhaps she still had enough of her power so she could conjure the image of the beast, but somehow she doubted it.

      The dragon shot out a few flames at the retreating humans, but nothing to do any real harm. Finally, it stared at her for several moments, turned and walked off.

      Unbelievable. Even my rescue fantasies are disasters.

      But as she wondered if her afterlife would be as pathetic as her current life, the dragon’s tail whipped out. The tip cut through the rope that hung her from the tree, and she dropped.

      Expecting her ass to hit the unforgiving ground at any moment, she tensed in surprise as the tail wrapped itself around her body and held her.

      Now that the noose was not so tight, her senses slowly came back to her. That’s when she realized a tail really did have her. A tail attached to an enormous dragon casually walking through the forest. She tried to move out of its grasp, but the tail pinned her arms—with her still bound wrists—against her body. And her noose still tight enough she couldn’t call for help.

      Of course, who would she call? Her husband? Probably not. Lord Hamish, ruler of these lands? If she had the strength, she would have laughed at that.

      No. It looked as if she was going to be the breakfast of a monster.

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