“Little Izzy?” Dagmar asked.
“Relatively speaking, of course.”
“You lot are so mean to poor Éibhear.” Annwyl glared at the males. “No wonder he hasn’t been home in ten winters.”
“He’s Mì-runach,” Fearghus explained.
Sounding frustrated, Annwyl snapped, “I still have no idea what that means.”
“It means we don’t want our little Izzy getting mixed up with Éibhear the Contemptible!”
“He’s your brother!”
“Not by choice!”
Bercelak slammed his meaty fists onto the table. “What does any of that have to do with our current problem?” their father demanded.
“Nothing,” Gwenvael replied. “But it’s tons more interesting than some boring Sand Eaters.”
“I should have smashed your egg when I had the chance,” Bercelak shot back at Gwenvael.
“Father!” Gwenvael gasped, his hands to his heart. “That’s so hurtful. Don’t you love me at all?”
“No!”
“Excuse me!” Rhiannon snarled, pushing past her mate and staring down at her children. “Don’t any of you,” she demanded, “care about my poor sweet baby boy and the danger he’s in?”
“No,” every adult male in the room replied.
By following that damn dog, Éibhear was able to eventually catch up to the Sand Eater who’d taken Izzy. The dragon held her in one claw while careening low over the land. Éibhear had no idea what the bastard had done to her, but to say he was pissed off was really an understatement. He picked up speed, closing the distance, but just as he was near enough that he could swoop down and snatch Izzy from the Sand Eater’s claw, the dragon suddenly dived first. He dropped to the ground, Izzy cradled close to his body. Then, before Éibhear could reach him, the Sand Eater’s wings came up and around, slamming closed with Izzy inside.
Éibhear blinked, surprised. He’d never seen that before. The Sand Eater went from dragon to tortoise in seconds, but Éibhear had no idea why. Then, as he hovered there, confused, he heard it. The sound roaring toward him. He looked up and watched the wall of sand bearing down. He raised his gaze and realized that if he moved quickly, he could go far enough up and wait the sandstorm out.
He lifted his snout, ready to shoot up, but he heard barking and again focused on the ground.
That dog. That damn dog. He was barking at the Sand Eater’s protective shell. Barking and scratching and trying to chew a hole in it so he could get to Izzy.
Éibhear knew he should let that damn dog be carried away by the storm. Carried away and never seen again. No more drool or smell or gas.
And yet . . . and yet, Éibhear couldn’t stand the thought of Izzy’s broken heart. She loved that damn dog and he couldn’t just fly away and leave the big idiot to fend for himself against nature.
So, while calling himself stupid the entire time, Éibhear dove toward the ground and that damn dog. He’d just scooped the beast up in his claw, his wings unfurling to take them both back out, when that wall of sand rammed into him and tossed him—while still holding that damn dog—around like a rag doll.
Izzy was wondering where she was when the storm suddenly came. It sounded awful, but she was quite comfortable and dry and . . . and not alone.
Izzy opened her eyes, one hand reaching out in front of her.
“Your poor human eyes,” a voice from the darkness said. “Let me help you with that.” She heard what sounded like rock scraping against rock, saw a flicker, and then light. A small torch and a brown dragon with vibrant green eyes gazing down at her. He had that same bronze overlay to his color, sparkling even more in the dim light.
“There,” he said. “That must be better.”
Izzy looked around. “Where are we?”
“You’re safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“Sandstorm. They happen out here all the time.” He rested his massive dragon head in the middle of his claw. “Gods, you’re beautiful for a human.”
“At least you didn’t say delicious.”
He laughed. “No. You’re safe with me.”
“Safe with the dragon who kidnapped me?”
“Rescued. There is a difference.”
Izzy shook her head. As her mother always liked to say, Dragons and their bloody centaur-shit semantics.
“Such a huge difference, too, between rescued and kidnapped.”
“You’re safe, are you not?”
“I don’t know you, and you definitely don’t know me. I don’t even know why you felt the need to ‘rescue’ me.”
“I was sent to fetch you. To keep you safe from those nasty traitors.”
“Traitors?”
“To the great King Heru. He rules over these beautiful lands with an even and steady claw. But like your Southland queens, he does not brook traitors to his dominion.”
“But why would he send anyone for me? How did he even know I was here?”
“Our magi are powerful. They see much. Especially when the human granddaughter of Rhiannon the White is heading toward territorial lines.”
Izzy sat up, resting her back against . . . well, against this dragon’s shell. “What does being the granddaughter of Rhiannon have to do with anything?”
“You don’t know?”
“I know I’m a general in Annwyl the Bloody’s army. My grandmother hasn’t had to babysit me in quite some time.”