He leered down at her. “Just where I’ve always liked you, Annwyl the Bloody. On the ground, at my feet.”
Her cry of rage ricocheted off the walls and Fearghus barely moved before the swords cut through the air where his legs had been.
Fearghus brought the spear over his head and down, using enough force to spear a man clean through. But Annwyl was already on her feet, the swords slamming into the side of the spear. The power of the move spun Fearghus around. When he faced her again, he smashed his weapon against her ass.
The momentum sent Annwyl into the cave wall, the impact dazing her for a moment. Fearghus threw the spear to the ground and stalked over to his mate. He grabbed the swords from her hands and tossed them back on the pile; then he grabbed her around the waist.
“Let me go!”
“Talaith said I need to take this slow.” He lifted her struggling body off the ground. “To give you time. Unfortunately for you, Lady Annwyl, I don’t have that kind of patience. As you well know, I never have.”
“Put me down!”
“What it all comes down to is what I want. And I want my mate back. And gods be damned, Annwyl the Bloody, I will have her!”
* * *
One second she was fighting with some handsome bastard who looked remotely familiar, and the next thing she knew she was airborne, flying face first into the clean, cool water.
As she went under, her arms swinging wildly to try to right herself, images inundated her. Images and thoughts and … and … memories.
Clawing her way back to the top, Annwyl burst through the surface. She wiped hair and water from her eyes, trying to find—
“There you are, you whiny sow.” He leered at her, looking smug and self-righteous. “You going to feed these brats of yours, or am I going to throw you in a few more times?”
Annwyl scowled at the dragon she was cursed to love for eternity. “You. Big. Bastard!”
He grinned, his body crouched by the lake’s edge as he watched her swim closer. “Now is that any way for you to talk to your mate? The dragon you love above all others?”
“Love you? I’d be better off loving one of those Minotaurs!”
Annwyl reached the edge of the lake, but before she could take hold of the edge, Fearghus slammed his hand against her forehead. “You’re not nearly clean enough. You still have Minotaur all over you.”
Then he shoved her under the water.
Now past all reason, Annwyl reached up and grabbed hold of Fearghus’s arm. Using both hands, she yanked the big bastard into the water with her. She swam back to the surface and took deep breaths, making sure to keep her eyes on Fearghus.
He came up laughing. “What did you do that for?”
“I hate you!”
“Liar!” He swam to her side and shoved her under the water a few more times, his hands scrubbing her hair and body until he’d gotten most of the blood and Minotaur gore off.
“There!” he said, when she’d finally gotten away from him. “Much better.”
“What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” His hand slipped behind the back of her neck and tugged her closer. “I almost lost you, Annwyl. I almost lost the only female I’ll ever love. That’s what’s wrong with me.”
“That’s all very sweet, but shouldn’t you be a bit nicer to me then? A few flowers, maybe a candlelight dinner?” Her teeth clenched and she spit out, “Is it beyond your capabilities to be a little bit romantic?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I give up.” She swam back to the lake’s edge, Fearghus right behind her. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”
He grabbed hold of her and turned her to face him. “You put up with me because you love me. And I love you, Annwyl.”
Then he was kissing her, his hands digging into her wet hair, holding her steady as he plundered her mouth with his own. This she knew. This she’d craved.
She’d been there. On the other side. But not where anyone expected her to go. It hadn’t been her ancestors who’d met her when she arrived. It had been Fearghus’s. She’d had her ass pinched by Ailean the Wicked and a discussion on books with Baudwin the Wise, Fearghus’s great-grandfather. And as wonderful as it had all been, sitting on that soft grass, that one sun shining over their heads, surrounded by trees and many lakes, she’d still missed her Fearghus.
When Shalin, Ailean’s mate and Fearghus’s grandmother, saw Annwyl gazing off, she put her arm around her waist and said, “Don’t worry. It’s not over for you. She’s coming for you.” Annwyl had no idea who the pretty dragoness meant, but then she was being pulled, yanked from one world into another. Into blood and pain and misery.
Until Annwyl had that sword in her hand—then all had been right.
But with Fearghus at her side … now all was perfect.
He pulled his mouth away, but kept his forehead pressed against hers, his hands holding her steady. They gazed long and hard at each other. There were words they could say, but none were needed. Not for them.
Then, together, they both turned their heads toward the cave floor. When Annwyl looked at the baby boy it was Fearghus’s eyes that glared at her under all that brown hair with gold streaks.
The boy focused on both of them while his sister crawled toward the closest weapons.
And until Annwyl left this world—for the second time, anyway—she’d never know what disturbed her more at the moment. The fact that her three-day-old children could already crawl, that her daughter went right for the battle ax, or that her son planted his hands down on the lake’s edge, leaned into her, and screamed.