Desperate, he grabbed hold of the Lightning’s sword arm and held it down. That’s when the bastard caught hold of his hair and snatched his head back, his spiked tail cutting at his snout.
Immeasurably pissed off—more about his hair than his face—Gwenvael brought his own tail down, feeling around the bastard’s armor. He remembered from his combat days against the Lightnings that their armor didn’t connect underneath as Southland dragon armor did. It was, in fact, wide open.
With that firmly in mind, Gwenvael slid his tail underneath the Lightning’s armor and right between his legs.
Panicked, the Lightning tried to move out from under him, but Gwenvael held tight and, wrapping his tail around the bastard’s cock—he yanked.
“You mother—”
He wouldn’t release her. Merely carried her around in his tail like a treat or his favorite pet.
The Lightning sniffed the air and his lip curled. “All I smell are damn Fire Breathers. It’s like they’re everywhere.” His head turned and he moved his tail, which he now had wrapped around her waist, closer. “Now where’s me son, pet?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I—”
The tail slammed Izzy into the ground twice before lifting her back up. “Don’t lie to me, female! Where is he? Tell me now!”
Dazed, Izzy shook her head.
“You won’t tell me?”
Tell him what? Who was talking? Where was she again? Oh, look … pretty colors!
“Let me guess. That Gold bedded you a few times and now you think he loves you? That he’ll protect you?” His tail retracted, and Izzy fell several feet, her body landing hard. The colors multiplied and she could see nothing past them. “You humans are such pathetic fools.” He grabbed hold of her sword with his tail and tore it off, tossing it into the trees.
“Do you really think some little whore like you would be important to any dragon?”
“She’s not some little whore,” her mother said, stalking from the base of the hill she’d just come over as Izzy’s senses came back to her with stunning clarity. “She’s Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith and Briec.”
The Lightning leered down at Talaith. “Are you another pet?”
“I’m her mum.” Talaith raised her right fist. “The most dangerous bitch you’ll ever meet.” She opened her hand and white flame shot from her palm, striking the dragon in the face.
He screamed, his claws covering his head, and Izzy quickly got to her feet.
“Izzy!” her mother yelled. “Run!”
“Oh, no!” The dragon’s tail slammed down in front of Izzy. “You’re not going anywhere, little whore!”
He spun to face her, his scales singed by her mother’s flames and his tail lashing out at Talaith.
She watched as his maw opened up and Izzy immediately grabbed hold of the shield still strapped to her back, swinging it down in front of her body. Lightning strikes blasted from his mouth and rammed into the molded metal.
Izzy squealed, the power of the lightning lifting her off her feet and flipping her back into the forest even as the bolts ricocheted back to their owner.
Dagmar ran, her memory of the Dark Plains maps she’d created for herself leading her. She knew she’d never get back to Garbhán Isle and she wouldn’t risk leading the Horde dragons to Fearghus’s den and the twins. She’d nearly caused their death once; she wouldn’t do it again. So she headed toward a very small lake that Gwenvael’s kin never used for fear it was slightly tainted.
The Lightning dragons laughed and crashed after her, tearing the forest apart as they did.
“Come here, little human,” one of them said, and she felt his claw swipe down to grab her. She ducked and changed course toward a large tree and one of her “test” defenses that Brastias had been so against.
Dagmar slipped around the tree and quickly untied the rope from the metal spike stuck into the wood. The dragons came into range as she released the rope on one of her favorite defenses and the huge trunk swung free.
The Lightnings were quick, their heads turning at the same time, and they both stepped back, the trunk swinging past them.
Unimpressed, they watched it swing back and forth until it stopped.
One of them snorted. “Ya can’t be serious, lass. Do ya really think—”
The ground fell out from underneath them and both dragons let out startled cries as they fell into the deep pit.
Dagmar bent down and grubbed around in the soft soil by the tree. It took longer than she’d have liked, but she found the small box she’d planted there and held it close to her chest. Letting out a breath, she walked over to the edge of the pit and stared down.
“You crazed bitch!” one of them yelled up at her.
They couldn’t climb out; there was nothing to cling to. And flying had become impossible because of the oil they’d fallen into. A special mix that Talaith devised one afternoon under Dagmar’s direction that saturated them so their wings could do no more than hang limply from their backs.
Dagmar crouched beside the pit. “Do you know what my favorite word of the day is, my lords? It’s ‘seams.’ ”
She opened the small box and pulled out one of the simple, small sticks Morfyd had given her. “I don’t mean as in ‘He seems to be a prat.’ More like ‘The seams of my dress,’ or ‘The seams between a dragon’s scales.’ ”