“The love you have for your kin never ceases to amaze me.” She slapped at his hand. “Now let go. Let go!”
He didn’t; instead, he studied her hip. “Where did you get that bruise? From your fight with Olgeir?”
Talaith looked down at her naked body, holding her wet hair off her face. “Some soldier slammed into me earlier today. It’s nothing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to show someone her teeth after I punch them out of her mouth!”
His grip only tightened as Briec got to his knees in front of her.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting a closer look.”
Talaith smirked. “That is not where the bruise is, Briec.”
“Close enough.”
* * *
Bercelak walked into the alcove of his eldest son’s lair. The babes were alone in their crib, the boy asleep and the girl wide awake and scowling. Keeping his dragon form, he moved in closer, staring down at the babes. He hadn’t spent any time with them after their birth, too busy handling defenses with his siblings.
Although that wasn’t the full truth. In all honesty, he hadn’t really known what to do with them. He’d always felt following the mandatory rule of his kind to never eat children was rather big of him and more than enough. And though he was glad the babes were in excellent health, he wasn’t sure what to think or do with two human children.
Scowling himself, he leaned in closer to get a better look. He’d been told by his sons that the babes were much larger than most human children so recently born, and were quite advanced. But Rhiannon had been quick to assure them all that the twins wouldn’t suddenly spring to forty winters. Advanced, they may be, but still mostly human.
Mostly human. What would he do with “mostly human” offspring?
Again Bercelak leaned in, until this time his snout was almost in the crib with the twins.
That’s when the girl reached up and with absolutely no fear pressed her tiny hand flat against his snout.
Bercelak felt it immediately—a hard jolt through his system. A hard jolt of recognition.
This was his granddaughter. His blood. He knew it on so elemental a level, it nearly dropped him to his knees. She felt it, too, he knew, when her scowl eased away and she smiled at him.
“How’s my darlin’ girl?” he whispered, thrilled when she giggled and waved her tiny feet at him.
Bercelak let her tug on his hair with one hand and yank on his nostril with the other while he waved his claw at her and tried to coax her into saying his name.
Mutual scowls returned to grandfather and granddaughter at the exact same moment, however, when they both sensed the presence of another and looked over to see Annwyl the Bloody standing there—smirking. It was also the moment the boy decided to wake up, take one look at Bercelak, and scream his tiny human head off.
The girl, not appreciating that, punched her brother, who punched her back. They were in a healthy brawl in their crib when Annwyl walked over and yelled, “Pack it in!”
They separated, but not happily.
“Fearghus went out to find them separate cribs. One minute it looks like they’re plotting to overthrow the world together, the next they’re mauling each other.”
“Get used to it. Most twin dragons usually fight their way out of their eggs.”
Bercelak stepped back from Annwyl, feeling uncomfortable. He’d always disliked her; he’d tried to kill her once and he’d go to his afterlife remembering what it felt like to have the point of her sword pressed against his underbelly.
And yet, he had to admit at least to himself, his feelings for her had changed somewhat. The problem was he didn’t know what to do with that.
“Why are you here?” she asked. At least this time she didn’t sound confrontational, merely curious.
“Wanted to make sure you didn’t burn to death in the forest fire.”
“I thought I smelled something burning.”
“And it didn’t occur to you to—” He shook his head, pulling back his anger. “Forget it.”
“I’m sure I would have found a way out for us somehow.”
“Good to know. There’s also a feast tonight at Garbhán Isle.”
“All right.”
“Well … now you know. I’m leaving.”
Bercelak backed out of the alcove and turned to leave when Annwyl’s voice stopped him.
“Wait. I …”
He forced himself to stop and look at her.
“I wanted to say … uh … what you did that day …”
Good gods, was she going to get emotional on him? Would there be tears and admissions of love and adoration? Would he be forced to comfort her?
Gods help me, where the hell is Fearghus?
She stared at him for a long bit, saying nothing and appearing as uncomfortable as he was, her gaze quickly moving around the alcove and cavern. Then she suddenly jerked—almost terrifying him—and quickly said, “I wanted to give you something!”
Disappearing into the alcove, she returned a moment later with one of the Minotaur blades. Considering the amount of blood on it, he assumed it was the one used by Annwyl to wipe out the Minotaurs’ entire unit. “Here.”
“What’s this for?” he asked, not taking the weapon right away since he wouldn’t put it past her to suddenly change her mind and take his head.
“Uh … well, I … I can’t keep it here, now can I?”