Chapter
7
They ended up taking several breaks
because of Ren during the next day of travel. Whatever Magicks the
Eastlander was doing were quite strong and Rhona began to worry
about him.
While Keita took a quick nap by the
base of a tree a few feet away, Rhona crouched beside Ren. They’d
shifted to their human forms and dressed in case any true humans
stumbled upon them. The path they’d been flying above was often
busy this time of year, and Rhona had no desire to kill some human
because he simply stumbled into the midst of dragons and felt the
need to warn his neighbors.
“What can I do for you, old friend?”
Rhona asked.
Ren smiled at her. “Nothing. I’m
fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look like
you’ve been out drinking with my cousins.”
“Gods, do I really look that bad?” He
grinned and Rhona felt better for seeing it. “I’m fine,” he
insisted. “Really. Exhausted, but fine. Once I get the children
into the Eastlands, my father’s strength and the power of my
parents’ home will get me back to my old self. I
promise.”
“Is there anything you need
now?”
“Any food left?”
Her eyes crossed. “That barbarian’s
eaten what we’ve brought with us. He just sucks up all the food
around him without caring about anyone else.”
Ren chuckled. “It could be worse. He
could be chatty.”
“Good point. You know how I hate
chatty.” Rhona stood. “Let me see if I can track something down for
you. I’ll even roast it for you.”
“That would be perfect. Thank
you.”
“Anything for you, Ren of the
Chosen.”
“Really? And why’s that
then?”
“Because you manage to control Keita
and keep her relatively safe. For that alone—the entire Clan owes
you.”
Rhona lifted her head, sniffed the air.
“Deer,” she said and went after it.
Vigholf caught the deer by its throat
and slammed it into a tree, snapping its neck, and tossed the
carcass to the ground. His stomach grumbled and he reached for the
animal, planning to tear it open and enjoy its still-warm
insides.
But before his fingers could touch the
animal’s soft pelt, a blast of flame singed his human
fingers.
“Gods-dammit! What was that
for?”
“You have to be the most selfish dragon
I’ve ever met,” Rhona accused. “And considering my kin—that’s truly saying
something.”
“What did I do now?”
“Ren needs to eat.”
“So? Let him eat.”
“You’ve devoured all the dried beef and
bread we had. You haven’t even asked any of us if we’re hungry or
not.”
Vigholf shrugged. “I asked Keita. But
she—”
“Keita? You asked Keita? Keita who’s
not doing any Magicks to
protect her nieces and nephew? Keita who’s not protecting anyone? Keita who’s done
nothing but talk about all the bloody dresses she plans to get—not
buy mind, but get—when she arrives in Dark Plains? She’s the one
you’re making sure is fed?”
Vigholf cleared his throat, scratched
the back of his neck. “Well . . . yeah.”
Rhona’s eyes narrowed and she shoved
him back from the carcass. “I’m giving this to Ren. You can bring
your precious Keita something else that you caught or
killed.”
“That deer wasn’t for her. It was for
me. I’m hungry.”
“Again?” Rhona gawked up at him. “How
can you be hungry again? You’ve done nothing but eat all day. Now
that I think about it, I’ve never seen a dragon eat while
flying.”
“Then clearly you’re not putting in
enough effort.” Rhona’s eyes narrowed again, and Vigholf, in no
mood to fight with her, quickly put his hands up. “There’s more
deer over in that glen. I’ll grab one of those.”
“Good.”
Rhona crouched beside the carcass and
proceeded to skin it.
Vigholf watched her for a time until he
asked, “How’s the Eastlander doing anyway?”
“He’s tired. To-his-bones
tired.”
“You’re worried about
him.”
“Aye. I am.”
“You two seem . . .
close.”
Rhona gave a good yank and removed the
deer’s pelt with her bare hands. “Aye. I guess we
are.”
“How close?”
She tossed the pelt aside and looked up
at Vigholf. “What?”
“How close are you to the one your
sisters refer to as the ‘handsome foreigner’?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s none of your
business?”
“And what exactly is none of my
business? What are you hiding from me?”
Rhona stood, flicking the deer blood
and pulp from her hands. “I hide nothing from you, but my business
and my personal life are my own. Even my mother doesn’t ask me these sorts of
questions.”
“I’m not your mother.”
“No. So you have even less
right.”
“Then answer me this,” he quickly said
before she could walk off. “Are you two . . .
attached?”
She snorted a small laugh. “No. Not
like that. We’re . . . old friends.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Unattached old friends. So leave it
be.”
Except Vigholf wasn’t sure he
could.
Rhona blasted the deer with her flame,
using the power of it to turn the carcass over and over until it
was wonderfully roasted on all sides. She reached for it and lifted
it onto her shoulder. That’s when Vigholf asked, “Do you want to be
attached?”
Rhona froze. All these questions were
beginning to get strange. Then again, the barbarian was
strange.
“Attached to what?”
“A mate of your own.”
“Guess I hadn’t thought much about it.
Why?”
“No reason.”
“How could you have no reason to ask me
that?” Rhona snapped.
“Because I don’t.”
“Well, you don’t have to snarl!” She
turned away from him.
“But,” he said to her back, “you’re not
against having a mate?”
Rhona faced him again. “Why are you
asking me these questions?”
“Because I’m curious.”
“Well, be curious with another
female.”
“Why? What’s wrong with
you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me except that
I’d never settle for a male who wouldn’t fight with me in
battle.”
“I’ve been fighting with you in battle
for five years.”
“Not willingly.”
“That’s ox shit. When have I ever
said—”
“‘Females . . . fighting by my side?’”
Rhona imitated in her low, making-fun-of-Vigholf voice that she
used to entertain the triplets. “‘When did the hells come to
earth?’”
He blinked. “Oh. All right. I may have
said those words before, but—”
“But what?”
“But not when it’s been you. I’ve never
said those words about you. You’ve impressed me from the
beginning.”
“How very big of you,” she snipped,
again turning away from him. “You lunkhead.”
Rhona took a few steps, but Vigholf cut
in front of her. “I’ll admit that my opinion of female fighters was
that there were none. But,” he quickly added when she hissed, “you
and your sisters have changed my opinion on that belief. Shame I
can’t say the same about you believing all Northlanders are
barbarians.”
“You are all barbarians.”
“Even Ragnar?”
“Well . . . no. But he’s different.
Special.”
Vigholf ’s left eye twitched and she
suddenly felt fear for Ragnar’s safety. But, after a moment,
Vigholf went on. “And has any of my brethren tried kidnapping one
of you, forcing you into a Claiming?”
Rhona rolled her eyes.
“No.”
He took a step toward her, slowly
closing the gap between them. “Have some of us not proven ourselves
to be excellent strategists in battle rather than berserkers you
need to leash between fights?”
“I guess.”
Another step. “Haven’t we been polite
and considerate to all the female warriors even when they’re
throwing ale, starting fights, and generally being a bit
crazed?”
She let out a breath. “Most of you,
yes.”
“Then how about giving us a break?
Giving me a break?”
Another step. “Since we’re all doing so well, that
is.”
They were nearly touching now, his grey
eyes gazing down at her.
“I have to get this meat to Ren,” she
said. “He needs to eat before we can return to the
skies.”
“All right.”
But he didn’t move or stop looking at
her that way. She couldn’t explain what that way was—but it was
that way. So Rhona forced
herself to walk around him and slowly headed back to her cousin and
friend.
Although to be honest, she really
wanted to make a run for it. She just didn’t know why.