Her body jerked in his arms, the climax wrenching through her. He turned them so she was now facing the wall, trying to use his big body to block out the cries. It was unnecessary, though, as the queen's own choked cries of pleasure overrode Dagmar's.

Her body shook in his arms, her knees weakening from the power of her climax. Yet Dagmar had no fear of falling, because Gwenvael held her. He held her until her last shudder pa.s.sed and she slumped, boneless, against his body.

Gwenvael placed her on the bed, tossing the shirt he'd removed from her across the room. Her eyes fluttered open and, smiling, he carefully removed her spectacles, placing them on the side table. He leaned over and waved his hands in her face. "Can you still see me?" he teased loudly.

She lightly slapped at his hands. "Stop doing that."

"What would you like me to do instead?"

Soft hands reached for him, grabbing hold of his shoulders, pulling him down on top of her. "I want you inside me."

Nothing had sounded more perfect before.

He pushed inside her, his way eased by her recent climax. She gasped as his c.o.c.k stretched her open, her neck arching as she gripped his biceps.

When her lips parted, Gwenvael kissed her, spearing his tongue inside her moist mouth as his c.o.c.k speared inside her warm p.u.s.s.y. Her fingers dug into his skin, her thighs opening wide beneath him.

For more than an hour he'd sat in that freezing cold lake as human. Even with chattering teeth and shaking body, he was still hard. And hard only for her.

It never even occurred to him to find another. To track down a bar wench or two and do what he normally did when in this part of Dark Plains for a night. It never occurred to him that anyone but Dagmar would be in his bed ever again.

Eventually he had headed back inside with the intent of trying to get some sleep in one of the alcoves. He was a dragon; sleeping on jewels and treasure was par for the course. But as soon as he'd entered the cavern, he'd immediately known Dagmar was gone. Locking on her scent, he was relieved to discover she'd only gone deeper into the cave rather than out of it. He followed her scent until it disappeared into a crevice no one among his kin would ever be able to creep through. But he had an idea of where it led and he took another path he knew.

When he saw her standing there, watching his brother and Annwyl, he'd been shocked at the warmth he'd felt for her. The tenderness. As well as the blinding l.u.s.t. He'd been torn between the desire to simply hold her close or bend her stomach down over that ledge.

She drew her knees up, allowing him to go deeper inside her, and he braced his arms on either side of her and slowly began to thrust. She cried out, the sound m.u.f.fled because of his mouth covering hers. He drank the sound down and used his body to make her cry out more. She clung to him, shaking beneath him as another climax raced through her. He felt it as her muscles clenched around his c.o.c.k, squeezing his own climax from him. Now he cried out; now his body shook as he drained into her.

He pulled out of their kiss and looked down at her. Those grey eyes, always so cold and aloof or so plotting and curious, now only seemed soft and caring. She smiled, the grip on his arms loosening.

"I'm staying the night," he said. It wasn't a request.

"I know you are." It seemed leaving wasn't an option.

And that was quite all right. Because tonight he'd take her body, as often as they both needed it. But tomorrow ... Tomorrow he'd make her his own.

Dagmar rose up a bit, her lips pressing against his neck, under his jaw. Her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him inside her. As was the way of his kind when human, his c.o.c.k began to harden again, and, as was the way of Dagmar Reinholdt, her body responded almost immediately, quite ready for what he could give her.

It had been a long time since Rhiannon had been summoned through the lines of Magick crisscrossing throughout the universe. Mostly because there were few who could break through the defenses she'd erected over the centuries. Those defenses had been built because she'd tired of the constant requests from lesser witches and mages for a.s.sistance or, even more dangerous, those who'd hoped to quietly steal her power for their own uses.

Yet the handsome Lightning standing before her had surprised her. First he'd sent that useless note through Dagmar, the human having handed it to Rhiannon as they'd plotted the handling of Elder Eanruig. But then he'd contacted her directly by bypa.s.sing all the defenses she'd built. Only the most powerful and experienced could manage that.

He was much younger than she'd a.s.sumed and nothing like the Lightnings she'd always known. Not only was he beautiful-a rarity among the Northland males-but he was quite ... dare she say ... elegant? An outsider from birth, she'd guess.

A confused, elegant outsider at the moment. Rhiannon did love confused males, although it wasn't as hard to do as they'd like to believe.

"You knew my father had your daughter?"

She couldn't help but smile. "I've always known." Although she'd thought Keita would have gotten herself out of there long before now.

"Yet you left her there."

"It wasn't so much she crossed through the Outerplains into the Northlands that bothered me. It was that she did it to see that treacherous b.i.t.c.h sister of mine. She only does these things to irritate me. And she could have called on her siblings to help her, but apparently she was too embarra.s.sed for that-as well she should have been."

"I see."

"Now, now. Don't look so crestfallen, my little lightning strike." She patted his arm. "I am still quite interested in an alliance between us. Dagmar gave me your letter. Although I doubt you sent her here simply to get that message to me. So why did you?"

"Her uncle Jkull is on the move. Heading toward her father's lands as we speak. He's doubled his army and I knew no matter what I told her, she'd head right back there. Risking everything to-"

"You were protecting her," she cut in, surprised.

The Lightning glanced away. She couldn't tell if that was embarra.s.sment or regret on his handsome face. "I know she doesn't believe it, but she means much to me."

Definitely regret.

Unfortunately it was too late for any of that. Rhiannon had seen her son's face when Dagmar walked out of that tunnel alive and well. It wasn't just relief he'd felt for the human. It was love. If it had been any of the wh.o.r.es she'd seen Gwenvael with over the years-dragon or human-Rhiannon would not be pleased. But Dagmar was not some mindless little slag begging for love.

That barbarian could destroy the world with her will alone-Rhiannon admired that.

"Where do we go from here, my lady?"

She headed off back to the humans' castle. "Find me at Garbhn Isle tomorrow. We will discuss an alliance."

"And your daughter?"

"Keep her. Let her go. Makes me no never mind. But"-she spun on her heel to look at him as she continued to walk away-"watch your back, boy. I know Olgeir quite well. He won't happily let that prize go."

Rhiannon left the Lightning to do as he wished and made her way back to the castle. She neared the gates when she heard her mate's voice.

"Where the h.e.l.l did you go?"

Smiling, Rhiannon faced Bercelak. He was annoyed she'd left without telling him where she was going. He was annoyed she went off into the forest alone, without him or her guards. He was annoyed to wake up and find her gone. And she'd be paying for those little transgressions for the next few hours.

She couldn't wait.

Taking his hand, she tugged him toward the gates. "Don't snarl so, my love. I was getting us a war."

"You were getting us a what?"

"You heard me. I was getting us a nice, b.l.o.o.d.y war. Doesn't that sound fun?"

Chapter 32.

Dagmar awoke when she heard soft laughter from one of the other caverns. It didn't amaze her that she heard that soft laughter in between bouts of the horrendous snoring going on next to her ear, but that she'd slept in spite of the horrendous snoring. But now that she was awake, going back to sleep with that level of noise was simply impossible. The trick was unwrapping the dragon who held on to her so tightly. Gwenvael's arms were around her waist, his head buried against her chest, his left leg wrapped around her right, his right buried between her thighs.

She knew she should feel horribly uncomfortable buried under so much male, but she didn't-until she couldn't get him to move. She pushed on his shoulders, shoved at his neck, tried to tug her legs out from under his weight. Nothing seemed to work and he didn't seem to be in any danger of snapping awake this early. Becoming desperate, Dagmar reached around his back and grabbed hold of his hair from the base of his skull. She pulled and Gwenvael angrily muttered in his sleep. She pulled again, going straight back, and, scowling but still asleep and snoring, the dragon rolled away from her.

Dagmar let out a breath and got out of bed before Gwenvael could roll back again. She found Gwenvael's shirt tossed on the floor and slipped it on. She needed a bath, but that would have to wait a bit. Hunger was winning the race this morning.

She found Annwyl and the twins in one of the small alcoves. Dagmar couldn't help but smile at the sight of the Blood Queen. She wore a sleeveless chain-mail shirt that brazenly revealed the brands Fearghus had given her upon Claiming, a black pair of leggings, and black leather boots. Two sheathed swords rested against the table leg closest to her.

So this is the true Blood Queen, eh?

Even with a child cradled in one arm and the other in his or her crib, rocked by Annwyl's rather large foot, Dagmar knew this was the warrior sane men had come to fear. And with good reason.

"Good morning, Annwyl."

Annwyl looked up and her smile was warm and welcoming.

"Dagmar. Good morn to you. Please"-she motioned to a chair-"sit."

Dagmar did, sitting catty-corner from the queen.

Annwyl gazed down at her son, pride and joy warring on that scarred but pretty face.

"Handsome, isn't he?" she sighed.

"He is."

"And Fearghus tells me I owe you much, Dagmar the Clever, she of the most lethal of tongues."

Dagmar laughed. "I like my new Southland name."

"As well you should." Annwyl motioned to the crib. "Mind picking her up? She'll let me feed her, but otherwise she has no use for me."

"You seem to have many"-Dagmar gave a quick glance around-"baby things around here."

"That was Morfyd. She insisted that here and Garbhn Isle have everything the babes may need. But I guess in retrospect ..."

They smiled at each other. "She was right."

Dagmar went to the crib and looked down at the scowling little girl inside it. "She reminds me of Bercelak."

"I know. But when I mentioned that to Fearghus I thought he was going to skin me alive."

Lifting the babe, Dagmar cuddled her close. Tiny, strong fingers gripped her nose and twisted. "Have you named them yet?" she asked, the sudden nasal sound of her voice getting the queen to raise her head.

Chuckling, Annwyl uselessly remarked, "She's got a grip that one. And we can't agree on the names. Fearghus is partial to My Perfect Princess Daughter and The Right Little b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Dagmar laughed and pried the babe's fingers off her nose, wincing when the vicious little beast gripped her forefinger instead.

"I, however, prefer Adoring Perfect Son and Right Little b.i.t.c.h, which Fearghus will not even hear of." Annwyl kissed the small fingers carefully gripping her large one. Now Dagmar knew she should have asked to hold the son. The daughter was too much like her mother. "Any suggestions of your own, barbarian?"

Never in her life had Dagmar thought she'd find being called "barbarian" a compliment and sign of respect rather than an insult. But with Annwyl it sounded that way.

Dagmar looked down at the babe in her arms. Everything about the child spoke of power and beauty and strength. The proud, high forehead. The strong arms and legs. The fear-inducing scowl.

"Talwyn." She glanced at the boy. "And Talan."

Annwyl gazed up at her. "What?"

"Talwyn and Talan. They're good names. Very old, but have strength behind them." She nodded. "Yes. Talwyn and Talan."

Resting her head against the chair back, Annwyl said out loud, "Talwyn the Terrible. Talwyn the Terrorizing. Talan the Tenacious. Talan the Terrifying."

Annwyl nodded, her smile wide and bright. "I like it!"

Dagmar sat down at the table, the babe in the curve of her arm, as she reached for the pitcher of water and a cup. "I thought you might."

"Now, Lady Dagmar, tell me of your uncle Jkull."

She grimaced. "Why must we ruin a beautiful morning by speaking of him?"

"Because I need to know why Gwenvael's been insisting I send three legions to help your father."

Dagmar lowered the cup of water to the table, untouched. "How long has he been asking for three legions?"

"Since the beginning. That's what he told Briec when he was still in the Northlands and then what he told me upon his return." She rubbed noses with her son, making him giggle. "He's a little too young to giggle, isn't he?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"No. Let's stay on topic. Your uncle."

For more than an hour Dagmar told Annwyl about Uncle Jkull and why her father needed the help. It was an amiable chat, but Dagmar couldn't tell if the Blood Queen would be giving her what she needed. The queen wasn't so easy to read when she wasn't psychotically trying to ma.s.sacre someone.

Yet the most entertaining moment for Dagmar had to be when she watched the queen's reaction to her babe's diaper change. Eventually Dagmar had to take over, and the queen decided then, her face filled with disgust, "We need to get back to Garbhn Isle and let the nursemaids handle this sort of thing. Because I think I'm going to be sick."

Minotaur blood, gore, and brains she had no problems with. Her own children's dirty diapers-h.e.l.l on earth.

As the children slept peacefully in their crib and the two women continued to chat, Dagmar noticed that Annwyl had slowly pulled one of her swords from her scabbard. Yet not once did she ever stop the flow of conversation.

Dagmar continued to talk until she, too, felt a presence in one of the tunnels closest to her.

It took another five minutes before Ghleanna cautiously stepped into the alcove. As she did, Annwyl was up, her blade raised and at the ready. Ghleanna automatically went for her own sword, and Dagmar stood.

"Stop it! Both of you. What do you think you're doing?"

There were others behind Ghleanna, but they seemed more than happy to let her take the first hit.

Ghleanna motioned to Annwyl, "She still mad? Do I need to protect the babes?"