“Shut up!”

Kachka studied the dragon’s human cock for a moment. “It is quite large, sister.”

“I know.” She grinned. “It is almost too much for me. Almost.”

The sisters laughed and now headed toward the door.

“Are you really leaving?” the dragon demanded.

“I must save Zoya Kolesova of the Mountain Movers of the Lands of the—”

“Do not bore me with that ridiculous name, woman!”

“Then why do you insist on asking me questions!” she shot back before walking out the door.

Kachka winked at the incensed dragon and followed her sister into the hall.

As they walked down the stairs, Kachka noted, “You torture that dragon greatly.”

Her sister sniffed and glanced at Kachka. “I do?”

Chapter Eight

“Aren’t you freezing?”

Annwyl glanced back at Morfyd, standing on the lake edge, her human form wrapped from head to toe in a white fur. Her human body always had a hard time adjusting to cold weather, even though spring was coming and the ice on the lake had already melted.

But Annwyl was trying something new. She needed a bolt of fresh ideas. She thought sitting naked in this cold water would help her. That’s what Elina said the Riders believed.

She was beginning to think the Riders were very, very wrong.

“I’m fine,” Annwyl lied, wondering how much longer she should keep up this charade.

Think of something new? She could barely think about anything but stopping her teeth from chattering together until they broke into little pieces.

“Annwyl, get your big ass out of that water this instant!” Talaith ordered. The fur around her shoulders was brown to match her fur boots and thick leggings.

“But I’m—”

“No! This instant!”

With a sigh that was meant to sound put-upon but really was deep gratitude, she stood. She wanted to run back to shore, but she was going to walk. Like a proper royal who put herself in freezing water like an idiot. Especially with Dagmar also standing there watching. While the other two were bundled up, Dagmar didn’t have a fur on. “You call this cold?” the Northlander had asked. “Seriously?”

Dagmar watched her with a smirk. She knew how miserable Annwyl was, but she was doing this thing lately. This thing where she just let Annwyl do whatever she wanted and then, when it blew up in her face, Dagmar smirked and, without saying a word, clearly stated with the expression on her face, Told you so, my queen.

The cow.

Annwyl was near the shore when she heard a voice call out, “You are Annwyl the Bloody?”

She looked over and blinked in surprise before glancing back at Dagmar. “Thought you said the giants lived beyond the Ice Lands and wouldn’t help us.”

Dagmar let out a small, annoyed sigh. “She’s not a giant.”

Annwyl looked over again, took a moment to study the woman, then asked Dagmar, “Are you sure?”

“She’s not a giant!” the Northlander snapped. She’d been getting real snappy lately, too.

“Look,” one of the women with the giant pointed out, “she wears the mark of the beast on her arms and between her thighs.”

Confused, Annwyl looked down at her thighs. She’d had Fearghus’s brands there for so long, she’d forgotten about them. They were just part of her now. Like her limbs. Like Fearghus. Not that he ever let her forget his presence. Ever.

“She’s definitely the one.”

“Oh, all right,” the giant said, appearing disappointed, but Annwyl had no idea why. She hadn’t done anything yet. She usually only disappointed people after she’d done something.

“Is there something you want?” Annwyl asked.

“Yes.” The woman nodded, her grin wide. “The boy.”

“What boy?”

“The boy they say belongs to you.”

Annwyl sighed. “There are no slaves in the Southlands.”

“No, no. Not a slave. Your son. I want your son. I will give you . . . six oxen for him. Good stock. My tribe breeds the best oxen in all the Outerplains.”

“My . . .” Annwyl cleared her throat. “My . . . son? Talan? You’ve seen him?”

“He is here! With his sister and cousin,” the giant said with an alarming amount of cheer. “Sent back with us Daughters of the Steppes by the old She-beast Brigida through some magickal portal.”

“The children are here?” Talaith asked. And, without waiting for an answer, she started to run off, toward the house, but Morfyd grabbed her arm and pulled her back, holding her in place.

“Yes, they are here. And you can keep the girl. I have no sons for her. They are already promised to others. But once I am done with your son, teach him all he needs to know—in bed and out”—she and the other Riders laughed at that—“I will make sure to marry him to one of my strongest daughters or nieces. He will be well taken care of. Especially if he is good breeder.”

Annwyl still stood in the freezing water, but she could no longer feel it. She was naked and it was frighteningly cold, but she couldn’t feel that either. She knew that Morfyd had rushed into the water, her hands on Annwyl’s shoulders, her beautiful face with the scar down one side permanently marking her as a witch now loomed in front of her, but Annwyl couldn’t see her.

No. She couldn’t see anything around her—except that dark red haze....

Kachka realized her sister had stopped walking after the last thing she’d said, and Kachka turned to face her. “What?”

“You brought Nina Chechneva here?” she asked in their own language.

“I had no choice.”

“But you brought her here?”

“I had no choice. I would have left her with the old bitch, but she sent the lot of us here. Brigida was pissed.”

“It was dangerous to bring her, sister.”

“Bringing her was not up to me. Besides, she’s the least of our problems right now.”

Elina nodded, suddenly remembering why they were heading to one of the largest lakes on Garbhán Isle, and began walking again.

As they neared the lake, they could hear a repeated thudding sound coming at them from a distance. They glanced at each other, then ran.

They came through the trees just as a naked Annwyl picked up all of a bloody, mangled Zoya Kolesova, lifted her over her head, and slammed her back into the ground. Then Annwyl screamed. That insane scream that Kachka had heard more than once in her nightmares.

Zoya wasn’t out completely, but she was close, her eyes crossing as she stared up at Annwyl.

Reaching over, Annwyl yanked the blade from the scabbard Marina Aleksandrovna had at her side and raised it over her head.

Kachka and Elina ran down to the lake shore, throwing themselves between Annwyl and Zoya just as Morfyd the White caught hold of Annwyl’s raised hand and attempted to yank the blade from her while Talaith tried to drag the woman back from behind.

And there, standing serenely by the lake, not moving—not doing anything—was Dagmar Reinholdt. The Beast, she was called by her own Northland kin.

Those cold, grey eyes locked with Kachka’s and she knew the cow would not intervene.

“Honestly,” Kachka said to her sister in their own language, “you fuck one warlord’s nephew and she never gets over it!”