“Don’t order me around! And after what you did? You’re lucky I don’t flay the skin from your bones!”

“Lovely, isn’t she?” another voice said beside Fearghus. “My Morfyd.”

Fearghus rol ed his eyes at Annwyl’s general and Morfyd’s mate, sitting on his horse, gazing lovingly at Fearghus’s sister.

“How did we do?”

“Most are dead,” Brastias told him. “I sent a few squads out to track down any runners.”

“No prisoners?”

“You know Annwyl hates prisoners. She’d rather just kil them al . Besides”—he shrugged—“we don’t have to worry about feeding anyone and we’l only have to kil them later. So it’s a waste of time to keep them alive now.”

“Do me a favor, Brastias. Get Morfyd for me.”

“Of course.” The general smiled. “You have no idea how grateful I am to see you alive and wel , Lord Fearghus.” Fearghus laughed. “Real y? I never thought you’d have cared one way or the other.”

“Oh, I care. The entire Queen’s Army cares whether you live or die, my lord. Trust me, it would have been a dark day for me and mine if anything had happened to you. A dark day indeed.”

Brastias spurred his horse forward and rode over to the stil -arguing females.

“Morfyd?” the human cal ed up to his mate, not seeming intimidated by her much-larger dragon form. “Love? Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Yes! Rescue me from this ungrateful wench!”

Morfyd stomped away and Annwyl flicked her middle and forefinger in his sister’s direction before she went back to the rather mindless task of finishing off the enemy soldiers who were already dying but hadn’t quite crossed over yet. She used a spear and was efficient in ending the men, severing the spine from the head. Probably taught to her by Ghleanna.

Fearghus watched his mate a moment longer. It had been five years since he last saw her. Five years since he last touched her, kissed her, f**ked her, saw her smile, told her to calm down, yanked a weapon from her hands before she hurt someone, or stopped her from getting in a pit brawl with her own daughter. It had been too long since he’d done al that and it was a bit overwhelming to be here now, so close to her after al this time.

Annwyl slammed her spear into another Sovereign, then leaned against it, wiping her brow with the back of her hand and looking out over al the bodies she and her troops had left behind.

She looked rather proud.

Deciding he could wait no longer, Fearghus walked toward her, his claws stepping on corpses but he didn’t real y care. Most of them were the enemy anyway.

When he was close, he said, “Annwyl.”

Her whole body tensed and, slowly, she faced him. He saw the new scar that cut across her entire face. He found it disturbingly sexy and couldn’t wait until they were alone and he could lick the damn thing from one end to the other. Yet Annwyl gazed at him for so long, Fearghus became concerned. Why hadn’t she said anything?

But then, suddenly, Annwyl the Bloody burst into tears. Not simple crying, but ful -on sobs. Sobs so hard they racked her entire body, dropping her to her knees, her hand stil clinging to that spear.

Fearghus shifted and went to her. He reached down and lifted her to her feet, removed the spear from her hands and tossed it aside.

He pul ed her into his arms and held her. She clung to him, her arms around his waist, her head against his chest, her tears dripping down his body to mingle with the blood on the battlefield.

As they held each other, there in the middle of al that carnage, Fearghus whispered, “I missed you too, Annwyl.”

“King Gaius?”

Gaius pushed one of his uncle’s soldiers off his sword and faced the dragon behind him.

“Ragnar of the Olgeirsson Horde. Brother to Vigholf.”

“Yes. Vigholf helped save my sister,” Gaius admitted. “I owe him and the others much. Is that why you’re here, Lightning? Payment?”

“No. But how much were you thinking?”

Gaius stared at him until the Northlander smiled. “I’m kidding. I’m actual y here to talk al iance. Thracius is dead, but his direct bloodline lives on.”

“Like my cousin Vateria, you mean?”

“Do you think she’s a real threat?”

“Although she may not be as schooled in military strategy as her father—she’s a serious threat.”

“Then let’s talk.”

“Fine. But I can’t stay long. My sister is alone and although it took us seconds to get here, we have a long way to travel back.”

“Seconds? How did you get here?”

“It’s . . . complicated.”

“The gods sent you?” the Northlander asked.

“Oh . . . so not that complicated.”

“Not to us, no.”

Vigholf found Rhona sitting on the ground, her back against a tree. She drank from her water flask and tried to wipe blood off her chin with a dirty cloth.

“Why did your mother just cal me a manipulative bastard?” he asked.

“Because you are?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why did your mother—”

“Oh, ignore her.” She patted the ground beside her. “Sit with me. Things are just about to get interesting.” He sat down, moving in so his hip pressed into hers. “Interesting how?”

“You’l see.”

“Where’s Éibhear?”